Jaisalmer: Desert, Camels and TMI!

Naomi:

We were both a wee bit excited to get to Jaisalmer – it’s the place to go camel trekking into the desert and we were bang up for it!

First we spent one night in Jaisalmer town. When we arrived by bus we were hounded to within an inch of our lives (even by India standards!) by men wanting us to take their ‘taxis’ (aka car to their hotel only). It was a little intense, and as they were in our faces they were each telling us that the other men were liars, not real taxis, cheats etc. Eugh! One guy verbally promised to take us to the hotel we had requested for only a few rupees, as he had dropped guests off for the bus and had an empty car. Of course, once we were in the car he asked if we would mind checking his hotel out. Standard! His place sounded pretty nice, but of course once we got there we realised we were a way out of town and the promised WiFi did not exist. We ‘ummed and ahhed’ and then did a runner, explaining as fast as we could, while not stopping long enough to witness an Indian sulk, that we reeeeaaaallly needed WiFi (which on that one occasion, we did.)

Finally we managed to get to the guest house we wanted in the first place, which was just what we were after and complete with Skype-worthy WiFi connection. We were however faced with an almighty Indian sulk when we told the owner that we’d already booked our camel trek online – they didn’t like that one bit and tried very hard to get us to change our minds. In the end they made us promise not to tell anyone else at the hotel about our trek. Jaisalmer’s another fort town, but people live inside the fort walls here. We stayed outside the walls and spent the evening exploring more little alleys full of trinket shops and tailors. We found quite a few places offering bed sheets ‘so beautiful you won’t need viagra!’….OK then!

The next morning we were up bright and breezy and ready to meet our camels! At the travel agency we met our two other camel-compadres, Katerina from Canada and Jala from Papa New Guinea, and set off in the Jeep to take us to the pick-up point. Most people do a 2-day, 1-night trip, but we’d decided we were a bit more hardcore than that, and gone for 3 days and 2 nights…would this be a good decision?

Our camel leader was Dadya, an un-ageable desert man who looked like he had a lot of wisdom in his eyes. He was accompanied by a young boy with such painful cracked lips I immediately wanted to hightail it back to town and get him some lip balm! Thankfully Jala had some Bepanthen and made him put some on every few hours. Desert life really takes a toll on your beauty regime!

They began to load up the camels with saddles and supplies. One camel was growling constantly and looked really pissed off about the whole affair. I hoped and prayed I’d get one of the other camels, but of course that didn’t happen. I had visions of it bolting off into the horizon and me dying a lonely death out in the desert somewhere. Yes a little dramatic probably. Thankfully everyone was paired with a camel without any real trouble, although watching us all try and get our legs up and over the saddles was quite a sight. With Dadya and his helper on foot, we slowly trotted off into the desert. It was more like not very appealing scrub-land at this point, I’ll be honest. And it was a whole new level of uncomfortable. Our assess were getting chapped from every angle, and on a few occasions I accidentally let out a little yelp, which amused the camel guys no end. My camel growled on-and-off the whole way. After an hour or so of lolloping side to side across the scrub, I looked at Iain and we were both thinking the same thing “3 days of this?!!…What have we done?!”

Thankfully the 5 hours of promised camel riding (which was starting to sound more like a threat), was more like 3. My ass was very grateful. We stopped halfway and the guys made us a yummy lunch of spicy dal and rice. I soon realised why they had recommended closed shoes. Not wanting to wear my hiking boots, I had gone with flip flops, which was a huge error. Being scrub-land rather than pure sand, there were thousands of cactus-like burrs just waiting to stick into my feet. Fail! After lunch we set off on the camels again. As we were riding we asked Dadya what our camel’s names were; Katerina’s was ‘Moonia’, Jala’s was ‘Yalia’, and Iain’s was ‘Amala’ or something like that (Iain just called it ‘camel’). I anticipated the exotic and mystical name my somewhat tempestuous beast might have been given…his name? Simon. Simon, with a penchant for floral saddle covers and a strong dislike of being ridden out into the desert.

After another hour or so of riding, we reached our camp for the evening. Four little storage huts near a big tree. We were sleeping out under the stars, on beds that were so comfortable, piled high with cushions, that once I was on it I didn’t want to get up! Iain being the big strong guy that he is, insisted that he was so afraid of something coming and taking us in the night that he could not possibly sleep on the outside bed (head of security my chapped butt!) so I took the outside bed. We munched out on more delicious curry and then spent the evening stargazing under our thick blankets. It was really beautiful!

Day two was an early start, with a breakfast of boiled eggs, toast, jam and bananas. Iain was charged with looking after the camels while they were loaded up one by one. Simon was his usual diva-self. I couldn’t really blame him, as all the camels have very painful looking bars pierced through just behind their noses, to attach the harness to. When I looked concerned about Simon’s continued growling Dadya reassured me, “Don’t worry, this just hurts him a lot.”….Great!

The second day was particularly arduous on our derrieres, but we did get to see some proper sand dunes which made the pain worthwhile! Jala and Katerina got to lead their own camels, with intermittent success – the camels kept wondering off to try and eat foliage! Simon was thankfully not even considered for unguided trekking – the guy (different helper this day) kept taking us off down steep hills, I don’t know whether it was to keep the diva entertained or as punishment for the growling, or because he found my wide-eyed frantic attempts to hold on amusing!

When we reached the second night’s camp we found inside the storage hut a holdall of cold Pepsi and beer, which was sweet sweet relief to our desert thirst. A chap had conveniently turned up to offer his drinks services (it’s almost like we weren’t really that far into the desert after all! Ha ha) Dadya had to go off somewhere to fetch the mattresses and left us in charge of the camels. I was lazily reading my book while Iain, Katerina and Jala went over the nearby dune to explore. “If the camels walk off, come and find me,” instructed Iain as they left. I couldn’t see the camels from where I was lying, but every few minutes checked they were still there. It’s amazing how far a camel can get in 5 minutes…one managed to un-tether himself and make it a few hundred yards before I realised we were one beast down. Iain was over the dunes in the opposite direction. I contemplated trying to catch the camel myself, but as documented, I don’t have a great affinity with animals and they generally pay no attention to me whatsoever, plus I was scared of getting a hoof to the face. I decided to call for back-up in the form of Dr Iain Doolittle. I tried to get up the other sand dune as fast as possible, but it was such hard work in the heat and felt like it was taking forever! Iain was nowhere to be seen – they’d made it a few more dunes over and I couldn’t even see him. “IAAAAAAIIIINNNNN CAAMMEEELLLLLSSS GOOONNNNNEE!!!” I called like it may be the last thing I managed to do before collapsing in a pile of unfit exhaustion on the sand. Finally I saw him appear like a camel-rescuing hallucination, but for some reason he’d left his flip flops and so had to hop around in mine. By this point the camel had gone even further away. About 20 minutes of very slow hopping and camel-whispering later Iain had brought it back to safety…supervising him was exhausting work and confirmed that the desert life is not for me! Ha ha. We tied the camel to the tree branch, which lasted all of 30 seconds and then decided that we’d fulfilled our duties, and if it wanted to walk off again that would be Dadya’s problem!

The four of us spent a second wonderful night under the stars, listening to Mumford and Sons, which makes a great stargazing soundtrack! The next morning we had the option of trekking for one hour and then heading back to town, or doing that plus stopping for an extra long lunch and then trekking another two hours. We were just getting the hang of camel riding, but let our butts make the decision – back to town it was!

After trekking we bid our camels and Dadya an emotional farewell and jeeped back into town, ready for the comfort of a lukewarm shower. Iain asked me a favour I hope he will never repeat – to examine the damage to his butt crack. It was not a pretty sight. There are some things you just shouldn’t have to see, and that was definitely one of them! We later met a girl that had done one day’s trekking and required bandaging afterwards – looks like the camels have the last laugh!

Delhi-With Old Friends

Iain:

Over the course of our little tramp around the globe we had been lucky enough to see my Mum and Al (Mum Bum and Alaroo) for a couple of weeks in Aus, and Lord and Lady Beaver (Emma and Garry) in Thailand. We were now going to hook up with Lorna and Stuart (Lornski and StuBoo) in India – a prospect that we had been looking forward to for a while. We headed back into Delhi on the train and made our way once again into the backpacker district to await their arrival the following day.

We both insisted that we meet them at the airport at 8am? (honest) which meant getting up at 06:30; a time that I had just about forgotten existed. Unemployed clocks start around 10am you know?!! The plan to just jump on the metro fell apart as we went into the station. We realized that all the people we had just walked past while looking for the ticket queue were in the ticket queue! Plan B, a taxi. We came out of the station and could not see a taxi for love nor money so plan C kicked in…a Tuk Tuk!! 40 minutes later after a quick change of driver (random) we both nearly had frostbite from the chilly morning air as it rushed through the window-less transport. I was in shorts and Naomi had not brought a cardi with her…it’s India for God sake but it’s not always hot. Some nights and mornings can be really very chilly (free consumer advice there.) Our Tuk Tuk was not allowed to go up to the airport so we caught the free bus that ferries you in from a few km’s out. The timing was almost military in it’s precision.We arrived (covered in icicles but alive).

As we went to go into the main building we ran into my favourite Indian hangover from British occupation..the pointless red tape. To go into the terminal you must pay for a visitors ticket, which we did, then you show your ticket to the important looking guards on the door and they demand to see your passport and give you a free feel.  They cunningly disguise this  as a body search/pat down but we know it’s just a free feel. These guys enjoy their jobs way to much.

We were just in the process of explaining that we didn’t have our passports on us but we did have drivers licenses when we heard Stu and Lorna calling from just the other side of the door we were at. The guards looked totally baffled as we left the frisk, turned around and left, running up to the next door to see if the guys could exit the airport. Eventually we found an exit door and were re-united after a year. Hugs and cuddles all round…my favourite! There was just enough time for Naomi to go back to the ticket man and try and get a refund as we had not actually entered the airport. He was having none of it but did tell us that we were free to give the ticket away to any lucky individual who may be trying to enter the airport. Talk about their lucky day…there was no one..we threw it in the bin!!!

We arrived across from New Delhi Station (Delhi’s Ko shan Road) and went to the hotel. The guys were pretty cream knackered as neither of them slept on the flight out. Stu went for a lay down as did I (up at 6:30am, I should think I did), Lorna and Naomi went for a coffee (chat about every event that has taken place over a year back in blighty) in the hotel bar. I wasn’t lucky enough to be present but I should imagine they talked until their saliva glands went  dry and stopped working.

We spent a day sightseeing around Delhi. We took in the Red Fort (made from sandstone in the 17th century by the Mughals), Humayun’s Tomb (He was a Mughal emperor and it was commissioned by his wife, using different architectural inspirations including Persian Islamic influences. Kinda looks like a mini Taj Mahal!) and the Ashkardam Temple, now known between Naomi and Lorna as The Disney Temple – look at the pic and you might see why. The fort and the tomb were without doubt older, more historically significant, and packed with information about ancient Indian empires, but for all their cultural clout, they weren’t that enthralling to walk round – more of a ‘oh yup, that looks nice, lets be off’ type affair. Although saying that, the cheeky school groups at the tomb were hilarious, and watching them bombard Stuart for group photos was worth the trip to India alone. The Akshardham temple on the other hand, in all of its 8-year old glory, had us enthralled! It’s like stepping into a huge theatrical heavily sugarcoated presentation of the history of Indian culture and Hinduism. The buildings are all hand-carved from stone, an insane feat of architecture, artistry and engineering when you really think about it. There are beautiful landscaped gardens, a musical fountain and a storytelling boat ride. We mostly just wandered around the different stone-carved displays and gardens taking it all in.

