Apologies loyal followers, I deceived you! In the end I decided to take my laptop around! Next question where?!?
I left you in Bangkok. In the next few days I planned to do a bit of travelling round the country before I met up with my friend. Instead, after 5 months of relative isolation I met 7 old friends from school and had an absolute blast with them before they went off to their respective destinations.
After they left, I met Chef Lorenzo, another school friend (known to some as Lawrence, Loz or just Chef). We decided to catch the next plane to Vietnam to explore the country by motorbike! Boom, 2 days later we sleep the night at the Bangkok airport then proceed to catch an early morning flight to Hanoi, Vietnam.
So, we get to Hanoi, and what a greeting!! As we walk out the airport we notice a massive Panasonic TV advertisement board about 100m away from us directly pointing at the airport. Nothing out the ordinary there, hey? Well it turns out the computer playing the ads to the screen also had a user. We see him flicking through his files, looking at various documents and several thumbnails of videos, before this anonymous user eventually selects some tasty porn! Hehe, all the Westerners (maybe about 10 of us) piss ourselves laughing at the fact this guy has not realised he is beaming up porn to a massive TV ad board instead of Nike, McDonalds or Panasonic ads!
Anyway, we hop on a bus heading to the centre of town (we think). Get off and realise we are probably miles away! Then we have to catch another bus...not fun! 3 hours in total from airport to Hostel! Well we settle into our swanky hostel ($5 for freezing aircon, breakfast, internet and all you can drink from 7-8).
So next day we go searching for bikes on a Sunday, no success! Just a couple of really shit Honda Wins and not much else for exorbitant prices being sold by locals at the bike market (which was mostly closed). Damn! We then found out about a Minsk dealer, but he was also closed on the Sunday. Damn! Then we looked at some of the ads in our hostel with fellow travellers selling their bikes. Bingo! We call two guys up selling a Minsk sport and a Honda win. By this time we have acquired a bit of a bike pro (Mike, 32 and from London) who helps us out looking at the bikes. We are going to travel with Mike on his 125cc Suzuki he also just bought in Hanoi for the tour as he’s a real good craic. Anyway I purchase a Minsk 125 sport (I’ve ridden before and have a CBT certificate) for $315 and chef buys the Win for $250. We run them down to a local mechanic, recommended by the guy at the hostel who then for roughly £7 each puts in new bearings and tons of other stuff. The bikes then run smooth as a whistle. We then give loz a bit of a lesson down a back road on how to ride, which whilst I find watching extremely scary he finds a breeze and Mike cruises him through with “yeh go for it, put it in second, whoo, faster!!”. Loz quickly picks up the art of motorcycling to my surprise with all limbs intact!
Next, it’s off to the filling station (Mike drives loz’s bike with loz on the back due) and this is the first time I get to ride my Minsk, and by god this thing is powerful for a 125cc. I’m sure the power ratio is much higher as I weave in and out of traffic with ease and gas it through the gears. We fill the bikes up with I having to put in 100ml 2-stroke oil into the tank (the things spew white smoke like there is no tomorrow but it’s apparently a healthy sign and necessary!) With a full tank for under £6 and some tarmac highway to burn we shoot off to the car park where we are leaving the bikes in that night. We park up next to Mikes and back off to the hostel we shoot for beer time! So day 1 of the adventure complete!
Day 2: Halong bay!
The girl’s names:
Hamish on the 125cc MINSK SPORT: Kobe-Jude
This came about after trying to think of the coolest name I have ever heard. Then I remembered Chad and Lisa Burge’s baby is called Kobe-Jude. I’ve always thought it’s the coolest name ever, so here’s to you Kobe-Jude, you now have a tribute act, born probably in the 80’s\70’s in Belarus/USSR, exported to Vietnam as “Farm Machinery”, used for many millions of miles, almost certainly carried all types of livestock, raced, had 7 people on at once, repaired with coke cans, loved, cherished, kicked and beaten for all manner of ailments and now my hands!
Mike on the 125cc Suzuki GN125: Florence (the machine)
“She just felt like a Florence to me”, mike said.