We wanted to go to the Bahai Lotus Temple, but the queue was so long, we settled for peering over the fence at it instead! One of our last stops was at the Raj Ghat. We had left the hotel without our trusty guidebook, as it is the size of my head and won’t fit into even Naomi’s Mary Poppins bag. As a result, we had no concrete recollection of what the Raj Ghat was exactly, or its significance. No worries, sure it will be signposted, we all agreed. Well when we got there it was insanely busy, but there was no ‘ghat’ that we could see, just a flame burning on a platform and lots of people looking at it. We felt too embarrassed to ask anyone (Who turns up to something with no idea what it is?…..Us!!!!) so instead we wandered around feeling a bit awkward and chuckling at our stupidity. Back at the hotel we cracked open the tome of infinite knowledge to read that it was in fact the place of Ghandi’s cremation…so nothing major then.

The Disney Temple!

The Red Fort

Humayun’s Tomb

Lotus garden at the Disney Temple

A couple of days before the guys had come out, we had booked to hire a car to do the ‘Golden Triangle’ trip: Delhi, Agra and Jaipur. However that had come with its own little headache as per usual with tour companies here.Naomi and I had tried to arrange it with the guy who sorted out all our arrangements for our tour of Rajasthan, but he was not in the office when we went so we ended up talking to a guy who was a complete prick. Despite us needing the car for a day less than originally quoted for, he insisted that not only was it was the same price regardless but if we paid on card that they charged 13%, when before it had been 3%, apparently due to ‘new taxes’. We questioned the whole deal with the guy but he ignored us and asked us for our passports? This was his way of trying to push us into it…oh no, not this time Mr!!

His boss saw us walk out (something I would have been to embarrassed to do before priest-gate) and said that we could do it on card for 3% all of a sudden. F*CK you buddy. This is team OranDav (rolls off the toungue?), team Davange, team Iaiomi!!…..we stuck together and like the proud owners of a brand new, shiny option; the DON’T TAKE YOUR CRAP option, we walked off. We walked off into the most Indian filled area of Delhi with no sign of a Tuk Tuk or a taxi or a white person with all eyes focused on us and we didn’t give a damn. Huge improvement from team…the team!! We had made it no further than the main road ( two minute walk) and another tout was telling us that there was another tourist office just around the corner. Sure enough there was and we got the same trip for 80 quid less than the other place. The lows from other parts of the India trip vanished and for the first time we had stood up and won, ‘woo hoo!’. It felt great!! My euphoria was short lived however when we had some food in a little cafe named after another good friend of ours from NZ, Karen’s!! (that’s you in the blog again Barkley!) The very nice man there was chatting to us about our plans and we told him that we had booked the golden triangle tour. As always with Indian business folk he was curious about what we had paid. He made us sick as parrots by telling us that he could have organized it for half of our half price. I was gutted, but as the rest of the group reminded me, we had been happy with our 80 pound saving and if there is one thing that we have learned here it is that everyone you’re not booking through can beat the price you have already paid, so balls to them. He wasn’t even a travel agent so we may have dodged a bullet?!! He also rubbed salt into the wound by laughingly telling me how he could “play me like a puppet” (?!), followed up with, “You may be a big man but I have muscles and I could crush you like a toy…ha ha ha!” I was well and truly tail between legs after that!

So our one night in Delhi, the girls used to shop and Stuart and I went for a Kingfisher (beer.) It was at this parting that something happened to Stuart and I that didn’t happen to Naomi and Lorna. We have no idea what caused it but the following day Stuart and I were both pretty ill. Delhi Belly! Stuart wasn’t as bad as me and by the time we had spent a few hours in a car without the promised AC driving to Agra, I really did feel like shite. We stopped at the Taj Mahal and once we had taken the usual pics in front of the spectacular building I had to get into the shade with water and a toilet close by. My first view of the legendary Taj and I’m crook. What are the odds? The guys were given a guided tour and I did take in as much of the buildings majesty as I could in between toilet stops. They all agreed that it was much more impressive from the outside so I didn’t miss much.

Just in case you can’t remember what it looks like….

We talked about staying the night in Agra as I felt awful and Stu wasn’t far behind. Agra is pretty famous for housing the Taj but there really is nothing else there . It would take another 5 hours to reach our next stop and the safety of our own bathroom so we decided to just go for it, with regular service station stops on the way! We made it to Jaipur with no major issues but Stu and I were feeling a little poorly and a lot sorry for ourselves!! Luckily we were staying in a really nice hotel that looked the part and had a dancing puppet show on the roof every night. One not to miss (dripping in sarcasm.) The bar where the show was put on also housed the worlds most incompetent waiter (Indian Manuel) to keep us amused. I don’t think he got the order right at any meal but still refused to use a pad and paper to back up his appalling memory. Maybe he just kept forgetting to bring it to the table with him. Maybe remembering to breathe was taking up the use of both of his brain cells. Our comedy soon died and everyone just wanted to hurt him by the end. Following us to the car to try and get a tip as we left was probably the funniest thing he had done for our entire stay…moron!

The following day Stu and I were bed bound (not together) so the girls in their top ‘nursey’ modes did the only decent they could when their men are poorly…they went shopping!! Shopping for Saris to be more exact. It left me wondering if maybe our low-grade dysentery (exaggerate, me?!) was maybe, actually a blessing in disguise. They bought saris if anyone is interested!!

The following day the boys were back on their feet although not really eating, bathroom breaks were no longer measured apart in minutes. It must have been the warm, salt and lemon juice that the driver had ordered to our rooms to help us get on the mend. Nice man, disgusting drink.

We were quite lucky because three of the sights that we wanted to see were right next to each other. It was another blisteringly hot day so keeping walking to a minimum was a priority, unlike turning the air con on in the car as we baked. Not sure what our man’s problem was but he had to be continually asked to put the A/C on and then, when he thought we weren’t looking he would turn it off. Strange individual.

We looked around the fort and again the armory was a highlight. The weapons that these guys used to kill each other with are always fierce looking but then decorated with gold and beautiful jewels. We also walked around a very interesting observatory…. I’ve become dull!! It’s OK though because Stu is an engineer and he thought that it was awesome too. There were huge structures all over the place. They were all from different periods of time when people had tried to map and study the stars, planets and celestial bodies ( is that what Kelly Brook’s got?!!) They all still work, massive sun dials and over-complicated year measurers (or calendars to the lay!)

I can’t say I can remember what the third thing was but Naomi says we only did those two things and then set off on the 5 hour journey back to Delhi and she is never usually wrong. All I know for sure is that it was damn hot and our driver just couldn’t stop playing his little ‘fuel saving, air con on/off game’. If only he had put more focused more on getting a move on then maybe it would not have taken 8 hours to get us back. It was only around 300 km’s for God’s sake!!

The observatory…geek’s heaven!

So many ways to tell the time!

Maharajahs and Missing a British Music Legend

Iain:

So, between the hockey team on the train, my toughening up after the thieving bastard priest, watching The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and my gradual improving understanding of the Indian psyche, I’m starting to feel… OK with India. I’ve come to a few realisations, which I will outline in my favourite 101 style!

India 101:

1. Unless you really want to test your endurance levels, stay out of the big cities because they are crazy beyond all belief.
2. Going to the big cities and saying you hate India is a bit like going to London and saying that you hate England.
3. Indian people on the whole get more relaxed and less ‘stare-y’ as you make your way South.
4. If an Indian is staring at you or you think that they have a problem with you say “HELLO”, you will soon find out that they are some of the warmest, friendliest and interested people you will ever meet in your life, especially if they want to sell you something.
5. Not everyone wants to sell you something.
6. Be strong with people that want to take you for a ride; ask the questions you want to ask and don’t worry about seeming rude.
7. No one will tell you the truth, but take it all in jest and don’t get too stressed out. If you’re not happy just walk away. Finally for now, if you don’t buy something or can’t agree the price be prepared for the sometimes highly comical, sometimes horrible ‘Indian sulk’. It is worth coming here just to see it. 5-year old that’s that have just been told to stand in the corner until they have calmed down and to think about what they have just done have nothing on these guys. Naomi’s face when I suggest that maybe she has enough ‘ holiday souvenir’ jewelry the other day did come pretty close though!!
8. Don’t sweat it! What seems like a million little threats as you walk down the street, is actually just the chaotic hubbub of daily life. India is the kind of place that you will only be able to deal with with a good sense of humour, a relaxed attitude and an open mind. Until now I’d been fighting everything, but I realised that in India, if you don’t go with the flow, you will get swept under. Finally I was getting to this point.

The overnight bus out of Udaipur was  sad and happy at the same time. Sad because we had such a great time there, it was so chilled and the people were a new breed of Indian, sales men; they actually seemed like they were interested in talking to us, sale or no sale and they were also had a bit of a laugh and a joke with you. They still bargained like crazy but I really started to relax in India for the first time. Happy because we had proper beds to sleep on rather than spending another night on an uncomfortable bus seat flailing my limbs into every angle imaginable to try and fit into the Indian-man sized chair. These were proper little wooden bunks that had curtains and everything…spoiled!! Much more traveling in Asia and my nostrils may never return to their normal positions, the amount of times my knees have spent up them as I struggle to fit into tourist transports.

Our arrival was early but expected by our new hosts at a Jain homestay. Jain is an Indian religion that promotes non-violence toward all life. This is why the super-devout wear a cover over their mouths so that no insects can fly in their mouths and be killed. Pretty full on but I just saw it as extreme vegetarianism. The family were lovely and spoke exellent English so we were given a pretty good low down of the sights and attractions. My highlight was sitting and watching the final overs of the Australia-India one day cricket match with the Dad. He was so exited and we had some very deep chats about cricket legends, past and present, while I was fed Rosgulla (little sweet balls filled with rose syrup…interesting!). My God Indian guys love their cricket. For anyone interested India lost as their bowlers were gave the match away at the death with some horrific bowling…no one?….OK!!

That night one of the other guests was talking about a gig – some French band were playing and she was really excited. We were knackered from another overnight bus and didn’t want to be rude but had no interest in going to see some French band we wouldn’t understand. Well the joke was on us. Not only was it a massive gig up at the fort with loads of international bands, but guess who made an appearance….Mick Bloody Jagger. (Probably not his real middle name). Gutted!!!!!!!!!

We went up to the Mehrangarh fort the next day and got an even better picture of what we missed out on – it looked like a great place for a gig! The massive fort is probably the main ‘to do’ in Jodhpur. It really does dominate the skyline and we sat looking at it every day at breakfast from our hostel’s roof top terrace. The place is also referred to as the blue city and if you look at the pic you will see why; it began as a colour the holy men used to denote their houses, but soon everyone else was getting in on the action too. The white building at the front is a tomb where the body of the last Maharajah lays with his wife. Pictures of loads of other dead Maharajahs lined the walls as well.