Chef on the 125cc Honda Win: Rosie
“What gives you that feeling in your balls? The rush of extreme acceleration. The feeling of barely missing a ten tonne truck. Listening to ‘Whole lotta Rosie’ by AC/DC”
Thursday, 14 July 2011
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
McCleod Ganj to Kalimpong
So leaving Pravati, whilst heart-wrenching as the place really had taken my heart, was a blessing in disguise. I had to some degree become trapped by apathy and generally finding life too easy to contemplate moving. Moving reinvigorated my passion for travelling and I started to curse myself for 3 “lost” weeks. However, I did feel really good after a month of good diet, exercise and mountain air.
I got the bus from Bhuntar to Daramasala. A rather unremarkable sleeper bus ride it twas. I arrived early in the morning and didn’t quite read up what the plan was here and was rather disappointed that we had arrived in “McCleod Ganj”. I shouldn’t have been, this was the correct destination for all backpackers wishing to visit “Daramasala” to see the Dalai Lama etc. McCleod Ganj is situated just up the hill from the rather unremarkable semi-industrial city of Daramasala and is the centre for the Tibetan refugee cause containing numerous welfare organizations, the main Monastery for Buddhists, the Dalai’s palace, the government in exile and a considerable population of Tibetan refugees as one would expect. I proceeded to try and gauge accommodation in central McCleod Ganj but was rather disappointed by the lack of availability and the price. Not overly fused about locality, and being one for a walk, I chose to locate in a small settlement half and hours walk away in a small secluded valley called Daramkot. The views also were much better and the morning walks were frequented with several head nods to Buddhist monks also out enjoying the mountain air.
After settling in I walked into town to see the main attraction, the Dalai’s temple and palace quarters. The Palace looked more like a rather wealthy if not slightly eccentric city residence, however visitors were kept at bay by a large gate. The gate also posted the Dalai’s expected programme for the next month. Whilst it was quite exciting, trips to Paris and Australia, there wasn’t anything in the near future for the average Tom, Dick or Harry traveller visiting McCleod Ganj.
The Temple directly opposite was more fascinating with beautiful sculptures and copious quantities of Oreo/digestive and every other type of biscuit being offered. I never quite found out why 90% of the offerings were biscuits but I came to the conclusion that the Buddha was a prolific dunker! Whilst I was there, I sent my prayers into the sky, doing a ceremonious clockwise loop of the giant turning prayer cylinders. It was pretty relaxing if nothing else and it makes you realise just how fast we all walk in the West. Strange thing I know, but if you consciously slow down your normal walking place life really does become a lot more relaxed and chilled out. However slowing your natural cadence is quite difficult to sustain (and can be frustrating at first) and really does require a lot of thought until it becomes natural but as Buddhists point out walking is a form of meditation, but only if you make it. Give it a go!
The Tibetan museum detailing with material verging almost on propaganda, the escape and exile from Tibet after China invaded was also well worth a visit, especially the collection of pre-Chinese occupation recent memorabilia such as a Tibetan passport, or a National Geographic mag praising the colourfulness of the flag.
The next day I walked into town to send a few pressies back home. Arriving at the town post office I discovered I had to get it formally packaged. Hmm, bit of a pain. Well walking down the street trying to find somewhere that might package it for me I found the Tibetan refugee handicraft shop. There were a number of little old ladies sitting at sewing machines feeding out all matter of garments and a few men kicking about. There was a really good atmosphere in the place, really bubbly and friendly, and when a little old lady started eating a watermelon whilst sewing the rest of the girls found this very funny and started giggling. I couldn’t help but join in. The man who packaged my box did it with the utmost care and attention to detail. He started off by carefully folding everything into shape and putting it into 2 boxes which he then duck taped together. This was followed by a layer of plastic wrapping then finally the whole thing was sewed in a cloth wrapping followed by sealing all of the stitching with blobs of hot wax. I kind of regret the fact that this would eventually have to be opened! I asked how much and he said a 10 Ruppee donation would be sufficient; I chucked in 20 as it was a rather admirable cause. Still a bargain!
On the way back that afternoon I passed one of the many monasteries in town. I could hear it before I had even reached it, which for many of you, is a rather surprising attribute of the usually calm monastic life we associate in the west. Instead here the monks were “debating” on the roof where 1 monk will “lecture” another 1 or 2. After every point there is clap or two of the hands and quite a lot of foot stomping. It’s quite a loud and passionate affair, but also amazing to watch from the road.