The fort

We’re not usually the ones walking around with the audio guides, but this place really came alive with the commentary. As well as giving the history of the fort there were also quotes and sound bights from the current Maharajah ( imagine being a real Maharajah…wow.) It was funny listening to the lifestyles of some of his predecessors who ruled with sword and horses, made peace and land deals over an opium pipe or two and had harems of wives that would all commit ritual suicide by throwing themselves onto his funeral pyre…we saw hand prints on the forts walls that were taken just before the macabre event, tiny little lady hands. The last one of these mass suicides took place in the 19th century!! Any girls reading this post think they have it tough with their man now? Imagine your very life being tied to his. The current Maharajah described a much more helpful, educational and developmental role in the community these days.We really enjoyed the 3 hour talk and walk round (I sound like my Dad…damn it), really informative and historically eye opening (and again…damn it.) I particularly enjoyed the armory and the weapons section and Naomi was left speechless (as if) by the splendor of the decor. Mainly the opulent interiors. I fear that our living room may be in for a pimping on our return. The fort is also filled with all sorts of artifacts from over the centuries and loads of cultural and historical paintings. The many cultural dancers and dance groups added some musical merriment to our look round, culminating in watching a guy take metres and metres of fabric that his mate was holding some fifteen feet away and wind it around his head until he had just a tight, tidy little turban at the end.

No army has ever breached the fort in all of it’s long history and at last someone else used my brilliant idea. You know all the films where people are storming castles like in the Hobbit films etc?…I hear a couple of yes’s so I shall go on. Whenever they want to get in the gate they just batter it with a ram or some sort of rolling fire ball that disintegrates the gate. I have always thought; why do they build the door flush with the castle walls? Doesn’t matter how thick you make the door they will always get a run up if it’s flush. Why not have a side door at a right angle to the wall or build a maze of big blocks in front of the doors so they can’t just batter it head on? Well, short story long, the genius that built this fort had put the main gate at a 45 degree angle to the main wall to counter act just such a problem. Either he was ahead of his time or I am behind my time…you be the judge!!

Naomi’s kind of living room

The wives of the Maharajahs placed their hand prints before going to the Pyre

The area where the fort was built was supposed to be cursed land. There had been a drought for many many years but the Maharajah still wanted the fort built there so up stepped a guy who…well you decide how to describe him. I will tell you what he did as a sign of faith and loyalty to his Maharajah and you can decide how you view his actions. He let them bury him alive in the foundations of the fort, where they bricked him in signified with a plaque for his efforts. Not a complete loss then fella? He willing volunteered and died of starvation as they left him an air vent to breath but not room to move. Dedication!!

The other thing to do here is check out the market. We did and it was massive. Naomi was loving it and I was not hating it so that’s all good right? There was, as always every thing you can ever imagine on sake. A trinket collectors dream or if your into beautiful, colourful clothes then your in. Flip flops seem to be a big seller out here too but they call them slippers.The smiles and hellos came thick and fast from all the locals especially the kids. Some of the little rug rats get a little go at trying to get you into the shop and the lines they come out with are pretty funny to hear from an 8 year old. ” I do you good price”, “Madame, looking is free, just look”. Hilarious!! My new strategy to stop feeling so self conscious in these busy streets was to smile more and if people were staring then you make a point of saying “Namaste” (Hello in Hindi.) This new technique left me much happier and relaxed then ever before, do you know why? Because every person, bar a few, smiled like crazy back at me and replied. Until this point I thought that their blank, non-stop staring was a sign of aggression and rudeness. If they didn’t answer back then I just said something witty like “I’ll call you then or “we’ll talk later then, eh?”.

So finally, after a month in India I was really warming to this place at last. The quiet, rural areas are much more like holiday destinations and Rajasthan has just been beautiful all the way so far. Meeting some great people on the way has really helped me to start seeing the best side of the country.

Udaipur: Octopussy Galore!

Naomi:

After what we now term the Ghat-gate of Pushkar, we were ready to leave. It was a nice place but had lost its charm now that we’d been pressured out of money in such an underhand way. To be fair, it’s the only time we’ve been so blatantly ‘mugged off’ in India – it’s a country of startling contrasts and contradictions: nowhere have we been parted with our money so horrendously than in that instance, and yet overall I feel like if we left our bags unattended somewhere, or dropped something, 9/10 people would be totally trustworthy.

It was onward and Southward to Udaipur, and I was praying we would have a more relaxed experience. We were dropped off at the ‘bus depot’ late at night; I use the inverted commas because it was a confusing arrangement, a street with travel agency after travel agency and no-one wanting to really help or confirm where we needed to be. We found the place and saw that the large printed timetable listed totally different times to the one we’d been booked on, and on seeing our ticket the guy behind the desk started tapping buttons furiously and making phone call after phone call. We sat in the open-front office, filled with mosquitoes, and waited for some kind of confirmatory nod or indication of waiting time, but of course none came. An hour and a half of Iain and I communicating through sideways glances and raised eyebrows and finally our bus turned up and we were showed to two rather uncomfortable seats, directly underneath and across from some private ‘cabins’ with sliding doors – we were clearly on a cheap ticket this time! No sleep was to be had, as the driver and his helpers/friends spent the whole journey shouting to each other and slamming the door. There was an unoccupied cabin across from us, but my requests to pay for an upgrade were met with a blank face. About 10 minutes after I sneaked into the cabin, we arrived in Udaipur.

Our hotel was refreshingly nice – we’d been staying in pretty basic places, and this one was nicely decorated, with a TV, on-and-off WiFi. Score! The staff were really peculiar – the place seemed to be run entirely by teenage boys, none of whom had any interest or talent for hospitality. They were really odd. One guy would only talk to me when Iain wasn’t there, and then only to ask if I wanted to smoke hash and drink whisky in the ‘rooftop restaurant’; another guy seemed nice enough but was definitely a sandwich short and spent his days chasing the other boys around the hostel screeching at an alarming volume (the first time we thought he was being stabbed). When I asked if they knew directions to one of the main tourist attractions, I was met with a straight out ‘no’ and that was that. Quite comical really. The best part was when Iain attempted to improve the TV signal and accidentally pulled the cable out of the wall; the screechy boy came in with a winter scarf wrapped vertically around his face, eyed it a few times and called to another boy; the second boy came in, faffed about with it and then offered us to change rooms. As it was cricket, Iain was quite keen to change to a working TV and eagerly said ‘Yes please!’, but all that happened was that the boy then asked if I was his wife, came over laughing and vigorously shook Iain’s hand and then left, never to be seen again. This Is India!

Udaipur had a lovely feel to it. The touristy part was pretty small and we were staying slap bang on the main street, right between one of the main temples and the stunning City Palace. It was the first place in India we could say was really really pretty. We ambled around the little streets, exploring as many of the crafty souvenir shops and really good cafes and restaurants as our purses and guts would allow! The people were friendly and we finally felt relaxed, like we were on holiday! We found two really good roof-top restaurants that dished up some of the best Indian food we’ve EVER had, and provided us with the daily dilemma of which to frequent. The food was so good we couldn’t help but order 5 or 6 dishes, plus naan breads much to the waiters’ amazement – we were the talk of the kitchen! Mutter Paneer; Chicken Tikka; Butter Chicken; Paneer Pakora; Garlic and Cheese naans; Gulab Jamun & Ice Cream for pudding – I actually debated poking my nose into the kitchen to see if the chef would give me his recipes.

We had inadvertently timed our stay in Udaipur with a big 10-day Hindu festival – it seems it’s kinda hard not to coincide with a Hind festival to be fair! The festival was being celebrated right outside our hotel, on the main street in front of the temple. Day after day groups of men and women were dancing and chanting in the street, following trucks stacked high with statues of the gods and huge speakers pumping out Indian pop music. Bangers were set off, coloured powder thrown into the crowds (us included) and flames carried through the streets. These folks know how to party hard! We did not sleep for 4 days straight as we listened to the celebrations go on well into the wee hours.

I took my first Indian cooking course one morning, while Iain caught up on sleep and waited for me to return with my spoils (he really leads a charmed life ha ha!). It was a one-on-one class with a chap who’s name I’ve totally forgotten (too busy smelling the food) who owned a spice and flour shop. The shop was next to the big temple, and right outside a group of men spent the morning chanting prayers in ancient Hindi, which made for a good soundtrack to my messy cooking. I made a Masala Gravy, Aloo Gobi, Biryani, Paratha and Chapati. It was yuummmmyyyy! I hope I can remember it/inflict it on people when we get back!

Udaipur is set next to and across a large lake and was the setting for the James Bond film Octopussy. We are quickly racking up the James Bond settings: Rio, Phi Phi, and now here! We clearly have great taste. One night we decided to escape the mayhem and cross over the little canals to find a quiet bar the other side. We found one of the many places offering nightly screenings of Octopussy and settled in for an evening of Roger Moore (bit past it in my eyes, but maybe I’m the wrong generation?) and Maud Adams on an Indian/Russian adventure. I left feeling completely confused about the plot-line (something to do with a circus and some diamonds), but it was great fun seeing where we were in a film. The Lake Palace was used as Octopussy’s luxurious all-female hideout, and the baddy’s place was the Monsoon Palace, which we could see on the hilltop a few miles away.

The next day we spent mooching through the enormous City Palace, which is absolutely beautiful and full of pretty little windows and doorways (and the essential tiger-catching cage of course!). I’m a bit obsessed with pretty windows and doorways and tend to spend a while photographing them, while Iain stands aside rolling his eyes. I think it’s a girl thing…but check out the window at the bottom – it’s a beaut! Sadly that teeny balcony is cordoned off, otherwise I’d have spent at least another half an hour taking amazing Juliet-on-the-balcony type shots..

City Palace looking over the lake

Inside the palace

Preeeetttttyyyyy

After exploring the armoury and different courtyards, along with the extensive paintings depicting the many battles between the Mewars and the Mughals, we made our way to the jetty and caught the sunset boat trip out on the lake. We sailed past the pretty Lake Palace (now a very exclusive hotel that won’t even allow common folk to moor up!), and on to the second lake hotel on Jag Mandir island, boasting another beautiful hotel where we were allowed to frolic in the gardens and take pretty sunset photos.

The Lake Palace

During our time in Udaipur Iain had been doing a lot of thinking about what had happened in Pushkar, and also about our time in India overall, and his outlook was beginning to change. Udaipur seemed to have been the right place to relax and reset, and he was even finally beginning to enjoy himself. We sat in one of our favourite restaurants and watched The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and he had an epiphany! I’ll let him tell you about it in the next post, but in case anyone is considering visiting India, or just wants a good idea of what it’s like, it’s a really good watch, and some of it’s set in Udaipur!

xxx

The Straw (Indian) That Broke The Camel’s (Iain’s) Back!!

Iain:

So we made it to Delhi. With a small concern that I may just be depressing people and putting them off ever visiting this country, I must say I was not looking forward to Delhi. Another big city so I was pretty sure that it was going to be Calcutta all over again. We got off the train and made our way out into the street that was jam packed with tuk tuks and taxis. “Here we go again”, I thought.

We had chosen to stay in the backpacker end of town and once through the melee of vehicles outside of the station we walked into the main street. It was empty, hardly a soul in sight. It was nearly 7am so the place should have been buzzing!? In my rather less than positive frame of mind I figured that maybe the chaos started later here and probably went on later too.

Our hotel was basic and clean and after an initial look around the area everything was pretty relaxed. There were Europeans everywhere and the whole place had a really chilled feel to it. We found some awesome restaurants and even the touts on the street seemed more friendly. I felt good and Naomi felt good that I felt good and I felt good that she…..stop it!! U get the idea. We had agreed not to do too much stuff in Delhi because our London Besties, Lorna and Stu were  meeting us there in a couple of weeks for their two week holibob. This left us looking to explore places that we won’t be visiting with them. Top of the list was the state of Rajasthan, promising to be one of the best tourist destinations in India.

When we went to book our train tickets there was much confusion about where we – as tourists rather than locals – had to go. Several people told us different directions to walk, and we explored every option for a good half hour, as well as following the enormous ‘Tourist Ticket Bureau’ signs, to no avail.Then one guy (who appeared to work at the station) suggested that we needed to get a Tuk Tuk to go and pre-book tickets at a separate office. After the mayhem at Gorakphur this seemed feasible. On arrival at the office we realized that it was tour operator, a government approved one but a travel agent none the less. Everyone insisted that the was the only way that we would be able to pre-book our train tickets. After a short discussion with a very nice and knowledgeable man he told us that most of the trains we needed were fully booked already. This was feasible as many festivals were taking place and we had been advised that tickets, good ones anyway, book out months in advance. At the same time, a lot of travel agencies lie about trains being full. It gets pretty tiring trying to work out what is really going on. The guy sat and worked out a route that would incorporate all that we wished to see using either buses or trains, as well as some accommodation. It all looked pretty good and it was nice, especially for Naomi as someone else was doing the planning. We prepared ourselves for the price but it was actually rather affordable, although definitely included a heft amount of commission for him! We booked it just so that we could have some tickets and a plan in our hands and not have to repeat the process! We still have no clue if that was how we had to book the tickets. Knowing India, probably not. They tell, what Naomi has come to term as “an Indian half-truth”. I think we call it a white lie in England.

First stop on the agenda was Pushkar: one of the holiest places to be as Hindu. It felt odd not to be looking for a hotel for once! First impressions were that Pushkar looked pretty, small but pretty none the less; we were suddenly in desert landscape with mountains all around. The place seemed so much quieter than anything that had come before. The weather was also lovely and once we found that our room was perfect and the hotel staff were awesome.

Pushkar is famous for it’s holy lake where you can receive a blessing down by the water’s edge which is supposed to bring you good karma. As we walked into the centre of the town we were handed some pretty little purple petals and told that they were what we were supposed to put into the water as we got blessed. In my heart of hearts I thought this would all be just another Indian money making scheme so we didn’t bother going for a blessing.

The town itself is pretty, with lots of buildings painted the holy colour of sky blue and plenty of camels walking the streets waiting for tourists to rent them and ride out into the desert. There was the usual plethora of holy cows and their crap filled the streets. The whole place is tourist friendly with lots of places to stay, tons of eateries and plenty of stalls selling all the usual toot . The vibe was pretty chilled a we felt a strange sense of relaxation that we hadn’t come to expect based on the other places we had visited thus far. Just outside our hotel was a sign telling us of all the do’s and don’ts that come with being in a very holy place. Being vegetarian was probably my only concern. Girls have to cover knees and shoulders and guys must dress appropriately. No meat though….I was a wee bit concerned for sure. As it happens there was no need to worry as to my surprise it turns out that you can make a meal that tastes very good without using any meat or egg…who knew?! Even a pizza with no meat went down just fine. From our hotel kitchen we were served all manner of veggie curries and different side dishes that ranged in spiciness. They all tasted fantastic and I was mildly worried that I may turn my back on meat forever, but that feeling passed as soon as we left Pushka, thank the Lord!!

All you need to know!

On one of our visits down to the bustling little town centre we were met by another chap who put some of the pretty petals in our hands and told us to go down to the water’s edge with the holy guys and get blessed. It was hot we were in good spirits and we thought, “Why come all the way here and not go through the experience?” Plus you get to have a big red dot put on your head. We had passed many tourists in the town with them already on. I was getting red dot envy!! We walked down to the lakes edge, took our flip flops off and were told by the men doing the blessings that we were to be blessed separately on different corners of the steps but only ten feet apart from one another. It was all quite funny and we felt OK because loads of people were getting similar treatment all up and down the lake. Oh, I forgot to mention that we had made a small donation on  the way down the steps just to keep everyone happy and so on. What happened next will blow your mind if you know me at all. I will describe what I could see and feel but it is like re-living a bad dream.

As the blessing started two guys, in holy robes of course, began by telling us that as our karma was individual we would have our blessings separately. One led me to one part of the ghat, and the other sat Naomi down about 50 feet away. The guy told me  that he was going to speak in Hindi and I was to repeat what he had said and then he would explain back to me in English. All good by me, and before the day was over just about my entire family was unknowingly going to receive a big slice of positive Karma all the way from India.

The man began reciting versus with me following in my best version of ‘parrott fashion’ Hindi. We passed Karma to Naomi and all of my immediate family. It felt good to be speaking a new and completely unknown language. It was turning out to be a very pleasant experience and with my red dot firmly placed in the centre of my brow I felt, for the first time, a connection with this, much quieter and holy part of India.

REALITY HITS: The Holy guy (he did tell me his name, as he is now my family priest in India, but I can’t remember it) starts telling me what we have said and how we have helped all of the people that we have mentioned in the prayer. He also tells me that I have agreed to give him 4000 Rupees (40 quid) for every person that we have blessed and that he will also need a donation for the upkeep of the lake and then a donation for him and his family as this is his only job and it doesn’t pay a wage. I was in shock as it dawned on me just what was going on. I was being stitched like a kipper!! My thoughts turned to Naomi as soon as I had completed the maths. He was looking for somewhere in the region of  300 pounds for the blessed family and another 30 quid for the lake costs as well as 25 quid for him and his family to eat and live. Apparently I had agreed to this deal and he kept impressing upon me that he had not asked for money, this is what I had agreed to under no pressure from him at all.

I’m going to describe the feeling as numb. I know what everyone reading this will say. Stand up, get Naomi and walk the hell out of there. Easy to say but there I was with him telling me that I had made a Holy promise and that Naomi would be doing the same. ‘Oh shit”, I thought. What had I got into here? There were guys that work with the Holy people all over our route back to the steps to the main street. This was a divide and conquer operation and I don’t think we were the first people that they had done this too! I couldn’t see Naomi or where the other priest had taken her. I just remember thinking that I wanted the ground to swallow me up and the anxiety levels were shooting through the roof. What had I said? Was it binding? Can I insult a holy man in India? Will it cause a massive, religious riot? Can I just stand up and walk away? Where was Naomi? Were they going to be funny with her if I didn’t pay? Were the big guys lining the steps all the heavies for these cheeky little priest thieves? My head was spinning so I told the priest that I didn’t even have that much money on me. He paused and looked at me as if I had just kicked his dog in the head. “But you made a holy promise, a holy vow…You knew how much money it was to bless each person because I told you at the start”. My arguing was poor and in my heart of hearts I knew, at that point that he had me by the short and curlies.

I know, I know what you are all saying. ‘Walk away’, right? I just couldn’t. I felt my stomach drop as I pulled out my wallet with him telling me that there was an ATM very close and that his friend would escort me there. All of a sudden there was a big guy standing right behind me to help me to the ATM. I thought of Naomi and our depleted traveling fund. I knew that there was no way I was giving this guy our money but how was I going to get us out of this?

Voices were getting raised now as I told him that I had not known what I was agreeing too. He told me that I had named and agreed the price as we were doing the blessing. It was a holy bond that he had not pushed on me at all and that I had to pay.

It’s amazing how small and lost you can feel when you are in a tough spot in someone elses country. A place where you are not sure of the rules or just how far people will go to get your money.I had no idea if kicking off would start some sort of massive holy offence to everyone that was there getting blessed. It leaves you in a very tough spot and I was really starting to swet and panic. He just kept going on and his mate was right on my shoulder. I was easily the biggest guy around that lake yet I felt like the smallest, the most foolish and that is exactly what they knew was going to happen to me, that’s what they banked on.

I only had 4000 Rupees on show in my wallet and without even thinking about it I was handing it over. The closer my hand went to handing over the money the more my stomach dropped. Why didn’t I just fight? Anywhere else with anyone else I would have just gone for it but this felt like the ‘holy thing’ had put a stop on my brain functioning correctly. Very hard to describe and not anything I had ever felt before in my life!! The 40 quid was handed to the hench man and then the priest saw the other compartment of my wallet had another 400 Rupees in it so he said I could hand that over and we would call it quits. The whole time this was happening was only minutes but it felt like years. I had a moment where I thought “OK, we have been done but from where we were to 45 quid for both of us to get the hell out of there? Yes, I was miffed and Naomi was going to go nuts but it was a tough spot. Maybe we could look back and laugh one day? Lets just get together and get going.

The guy walked off with the cash and then it began again. That was the blessings covered and the lake fund appeased…however, the priest had not had his wages paid, as I had promised!! He wanted another 2500 Rupees (25 quid). I told him that was all the cash we had so he would have to take his share out of that money already given. He told me that money was my donation to the lake’s upkeep and he needed more cash. By this time I was feeling sick. Every part of me that would normally fight had just rolled over and wanted to hide. He asked about getting money off Naomi and that’s when the blur of it all started to come into focus. I didn’t want them anywhere near her. I didn’t even know where she had gone so the fight or flight thing was in pure flight as I agreed to go to the cash machine.

The full shame of it hit as I stood in the ATM booth taking out more money that we could not afford at this late stage in the trip. What was Naomi going to say about this? Why could I not find the courage to just tell them to #uck themselves and do one? Writing this now it seems like such an easy thing to do and I know loads of people that we have met travelling would have just told them to piss off, but it just did not feel like an option at the time.

I walked back with his money and realized that Naomi was nowhere to be seen. I must admit that during this holiday I’ve pretty much been the best head of security ever but this day was a massive day off I’m afraid. I asked them where she was and they said that she was just around the corner. They even had the cheek to ask me if I was happy and that they said that I had chosen how much money to give them so they had no bad feelings about what was happening.

I found Naomi sat on the floor looking out across the lake. She looked at me with a very confused smile as her priest came and asked for his wages and payment for the blessings. At last I began to come back to planet earth and take that stupid, rabbit in headlights look off my face. I told him that there was no way that we were paying another penny and that he needed to take his share from the lake fund or my priest. He was not happy with this and started to explain that everyone pays for themselves. That promises, holy promises had been made. He then put his hand on Naomi’s shoulder as we tried to walk away. That was all I needed as, at last the brain kicked in and the guns got pumped. Not a very good idea to put your hands on my girl!! I told him to do one and to take his hand off her. It was fighting time and with Naomi’s backing we both started to tell these mugs where to go with their blessing. As the temperature rose one of the hench men types said something to the priest in Hindi (‘We’ve got enough off this fool’, probably) and he backed away and we made our escape back to the main street.