The next day I left early in the morning to go to Amritsar which consisted of taking several local buses. The journey was by and large uneventful as usual but also very scenic at times with a few small river valleys. Oh there was a couple of things. The first thing was that as the bus drove through a military town, with the barracks of various regiments seemingly stretching for miles on the left and right side of the road, the local tuk-tuk’s changed. As there had obviously been a surplus of some jeep they had sold these onto the local population. They had then converted these into a tuk-tuk shape forming a rather monsterous looking massive 3 wheel tuk-tuk. Brilliant sighting for the tuk-tuk twitcher! The next thing to report was entering Punjab. The change in the local populous was quite remarkable, from no Sikh to pretty much all Sikh (actually pronounced sie-que not seek). This was quite reassuring for me as I knew that you could “always trust a Sikh”. This was a rule myself and Rob had made and was totally true.
Well I arrived in Amritsar and proceeded to go to the Golden Temple. From the outside, the building is rather unremarkable, but I donned a handkerchief come headscarf, deposited my small bag and shoes, and walked inside. The golden temple is truly beautiful and sits in a manmade lake with a bridge connecting it to the main courtyard area. The lake is quite stunning and much bigger than I expected. The pilgrimage-making Sikh masses go for a spiritual dip in it. Many obviously cannot swim so grip ropes which descend into the water for their lives! There are many massive Koi carp in the lake soothing the atmosphere.
I seemed to be the only white guy kicking around that day, amongst the literal thousands of Sikhs so attracted quite a lot of attention however they were all very friendly. This also included the guards of temple, who like all Sikhs carry the dagger, but are dressed in a long deep blue shirt, white trousers and white Turban, all immaculately Ironed! However they also carry a massive spear ready to skewer any bad boys! They were very friendly and always seemed ready to talk even if their English at times was lacking and basic.
I visited the community kitchen whilst I was there. This huge building is best described as industrial scale 24/7 food. Literally tens of thousands visitors daily expecting to be fed (free of charge obviously but donations are welcomed) and are done so with amazing efficiency. As you enter the complex you are given the various utensils before being directed towards one of the huge dining halls, where you wait outside whilst the previous sitting finishes being fed. Boom, as the last couple people finish off the doors fly open, people rush to take their place on the floor. I casually strolled in having no particular desire to sit next to anybody in particular. The bucket men instantly start coming round plating up dhal, curry potato and rice. The water man comes round filling your cup and then the chapatti man (flat bread, made here in such huge quantities they have a machine) who drops 2 into your waiting hands.
The people finish up and leave with cutlery to the waiting washing up staff downstairs. Off goes your cup, plate and spoon at different stages. The whole process is manned by temp volunteers who for an hour or so after their pilgrimage is complete participate in this form of community service regardless of walk of life. This takes the form of onion peeling, washing up (this is conducted in a massive covered area just next to the dining hall complex and the sound of which can be heard for a hundred metres around as men and women throw plates onto various piles), giving out utensils or dishing out the grub. It really was quite a sight to behold.
After snapping a few more pickies I walked out to where I had been told you pick up the shared taxis to Attari. Attari is nothing special, just a rather dusty border town with waiting trucks, however the taxis don’t take you to Attari, no, they take you to the actual border with Pakistan. I jumped in a taxi with about 7 or 8 Sikh pilgrims and off we sped. They were all really friendly and helped to explain a lot about the Golden Temple’s history and functionality which was really interesting. We arrived in Attari and were in great spirits. After a couple of potato cakes with sauce (really tasty fast food), the guards started to let us stream in to the long walk to the border through a series of security checkpoints and pat downs. At last we arrived at the border area which was in fact more like a sports arena on both sides. On the way there some other guys told me that if I showed my passport I would get into the VIP section. Meh, worth a try! A quick flash of the passport here and there and boom straight in! Well in fact I got into the foreigners section which was still a dam sight less crowded than the Indian section. In fact there were only about 10 other foreigners compared to the hundreds of Indians who had come for the show down.
Whilst the Indian side was rammed to the rafters with many watching from outside the gate, the Pakistani side was almost deserted with maybe 20 people there (apparently there are nearly none during Ramadan). It almost seemed pointless for Pakistan to be part of this event.