I was furious now, far too little and far too late. Naomi looked stunned when I told her the extent off my balls up. With blood pressures rising and the realization of what had just happened I only had one thought, cigarette!! Nearly a month to the day since I had quit cold turkey and it was all I could think about. We decided to have a drink somewhere quiet and reflect on another shit day in India. Two drags on the fag and I knew that that was not going to help in any way so I put it out and gave the pack away with 19 smokes still inside, good riddance!! We had already planned to climb up to a temple on top of a mountain, and the 2-hour hike up there helped me get rid of some of my frustration. By the time I was at the top my head finally felt clear and I could appreciate the beautiful views over Pushkar and its lake.

Naomi forgave me for my cowardice but it will take a few years till I let myself off. Such a surreal experience and such  out of the ordinary behavior from me. Quite inexplicable really but a positive did come from it all….I refused to let Indian get the better of me or us again. The gloves were off and no more would I be a passenger on the Indian rip-off or pressure train. It was time for me to show India that this traveling man was not to be messed with. Little did I know the effect that this experience would have on the rest of our time in India!!

Between the train ride with the hockey teams and being conned in Pushkar, I’d experienced the extremes of the best and worst of India…at this point my feelings about the country were 50/50. Who knew which side I would come down on?

Ps- Pushkar is gorgeous and well worth a visit!

Pushkar Lake

Back Into Chaos

Iain:

We had not achieved some of the goals that we had in Nepal because of various poorly timed health issues but it had been nice to relax after the two week of our chaotic introduction to India. The pace of life in Nepal was much much slower and the streets were a lot calmer. With my ‘normality’ compass re-set to the North of inner calm we prepared ourselves to, once again take on India.

The journey back to the border at Sunauli was not a trip that we were looking forward to re-living after the 11 hour debacle on the way in, but we had a much bigger bus this time with leg room and reclining chairs and everything the other bus lacked. The man at the bus stop was very helpful, he called us over and we double, triple checked that this was indeed the correct bus to get us to the Sunauli border crossing. He and the baggage guy were nodding like crazy each time I clarified that this buses last stop was SUNAULI. It got to the point where they looked bored of my repeated inquiry so, safe in the knowledge that this was the correct bus, we got on and relaxed.

As we got off the bus in LUMBINI, apparently this bus’s final stop, confusion reigned. Every other person was happy as that is where they were supposed to be but we were a bit confused. I spoke to the baggage man as he lifted our bags out of the bus. I told him that he may as well leave them in there as we were going to Sunauli now everyone else had been dropped off! The awkward smile I received in return made me realize that the bus was not moving anywhere. This was indeed the last stop and we were advised, in very limited English, that we could catch a local bus to the border and it would take around an hour to get there. Further inquiries into what the hell was going on left me looking for the man who had taken our tickets but he had upped and vanished like a fart in the wind. We were not in the mood to mess about as we didn’t know what time the border crossing shut and our visas were running out that day, so we bit the bullet and got in a taxi. It cost another tenner but we were at the border half an hour later. I have no idea what cock-up had happened with the bus but I think the travel agency knew that the likely hood of us popping back to complain was extremely low.

We were praying that the crossing would be smooth. We had read a few horror stories from travel folk about their experiences trying to get back into India but, as I said to Naomi “we have had our one bit of bad luck with the bus. The rest will be plain sailing because good things do happen to good people!” I was right. Back into India with no problems at all. All that we needed now was a bus to Gorakhpur then a train straight out to Delhi.

Time was slightly against us now with the few setbacks en route so rather than wait around for a local bus that could take God knows how long to get us to Gorakphur we decided to go the two or so hours by taxi. IWe were both in the mood where our own comfy seats and no other people seemed worth the extra cost. Our driver was awesome and really friendly. To make up for the car’s lack of air-con, he would periodically open his door fully, hang out of it and spit out the lung butter that he had just spent the last five minutes summoning from the depths of his body with loud snorts and coughs (all without slowing down at all of course). Not the most romantic car journey we have ever shared!! As darkness fell I thought turning the car lights on may help us to avoid some of the increasingly frequent ‘near misses’ with other vehicles, people and animals alike, but that must have just been me being a big old worry wart, still clinging to all of the health and safety nonsense from back home. Don’t forget that there were no street lights on any of the roads we used either so it does leave the burning question, are car lights just a useless add on?!!

At Gorakphur train station, it happened again!! I realized that I hate India. The plan was to get straight on an overnight train to Delhi and avoid spending any time here. The first time that we had passed through left me with an initial impression of the place that was, wholeheartedly confirmed on our re-visit: the filth, the noise, the animals walking around eating out of the bins or the large piles of rubbish that are everywhere on the street, the constant stares from the huge number of people all pushing and elbowing their way to their destination and the refusal of the temperature and humidity to drop even though night has fallen. We just wanted to get the hell out of there.

We went into the main station to be met by the usual high volume of people, some laying on the floor some on blankets eating with their families. Carrying the bags and being constantly scrutinized really makes you aware of the closeness and lack of space you have. Looking around to try and find a ticket office, departure board or just a helpful member of staff is quite an ordeal. After some time Naomi found out that the ticket office was not even in the station. We realized how foolish we had both been. Why would you put the ticket office in the train station? You would, suuuurely put it some 500 metres down the street in a part of town filled with homeless people, no street lights, nowhere near the station and not put up even one signpost to let people know of its whereabouts….our error really!!! The kind man that provided us with this valuable information also told us that the office closed at 11pm so we were looking good to get away this evening although the comfort level of our journey would depend on what seats were available.

I don’t know if you remember but earlier in this post I had told Naomi that being dropped 50 kms from the border was our one bit of bad luck used and gone…I was wrong.

We walked past the homeless people as they calmly tried to decipher what these two Goras (foreigners) were arguing about. In actual fact I was suggesting to Naomi that no-one in their right mind would put a ticket office in this place and Naomi was just correcting me and telling me that this was the directions that she had been given. Sound a lot calmer sitting writing about it but at the time we were much more animated I assure you. We found it and it was doing a very good impression of a being an empty building. It was indeed the ticket office but on a Sunday it closes at 2pm. That must be to respect the wishes of the 0.00002% of the population that’s Christian!!

With tempers returning to def con 1 we realized that we would be spending the night in Gorakphur. The guide book says that there are many cheap hotels just opposite the train station so we went to check on availability.

“No”. Naomi’s reaction to the first room she viewed in cockroach city. We didn’t have high expectations as the place is a proper dump but we didn’t want to sleep in a room that looked like it had been used in the Saw films. The guys looked massively offended that we were not happy with the room but we have toughened up enough to walk away if it’s a real shit hole. The next place was what I thought was a room out of the Saw films but Naomi assured me that compared with the last place this was like the Ritz. Realizing that options were going to be limited we took it and decided to pay a little extra for air con. We were hot and pissed off so we deserved it. Exhausted, we flopped onto the bed and made use our trusty air con…….after the sparks died down and the fire had gone out I went and asked the owner if we could move to a room with a non exploding a/c unit!!

The next morning we were up early and off to the ticket office. No way were we staying another night. Even trying to find a place that served food that didn’t look like it was going to kill you or serve out of bowls and pans that looked like they had been washed at least once this century was almost impossible. We queued in the line that had ‘tourist’ written above it. Our turn came after only two or three people had pushed in the queue ahead of us (that’s pretty good) and we asked the elderly man for 2 tickets to Delhi, 2 a/c class. That means two tiers of beds with air con. He looked on his screen and started to write out our tickets for us. When he said the price it seemed rather cheap so we inspected the ticket and saw that he had put us in ‘sleeper class’. When we pointed this out to him he seemed most offended and and rudely gestured that that was all there was. We were cool with that but he just had not mentioned it when writing our ticket. While this was going on people had seen that we had our tickets which meant that we were now just an obstacle to get round. Where are we up to on India travel 101 – point 9 now?

9) Never actually leave a queue until you have what you came for. Indian people can re-enter at the point from which they left but YOU must go to the back or receive many scornful looks.

On the walk back to the hostel we reflected on how it could be worse. Most hotels check you out at between 9 and 11am, this place although dingy was 24 hour so we had the room until 9pm. Our train was at 5pm so we could hide in the room and watch TV until we had to leave. Up until now we had only been eating junk food for 24 hours. With the prospect of the overnight train journey looming we decided that we would take snacks on the train but we needed a meal of some description before we left Gorakphur. Flicking through the Lonely Planet guide we realized that, like the accommodation, good food was going to be tough to find. We walked up the street and amongst all the rubbish bags, cows, beggars, street vendors and tuk tuks, found a small place that looked cleanish. The food was lovely but we decided not to take them up on their continued efforts to cool us down by drinking the tap water. Not the best idea out here!!

Once onto the train we realized that the ordeal of Gorakphur was behind us but we now had a new phenomena to deal with. That’s correct, we were sharing our seats and beds with not 1 but 2 entire teenage hockey teams…yay!!! They were on their way to a tournament just outside Delhi. If your not a Bollywood star or a Cricket player out here then the next best career is to be a hockey star.

The first hour was tense. Lots of staring and whispering from at least 25 pairs of eyes, poking out from every corner of the carriage. Laughter would normally follow but no words were exchanged. It was pretty much as uncomfortable as you could want a situation to be, compounded by the obese random on the end of our seat who insisted on traveling with his shoes and socks off. They stared at us occasionally pretending to take photos of each other but pointing the cameras at us also. They stared and stared….they whispered and laughed. We looked everywhere accept at them…the floor, the window, the no smoking sign on the carriage, sometimes each other. They would talk and shout but go quiet when we talked to one another. It is hard not knowing who speaks how much English but at this point I realized two facts: 1) this was awkward on a whole new level and 2) we still had 13 hours to go until we reached Delhi!!

We will let you know how it ended on the next blog. Naomi says anything over 2000 words and you loose interest……what? You want to read how it ends now? Sure? You’ve got a little more read left in you? OK, I am, as always at your command.

It was one of the funniest nights of the whole trip. Once one of the boys spoke to us it was like the flood gates opened. They were loud and funny. Mocking each other constantly, introducing us to each member of the team. There were a lot of photos taken as they rotated around the carriage and got their shot with me and the girl. This went on for hours. They asked us everything, where we lived, where we worked, were we married, was it a ‘love marriage’ or arranged. We told them we were married and all the boys, some 40+ took it in turns to shake my hand. They asked if we had kids, why we didn’t have kids, where we had been, where were we going….endless questions, giggling and photographing. The boys asked me about the size of my arms and what the ‘secret’ was to being so large, and Naomi spied them discussing the size of my neck as they held their hands against their own and tried to do a mental comparison. We listened as they gave us their stories and every 15 minutes or so they would rotate seats and new faces would appear with new questions. Some of them asked to add me on Facebook, and after I tentatively said OK, they spent a good hour looking through mine and Naomi’s photos, saving their favourites to their phones (!) The Indian boys poked fun of two of the other boys who were much darker skinned than them which left them in hysterics but Naomi and I were unsure if laughing was the appropriate response from us. They all seemed to be having the time of their lives but this had been going on for about 4 hours now.

We whispered to each other, trying to figure out how many beds there were and how many kids. We had 6 beds in  our section but there was Me, Naomi, the fat man and around 15 kids sat on the seats and each other. Space was tight but in an amazing turn of luck the fat man had no ticket and had been free rolling until the guard took him off. We had more room at last…until three more kids saw the new gap and filled it with…..themselves!!!

We decided to make a stand and told the boys we wanted to put the beds down. As quick as a flash they were all off and putting them down for us. They were so lovely and helpful and we relaxed and congratulated ourselves on giving the boys the flick, safe in the knowledge that they would return to their carriages and we were going to be getting some sleep soon!??

Question, how many Indian teenagers can squeeze onto a one man bed with me? Answer, 6!! Question, how many Indian teenagers would dare to sleep on a bed with Naomi? Answer, 1, the cheeky git. Not one moment of the rest of the train ride was I alone on that bed. They did quieten down after a few complaints from other passengers but the new game seemed to be how many kids could actually keep any part of their body in contact with me while I tried to sleep. I had hands on my feet, I had backs resting on my legs, I had a head resting on my shoulder and the feet of the boys perching on the bunk above were in my face. You know what…I didn’t mind one little bit. Naomi was not that bothered either. It was actually quite nice having them around and keeping an eye on us and our stuff as we slept. For the first time since we set foot in India I felt relaxed.

They were gone when I woke in the morning and it was only an hour until we reached Delhi so Naomi and I discussed some of the highlights from the evening and laughed about the whole randomness of it all. What I did not know at that point was that talking to those young guys and seeing how they interacted with us, each other and other passengers on the train had actually taught me a few lessons about Indian people that I had never spent enough time with anyone to notice.

I’ve made no bones about my dislike of India thus far but, unknown to us there was to be one more extreme horror moment that had me reaching for the cigarettes after a month of cold turkey and turning my back on India forever….but first, Delhi!!

Peeking Mountains in Pokhara

Naomi:

It was 9 days before we were healthy enough to make it out of Kathmandu, which meant we only had a few days left before our Nepal visas expired. We decided to head to Pokhara for a few days and chill – the lakeside town promised to be picturesque and another great location to admire the Himalayas visible from the town.

Two Aussie guys, Geoff and Stu, also staying at our hostel, were catching the bus. As with most stories that begin with ‘Two Aussie guys’, this one ended of course in drunken debauchery. We’d got chatting with them on the bus ride, and ended up at the same guest house, so of course in the evening we all went out for a few beers and some food. It had been a while since Iain and I had had other ‘backpacker’ human contact, and we were pretty grateful. With an 11pm town-wide curfew and two Aussies in tow, this soon became a hilarious ‘How quickly can we get sh*tfaced?’ contest. We ate at a busy little restaurant, filled to the rafters with tour groups of different nationalities. Midway through the meal, Stuart decided that to blag some free drinks, he would stage a fake public proposal to me, accompanied by an ad-lib rap. I am not good at acting and felt instantly panicked and sweaty, and pleaded with him not to do it, but Iain was egging him on and so my wide-eyed horror was brushed aside. He swiftly stood up and announced to the entire restaurant that he’d asked me to marry him, which was met with a round of applause, while I buried my face in my hands totally mortified. I’m really not a good liar. The rap only heightened the pain of the experience for me/enjoyment for Iain and Geoff. I can’t remember all of it, but it definitely ended with something about him having a weeping eye problem. Iain, the little toad, slid his fake wedding ring across the table and Stuart did the whole ‘ring-on-the-finger’ thang, which I had no real option other than to play along with. The Chinese/Japanese tour contingent were LOVING it, and I’m sure it will end up on YouTube somewhere. They came over super excited, shaking our hands and asking for photos. It was made all the more awkward/bizarre given that Stu had very loudly chatted up the waitress only moments before – god knows what she made of it all! Thankfully the Aussie tour group next to us didn’t buy a word of it, and were heckling Stuart from the get-go. I think we may have got a free tequila out of the situation, but I don’t really remember. We made a pretty hasty exit after that, and went to another bar for a few more much-needed tequilas. We left the guys propping up the bar, and headed for sleep.

The next day their room was empty and being cleaned – it turned out that while we were sleeping like cherubs there had been some kind of alcohol-fuelled misunderstanding/disagreement between the guys and the hostel owner involving door slamming, Stu nearly falling over the balcony of the courtyard and the boys filming the hostel owner threatening him with TripAdvisor. It ended with the boys leaving/being thrown out and the next day the hostel owner looked a mix of peeved and sheepish, and the boys couldn’t really remember what happened! All in a night’s work lads!

Having resigned ourselves to not being able to trek, we had nothing on the agenda really other than mooching and visiting local places. We took a walk down to Pokhara lake (with me avoiding any familiar-looking Asian tourists), which is beautifully nestled into the Himalayas. It’s supposed to be an absolutely stunning view, but as our Nepal luck would have it, Pokhara was completely and utterly covered in a 20-Tog blanket of cloud and we could only see the surrounding hills. *In a game show host voice* “This is what we could have won!…”

Pokhara Lake, courtesy of Wallcoo.com

This is what we actually got…close, but not the one! I don’t think Iain actually believed the mountains were really there!

Pokhara Lake, courtesy of HimalayaHive.com

We spent a few afternoons musing the lack of view at any of the number of perfectly placed lakeside cafes. In the evenings we met up with the Aussie boys a few more times, including one night where Stuart very bravely got up at an open mic night and rocked out some of his own music – that guy has no fear! Whilst eating dinner with them one night we watched a woman rock up to a tree on the pavement and hug it for about 20 minutes, which made for great people watching – Nepal and India are full of very entertaining hippy-types (or ‘Beardy-Weirdy Bendy ‘Ohmm’ Folk’ as Iain calls them). And last but not least we took a trip up to the nearby World Peace Pagoda, on top of a hill overlooking the lake, where we spent even more time willing the thick cloud to ‘do one’ so we’d get a glance of the mountains that Iain was beginning to think were a conspiracy theory!

Pokhara World Peace Pagoda, courtesy of LetsTourNepal.com

The stupa is living testament to the fact that the quest of peace never has run smooth; originally planned and started in 1947, the Stupa became the subject of a long battle between the instigator Nichidatsu Fijii and the Nepal government, and it was later ordered to be destroyed, and only successfully rebuilt in the 90s.

Far too soon our time in Nepal was up. We both sat at the sleeper-bus stop feeling like we really only scratched (maybe even just skimmed) the surface of this stunning country, and just as we were waiting with a cup of chai a tiny gap emerged in the clouds and the Himalayas peeked through, winking at us as if to say ‘Here all along suckers!’ I took this as a cosmic invite to return one day!

Kathmandu: Conches, Convalescing and Mt Everest

Naomi:

We were just about as relieved as anyone has ever been to finally be off the tinny little bone rattler that had crawled its way to Kathmandu, and into the wonderful hospitality of our hostel and the slightly madcap owner. The wonder of Nepal lay before us, but unfortunately it became clear the next day that Iain’s back was worse than we thought. We’d have to medicate, heat pack and wait it out, but as he was unable to walk more than a few hundred metres, I think we both new straight away that trekking in the Himalayas was sadly not going to happen. On this trip at least. It was one of the more frustrating destinations for it to be flaring up, but we’d been lucky it had only been this bad once before in Argentina, so really the glass is half full.

Thankfully our hostel was a comfy place to rest up and Kathmandu on the whole was a LOT calmer than India had been, which made it easier to mosey around. The few hundred metres around our hotel offered a selection of cafes and more tempting souvenirs than you could shake a mountain yak at! There were all kinds of exotic looking trinkets and treasures on offer, and as we slowly strolled looking for somewhere for dinner we agreed “No buying souvenirs on the first night…we’ll look around.” Yeah….we made it past a few shops before one in particular caught our eye and we ‘just popped in for a look’. There were all manner of Tibetan Buddhist and Hindu related things: prayer wheels, singing bowls, conch shells, statues. Next thing we knew we were eyeing up pretty decorated Conch shells, inlaid with decorated silver and studded with turquoise and coral. The shop owner was a very friendly and chatty guy, and very good at his job. He saw Iain fawning over one conch and beckoned him over to admire the selection of high-end pieces underneath the counter. I’m not really sure what happened, but while I was doing the usual ‘let’s have a think about it’ routine, Iain fell head over heels in love with an enormous one-off bejewelled conch. This was the Snoop Dog of all conches; covered in turquoise and coral, encrusted with emeralds and rubies, and has Ganesh in silver on the front. It weighs the same as a small child – I need two hands to pick it up. If it was a man it would have gold teeth. a long fur coat and loafers made from gophers. The shopkeeper put it to his mouth and blew a hearty, manly trumpet and I swear to god, in that moment I’ve never seen Iain look at anything with such fixation…not even a burger.

We weren’t really looking at buying it, it was of course waaaaaaaaayyyyyyy out of our price range (not to mention the most impractical thing to carry around for another two months), we were simply enjoying some mutual conch appreciation with the owner. He’d started the conversation by explaining that in high-season he would sell it for around $600, but now as it was quiet and he was looking for some cash as a big festival was coming up, he was only (!) asking for $350. When he suggested we make an offer, we reiterated that there was no way, we simply wouldn’t want to offend him with what we could afford. We thanked him and said we would look at something a little smaller/less pimped, and began looking at some other designs, while Iain murmured to me words I never imagined coming out of his mouth, “I want the one with the rubies and emeralds!” The shop owner could clearly see that Iain was transfixed, in the heat of a Conch crush, and just when we were looking close to sealing a deal on another less-fun conch, he brought The Snoop out again and said he would sell it to us for only a few bucks more than the one we were looking at. I’m not really sure who scored the deal, and I guess it doesn’t really matter, but somehow, we ended up walking away with the pimped out emerald-encrusted conch, for a teensy fraction of his starting price. This was still a lot more than we would ever normally spend on a souvenir, but what can I say? We were under the spell of the Conch, and now we would just have to face the conch-equences…….

Ooops!

The next few days were spent resting up in the room, hoping that Iain’s back would improve. Once again, copious amounts of very cheap prescription painkillers helped, but even so, it wasn’t improving fast. I kept myself amused for hours by exploring the many different shops selling a cornucopia of cashmere and pashmina shawls, tapestries, jewellery, tea leaves and soaps. It is really amazing how long I can spend shopping! It’s a good thing Iain was there to bring my purchases back to, or I might have bought something really gaudy and impractical…oh no wait, we already did that.

We only had two weeks in Nepal, and both of us were getting really frustrated at being stuck in the room. We knew we weren’t going to get trekking, so decided to throw budget-caution to the wind and treat ourselves to a scenic flight over the Himalayas – it was time to see Everest baby! We set off for the airport in the early morning and then it was straight onto a tiny little 20-seater plane. We soared up and through the clouds, until all we could see were mountains. the view was just stunning. Gosaithan, Dorje Lhakpa, Phurbi Chyachu, Choba Bhamare, Gaurishanker, Melungtse, Chugimago, Numbur, Karyolung, Cho-Oyu, Gyachungkang, Pumori, Nuptse (I will definitely not remember any of these, so gotta note them down!) As Everest came into view, everyone took it in turns to go into the cockpit and take some snaps. It was mind boggling to be in the comfort of a little plane, and within twenty minutes staring at the world’s highest mountain at 8,848 metres, and a peak that continues to take the lives of countless adventurers. Very surreal and breathtaking…and no there’s definitely not any danger of either of us about to start training for a summit attempt!

We got some amazing shots, but they’re on the scuppered memory card, so I’ve borrowed some piccies for now – you’ll all just have to enjoy/be subjected to the slideshow when we get back home….mwa ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

 

The morning of the flight I started feeling a little off, and not long after we got back from one of the most majestic experiences in the entire world, all intestinal hell broke loose. This is the perennial paradox of travelling in Asia. We were foolishly low on supplies, but I was sure it was just a flash in the pan…..sorry, couldn’t resist. Having been cooped up for so many days, I popped a pooper-stopper and insisted that we take a sunset trip up to Swayambhunath (aka the Monkey Temple) – an ancient hilltop Tibetan Buddhist temple with a huge white-domed stupa painted with the Buddha’s eyes and decorated with colourful prayer flags. It was, I think, my favourite temple of our trip so far. The views across the sprawling Kathmandu were fantastic, and we loved the monkeys causing mischief from every corner. There were prayer wheels lining the walls, waiting to be spun, and monks going about their daily rituals. Peaceful mantra music played across the main , maybe more for the visitors now, but it definitely set the scene. Even the souvenir shops seemed somehow complementary, with their abundance of Buddhist and Hindu trinkets and lines of painted puppets waiting to come to life. We watched the sun go down, and then threw some coins into the ‘World Peace’ wishing well before heading home.

Unfortunately despite this peaceful, purifying experience, the devil remained firmly in my insides, and by the evening I had a temperature that Iain claims could have cooked an egg on my ample forehead. He was in fact so concerned that he stayed up with me all night to keep an eye on me – serious brownie points scored! At the crack of dawn he was off to fetch me medicine from the hotel owner, and as soon as the shops were open he ventured out to get everything we needed. He’s a good egg really. (I’m not gonna lie, at this point and after the Bangkok Vomcano debacle, I was slightly concerned that the next two months were going to be a tour of Asia’s bathrooms, but touch wood, since then we’ve both been fine!)

Four days later, and one whole week after we arrived in Kathmandu, we were finally well enough to leave the hostel for more than an hour at a time. Not yet having the energy for local buses, we hired a car and took a day trip to Bhaktapur, a World Heritage Site full of ornate buildings, religious monuments and wood carvings: generally an interesting and pretty place to spend a few hours. The end of the day was supposed to be spent driving up to a town called Nargakot to get a wonderful view of sunset over the Himalayas, however as we made the rather treacherous climb, rain-clouds descended and by the time we arrived we couldn’t see anything. Not even a smidgen of a mountain. There was instead a Nepali telecoms company throwing a corporate event which had turned into a BBQ in the rain – perhaps we weren’t so far from home after all?

xxx

Durbar Square – Wikipedia

Changu Narayan Temple – Wikipedia

‘Nipping’ To Nepal…

Iain:

So I think I have made my first impressions of India very clear. After the first two weeks of non-stop madness and feeling very much like a poppadom out of pickle, I was starting to think that all the world travelling had had no effect on toughening me up at all. How very disappointing!!! Nepal was a complete unknown to me also. I was thinking that if it was going to be anything like our first experience of India then this was going to be a very long run in until home time.

We were leaving Varanasi and you would think that after our blog about the place that we would be running out of there, but I think that we were starting to acclimatize, not to the weather but to the people, sounds and smells that are the everyday life and attitudes of the Indians.

Getting to Kathmandu, Nepal’s capital city was going to be fairly easy from Varanasi. “It’s just across the border”, I thought. We would be taking: a Tuk-Tuk to the station, an overnight train to Gorakhpur, a bus from Gorakhpur to Sunali- border crossing on foot from India to Nepal and then a bus once into Nepal to Kathmandu. The whole trip would be taking around 16 hours in total…unless there were any problems along the way?!!

Going to a train station for the first time in India is probably one of the single most daunting things we have had to do on our epic holiday. Now, in some stations they have tried to be helpful and support the lowly tourist by putting in a ‘tourist information’ or ‘tourist ticket booking office’ which is normally in a different part of the station to the locals’ ticket queues. Not all stations have these so you may end up in a queue with ‘THE MOB’. Quick deviation for some India 101.

QUEUES AND TICKET BUYING IN INDIA – for the beginner:

1) The line will be noisy and people will just stare at you. Now this may be from as much as 50 feet away or it may be as little as 5 inches away. The stare may vary both in intensity and length. It may also be accompanied by the starer nudging a friend or friends that he\she is with in order for them to join and double up the stare. Occasionally all of this will be followed with grinning or/and laughter directed your way.

2) Staring back whether in a smiley or confrontational way will make no difference to factors in point 1 at all, and you will be the only person that ends up feeling awkward.

3) Indian people in general, especially the women, will go to the front of the queue or push in in front of you without so much as a word. Tutting or exhaling deeply as a show of your disgust will be neither registered or acknowledged so give it up.

4)  Pushing, jostling and heavy bodily contact in the queue is totally acceptable. Being elbowed or trodden on becomes a show of affection!

5)  Just because someone appears to have understood your request or can speak pretty good English does not guarantee that they have the first clue what you have asked for, so triple check and read the ticket before exiting the queue.

6) THE MOST IMPORTANT RULE- Do not, under any circumstances push in, stare at people, tread on, elbow or push back when nudged!! YOU ARE NOT INDIAN AND THIS IS DEEMED AS VERY RUDE BEHAVIOUR!!! Doing so will only multiply the stare-factor outlined in point one, tenfold.

Our Tuk Tuk ride to the station left us with the usual pain in the ass due the ever increasing number of pot holes in the roads. To be fair most of them look more like bomb craters and if you don’t pay attention or bounce yourself at the right moment of contact then great pain will come your way. The train station, in contrast looked very well maintained. More like an old fort with battlements and towers on its roof. We got the usual stares and looks as we walked in, but by now were starting to get used to it, and if you smile at the right time then most peoples stares will turn into a very modest, almost shy smile in return and if your lucky the famous Indian head wiggle may follow. The train station itself is actually extremely easy to use as long as you can read English. The large digital boards with train times, names and platforms on rotates from Hindi to English every minute or so. Even I could find my way around. I proudly stepped forward and found our train and platform number. I excitedly relayed the information to Naomi with great confidence, this was met with the visual equivalent of a pat on the head.

There are many classes of carriage on the trains ranging from 500 people stuffed like goats into one car, to a private, two-bed cabin with full air conditioning. It all depends which train you are on and how much you are willing to pay. Our general rule of thumb is: if it’s over a 6 hour journey time then we will try and get something with air con but maybe in a car with 6 other people. India is cheap but if you want to travel a long way in style then you will be parting with 20 quid plus. Not much to a holiday maker but to us, a small fortune. As we sat on the platform waiting for our train I was approached by a Hispanic looking lady who asked if we were going to Kathmandu. I said that we were and she asked if she could sit with me. It must be pretty scary doing India on your own especially as a single female so I said ‘no problem!’. Naomi returned from double checking the board to see if our train had changed platform…Oh, bear with me. Should have put that in 101.

7) If  you have checked the board for the platform that your train is arriving at be aware that this may change at any time. The best indicator is that another train will arrive at roughly the same time at your platform or a train sitting on your platform has a different number on its side to that on your ticket. The change may well have been put over the loud speaker, in English but at a busy train station you will struggle to hear the notification so stay alert!!

It turns out that the platform had changed but only to the one behind us, so drama averted. I introduced Naomi to Christina who as it turned out is actually from Venezuela. They had a good old gas bag as girls do and I had a chat with a German guy that had sat next to me on the platform floor. This was the first time in weeks that we had seen and spoke to other travelers as everyone in India seems to keep themselves to themselves. A phenomena that we observed in New Zealand also..odd!! The train pulled up and Naomi and I found our car and room. It was right next door to Christina but we had a room to ourselves where as she was sharing with 3 older Indian guys. We had not payed that much for our tickets so we were surprised that we had our own room. I say room…pretty dirty, pretty smelly with a fan blowing air down onto the fold out upholstery that would be our beds for the evening. We did have a western toilet on our car so Naomi was happy. I believe she may have already discussed the issues for a lady using a squat toilet on a moving train in a previous post.. We settled in and I quickly popped my head into Christina’s car to make sure she was doing OK with her new room mates.

We both slept OK, Naomi up top and me on the bottom bunk. The only issue that we had was knowing when we were at the right stop to get off. In fact, this should be point 8:

8) Your expected arrival time, as printed on your ticket, is really only a ‘guideline’, and can change by anything up to a few hours without announcement. Furthermore, no announcements are made when the train pulls in at a station – you just have to be aware that the train is not moving, and go and check where the hell you are!

We had a rough time of arrival but was that in real time or the slightly more relaxed and much less accurate Indian time? After a few false alarms and some help from a few very helpful Indian gentlemen we knew it was our stop and time to get on with the next leg of the mission. So far so good!!

Gorakhpur looked like the kind of place that we didn’t want to hang around in. Essentially, the only jewel in its crown was the station. Everything else looked frantic, filthy and even less appealing than Varanasi to be honest: too many people, too much rubbish, too many cows and cow shits, and too much traffic all crowded in one main, dust-filled street.

Forgive me for this quick interlude but I have to say, for myself in the future and posterity of the memories, at this point I really don’t like India. I’m going to be totally honest and use the word hate. Naomi has had to put up with Mr Negative for the last few weeks and I thank her for that because I have been a nightmare ever since we got here. I really want to just pack up and go home. We are on the last of our money and I really don’t want to spend it here being miserable and not wanting to leave the room. I don’t get India and I don’t get Indians and every moment of our day is hard work under the always watchful eyes of….everyone!!!

Catching a local bus out of Gorakhpur was easy enough so Naomi, Christina and I all took the next two and a half hours to chill as we were transported to the Nepal border. When we arrived at Sunauli we were advised to get a rickshaw the 600 metres or so to the border but we elected to walk it.. The sun was smashing down and carrying the bags left us all a bit sweaty. As we reached the Indian exit office we were dripping and covered in the dust that the lorries had been throwing up as they beeped their way up to the border crossing. Every border that we have crossed has been like a little town; loads of little business people grabbing the opportunity to help you across or change money for you, sell you tickets or get you into a cab. You can buy snacks from the shops or duty free cigs or alcohol. A whole industry started because of this man made line between two countries. It’s always got its fair share of beggars and street kids and in my personal opinion the most untrustworthy types you’re likely to come across. But boy have they got some chat on them. Best salesmen ever and they normally speak several languages and know all the quick one liners from each country, especially London. I never want to tell them that very few people in London actually say “lovely jubbly.”

We got stamped out of India with no issues and crossed the border. after checking that we could return in two weeks on our double-entry visa (we’d heard some horror stories about being forced to pay lots of money or reapply). 20 minutes and a few forms later we were stamped into Nepal. It was all almost worryingly easy!!

An equally busy cluster of industry met us as we walked into Nepal. Lots of people selling lots of things. All we needed was a bus to Kathmandu but who to go with? Who to trust that your paying the right price for a good service? You just have to go with your gut. There was a bus waiting and the guy said that it was leaving soon. I took a look on the bus to check the standard and was met by 40 plus pairs of Indian eyes. We figured that if they had all got on then it must be OK. Lots of Indian people go to Nepal on their holibobs, which makes sense. We got our tickets and took up the last few seats on the most highly decorated bus we have ever seen in our lives. Neon lights, mirrored ceiling mounts a shrine to one of the many different Gods worshipped out in this part of the world. It was all a bit gaudy 80’s but we were only going to be on it for 5-6 hours and that was good because we were crammed in like sardines with no leg or head room.

As the journey wound its way up steep hills and through beautiful mountains we realized that Nepal really is as gorgeous as people had said. The scenery was jaw dropping. It was almost beautiful enough to distract us from the insane driving, huge drop offs and the lack of space that was now beginning to make my back kill and my legs go numb. No matter, we had been going for a few hours now so not long to go. The belly gauge was also starting to read empty as we had ran out of the few snacks that we had brought along. The water had ran out completely which was really bad in the heat of the bus. I was sure I had packed enough water for us. We ended up sharing some of Christina’s. Every time the bus stopped we hoped it was for a food break but it never came, although the stops came thick and fast. We never went more than twenty minutes without a stop for the nature toilet at the side of the road or for someone to get off or on the bus. We now had people standing in the aisles the bus was so full. Sometimes we just stopped and no one got on or off or anything. With no air con we were hot so I opened my window but the man next to me was not happy with this so he leaned across me, without a word and closed it. Later, when he fell asleep, I opened it again only to have it closed when he awoke. I found this a bit funny so I looked at him giggling in my friendly manner…I was met with a stare that could have killed a camel and the general body language suggested that maybe I was wrong. It turns out that it was not that funny at all…my mistake.

11 hours later we completed the 255kms (you do the maths!!) and arrived in Kathmandu around midnight. As I unfolded myself out of the seat I could see my body shape imprinted on the 80’s coloured velour. After 11 hours of being squashed in there I could even just  make out a line in the fabric where my spine had rested. My back was fooked to be honest.  I got off the bus and blood started pumping its way back into body parts that had gone white with neglect. As  pins and needles set in all over I realized that standing up straight was not an option without extreme pain. We grabbed the bags and looked around for some idea of where we were. It was really dark but we could make out a few taxis in the corner of the ‘bus stop’?! Christina had no hostel booked but we were on the ball so we got a taxi together and made our way to ‘Elbrus Home’. We had informed the owner that we would arrive around 7pm but the bus had taken so log that we just hoped he would be up to let us in. He was pretty sleepy but we got our room and Christina got a room too so everyone went for showers and sleep. The shower water ran black with the filth we’d been caked in en route. The 26 hour, Tuk-Tuk, train, bus, border crossing, bus, taxi journey was over on just two bags of crisps each and two bottles of water between us!! The next morning I opened my day bag and found a full, unopened litre and a half bottle of water that I had insisted didn’t exist…Naomi saw the funny side?!!

Very Noisy Varanasi

Naomi:

Varanasi was so bonkers words almost fail me. A tuk-tuk driver took us to a cheap guesthouse (we were too tired to care about the commission saga), on a street under the constant deluge of beeping cars, trucks, buses, mopeds, cyclos, tuk-tuks, people, goats, dogs and a hefty number of holy heifers. A friendly chap ushered us down a narrow winding alley, advising in the wonderful Indian accent, “Many holy cows, be careful the shit!” And he was right, even in this, the narrowest of alleys, there were the wonderfully aromatic anal expulsions dotting the pavements and walls. (I don’t mind it so much, but Iain has a habit of stepping in the fresh ones – although as one Indian chap pointed out, “No problem, now you covered in Holy Shiit!”) Having to circumnavigate the rear end of cows is troublesome, but in an alleyway, a downright terrifying prospect.

As we checked in to the guesthouse I realised that the owner was Muslim, and wondered what he made of the Hindu traditions of the Holy Cows and the antics on the Ganges (I’ll get to that in a bit) – it must surely all seem a little nuts to a nonbeliever? Checking into a guesthouse itself is quite a funny experience – even the cheapy ones want such an absurd amount of information, including everything from your visa number, expiry date, home address, and route through India, to your husband’s name and father’s details, it makes you wonder if they’re going to comb hair from your pillows and create a clone! Even using an internet cafe involved us producing our Passports and having photos taken – to us it seems like bureaucracy gone mad when you look at the things they don’t bother with…like health and safety, or cleaning anything…ever.

Our guesthouse room was basic but did the job, although the bathroom was so horrendously dirty I wondered if showering would actually get me any cleaner whatsoever. I keep imagining what Kim and Aggie would make of India – there’s a great show proposal if ever I’ve heard one! After waiting it out in the room for as long as possible, we relented and ventured outside. It was only a few hundred metres to the main street with cafes and ‘restaurants’ (in the loosest possible term), but it took us nearly half and hour to inch our way through the madness, politely attempt to detach the numerous touts posing as merely interested friendly locals, and make our way forward. We walked past men finishing wrapping up a body in the middle of the street, ready for a Hindu burial. We were hunting out a recommended cafe, but knew it was somewhere down a network of confusing alleyways that we had no idea how to get to. One of the touts (offering guided tours) showed us down the rat-run to the door – we definitely would not have found our way solo – and then complained at our trying to get change to give him a tip, insisting we give him the whole 100 rupees (1 pound). The alleyways were a mix of people pushing past us, spitting red pan onto the ground, stalls selling gaudy jewellery, religious trinkets and spices, and street food vendors set-up right next to public urinals – and by public I mean men pissing into the gutters as passers by are pushed up against them. In the crowded areas of India there is an almost constant smell of pee, and I have already seen 100% more Indian todger than I ever would have wished to. It doesn’t take long before you learn to breathe through your mouth at all times!

In amongst the filth and the mayhem, glamorous woman in gorgeous sparkly saris seem to glide, totally calm and used to the challenges that Iain and I were finding testing. Everyone from the ladies selling flowers to the wealthy in their cars look colourful and elegant. Along with the men in crisp white kurta, I have no idea how they stay so clean and fresh looking, but there’s something about these little glimpses of beauty that’s a tonic for the otherwise battered senses. It really is a country of contrasts.

The cafe was a little dingy, but the exhaustive menu had us salivating, until we tried to order something and discovered – dish by dish, with the confounding yet charming head wiggle – that they had run out of about 80% of the ingredients. In the end we asked for whatever they did have, and the food was good! It gave us an hour away from the chaos and we were grateful.

The next morning we were up even before the crack of dawn for a magical, spiritual sunrise boat trip on the river Ganges. One of the guys working at the hostel had told us to be down for 4.30am, in time for him to walk us down to the Ghat (the steps leading to the river) and show us to the boat. Naturally, at 4.25, with us Brits up, groomed and precisely punctual, he was still asleep in bed. He rolled into the lobby at about 10 to 5, by which time the sun was already pretty much up.

The boat ride was an experience we will never forget. We had a guide, who spoke OK English but in a hysterically indecipherable accent, and a man on the rudder navigating us along the different ghats. To Hindus the Ganges is sacred; they believe that bathing in it cleanses the soul and brings good karma. It’s also the best place a Hindu can be brought after death, as being cremated and having one’s ashes immersed into the river is thought to relieve them from the cycle of re-birth. As a result, a lot of ailing and elderly Hindus make their final pilgrimage to Varanasi, and await death. Yeah, an unsettling notion for us, but seemingly not so for them. Different ghats are used for burial ceremonies and bathing, and as we made our way along the river, we watched the hundreds of people gathering around to take a dip, meditate, and even do laundry.

We were both unsure what to expect from the burning ghats. I know it sounds vulgar, but I was really worried about what a burning body would smell like, or if we would be able to see it. Thankfully I needn’t have worried, as it wasn’t really like that. All we could make out among the logs and flames were the outlines of a body wrapped in fabric. The guide explained that everyone has to pay an undisclosed sum to the owner of the ghats – whatever amount the owner decides. We’d imagined semi-private funerals with each individual family, but what was more shocking to us was the combined pile of ash of many bodies simply being tipped out of a bucket from the top of a tower onto the ground. Then people (not the family of the deceased) sift through the ash looking for gold and false teeth. I don’t know whether this scenario depends on the wealth of the family, perhaps more private ceremonies take place for those that can afford it. Asking the guide questions became a little difficult, as we couldn’t really make out his responses! We did learn that there are certain situations where a dead relative is not burnt on the ghats and sprinkled into the river; pregnant women, children under 5 and anyone killed by a Cobra bite are instead wrapped up and sunk into the middle of the river, the latter along with their name and address as it’s believed Cobra-bite victims will be resurrected/reincarnated and need to know how to get home.

Our boat pulled over at the main burning ghat, for us to get ‘a better look’ at the pyre currently on fire, and the rudder man stepped off and went off in search of new bamboo for his oars. As he returned he erroneously walked underneath the tower just as a bucket of ash was tipped, and was covered in some poor soul’s cremated remains. There was a few seconds of him looking up helplessly at guy who had done the tipping, before he was forced to accept the situation, dust himself off and go for a much-needed dip in the river. Iain and I looked on amazed/slightly repulsed – but really you can’t help but laugh can you?!

As instructed by the guide, we dipped our hand in the river to bless ourselves three times. My hand came up with bits of stuff on it, which I hoped weren’t the ashes of someone, but realistically they probably were. Hmmm…..

By this point in our stay in Varanasi, we were feeling a little tired of the constant hassle of touts and all-consuming task of dodging the vast and varied traffic on the road, and began making the most of doing little trips on the cycle rickshaws and tuk-tuks as a welcome relief from pounding the streets. Once we’re in the relative hassle-free seat of a tuk-tuk, or riding high like kings while some poor old sod tried to pedal us up a hill, for a few peaceful moments our only concern is whether the driver is going to kill us all in an all-too likely head-on collision. Bliss.

We indulged in a day-long tuk-tuk ride around the nearby Sarnath and its temples. Sarnath is where Buddha gave his first sermon, and so is sacred to Buddhists, however as the religion has all but died out in India, the Buddhist temple was pretty rundown. Indian Hindu temples are a world apart from the Buddhist ones we saw across SE Asia. For starters, we are always bag searched, detached from our cameras, and on this occasion, I was frisked more extensively than ever before in my life. Perhaps the lady security guard thought my bosoms an odd shape, but what the heck she thought I’d be smuggling into a temple in my bra, I have no idea. The most memorable of the temples was the Monkey Temple, where as you’ve probably guessed, monkeys have free reign. I watched one bold creature snatch a box of sweets from one woman’s hand – she looked like a kid that had dropped her ice cream! We were later offered by one of the guys at the hotel to be married here in a Hindu ceremony for only 300 rupees! (3 quid), which I would have said yes to, but for fear of mistaking my beloved for a big grizzly monkey and wedding the wrong beast.

Varanasi and Calcutta had certainly been a baptism of fire, and being honest, I was enduring it and Iain was hating it. While we weren’t sure of what to expect from the rest of India, we knew that we’d learnt one valuable lesson already; the thing with India is, it’s easy to get frustrated with the way things are done, but you’d be frustrated ALL the time. You have to learn to roll with the punches and try to laugh at the confusing, tardy, filthy and downright bizarre, so we’ve started using the mantra TII – This Is India!