Both sides choose the best from their respective militaries to participate and they are dressed to perfection with not a crease out of place and the most ridiculous head gear on both their parts; the Pakistanis have a black fan like structure and the Indians have a red one. When I say best, these solidiers are handpicked for the border guard regiment due to their extreme height (compared to the rest of the Indian and Pakistani populous, 6ft+ is extreme), muscular build and great ‘taches!
The whole event kicks off with an MC (mic controller aka a guy to get the crowd up for it) shouting out some Hindi interspersed with Bollywood tracks. This is alongside a running of the flag by teenage girls from one end of the “arena” up to the border and back again where they pass it over to the next one. Other men are chosen from the crowd to stand at the top of the seating area and wave the flag. The Pakistani side on the other hand doesn’t really have an MC and so just plays a few tracks and allows its small populous to admire the fanfare on the other side. In the background, behind some of the buildings one can see the tall guards warming up. High leg kicks and short spirits prep both sides for the show down.
The crowd are ushered back to their seats and the guards from both sides with impeccably co-ordinated timing steam out onto the road. They then proceed to battle off with the other side with trumpets, high foot stomping and shouting. This is really amazing to watch as the legs literally go above their heads and they are extremely aggressive in their approach. They parade right up to the border line trying to out do the other side and intimidate them but all the while working in complete synchronisation to ensure a good show for the audiences.
At the end of the half hour duel after the two flags are ceremoniously lowered by the 2 sides the gates are slammed shut and the border guards retreat back inside and the crowd stream off.
I too linked back up with my Sikh friends and off we set back to Amritsar. The taxi man was ever so kind as to drop me off at the bus station which was very handy as I just got in on time to catch my sleeper to Delhi (7 hours).
I slept like a baby on that Air con bus and woke up from the relative serenity of my seat to the hustle and bustle of Delhi. No time to lose though! I hopped straight on a train (19 hours long) to Siliguri in West Bengal. The train journey was again rather uneventful and I arrived in Siliguri where I then jumped on another bus to Kalimpong (1 hour).
Now you will surely be thinking why have you rushed across to the other side of the country to a rather inconspicuous town and suffered almost 27 hours non-stop travel? The reason for this was that my friend, Charlie Goodman, who I went to school with had been teaching English in a Tibetan school there and was scheduled to leave soon. To miss out on an opportunity to see a friendly face from back home was not on the cards so off I went! I arrived in Kalimpong fairly exhausted and found a fairly central hotel. I then went out to find some lunch having agreed to meet Charlie later in the day. However coming back from lunch I spotted her. I crept up on her and covered her eyes to do the usual guess who. She instantly turned round but instead of the warm happy reception I had been expecting, it was a “hello Hamish, nice to see you, these are my colleagues from the school.” They looked abit shocked and I was introduced to them by Charlie who then informed me she had to go to a function with her colleagues but would meet me at the agreed time.
I had obviously broken some social convention and was duly given the warm reception when Charlie met me at the agreed time without colleagues in hand and started to apologise for her earlier reaction informing me that it wasn’t really culturally acceptable for men and women to touch in public. But heyho, shit happens and cultural faux-pas aside we scuttled off to a chai shop to catch up on the last few months.
The next few days whilst Charlie was teaching at the school in the day time I went to a number of sites (primarily Buddhist) around Kalimpong although there was a lovely old church on the hillside. Then once school was over an evening of reminiscing and chatting over chai/watching the odd movie on my laptop/visiting a site or being taken to the school for dinner with the headmaster would begin. But often we would then go to this bar in town with live music most nights and the best bloody marys!
I also went on a 2 day vacation to Darjeeling which is on a hill facing Kalimpong but is a good hour and a half drive in a shared taxi. Darjeeling was indeed the quintessential hillside town it had been described to me as. I went to the zoo where I saw the red panda amongst other species, the Himalayan mountain institute with its remarkable museum and statue of Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, a world famous tea store and also went up to Tiger Hill. This was particularly beautiful with the thousands of prayer flags which seemingly block out the sun. The site is shared with Hindus and the whole experience is particularly beautiful.
The next day I caught the Darjeeling-Ghum-Darjeeling toy steam train. This was in my quest to go on all three of India’s world heritage railways (I have one left in the south to do). The train was exceedingly slow but the experience was enthralling. One of the most memorable points was when the train nearly failed to make it up a steep incline. Each time the train would nearly get to the top but due to the rain that had recently fallen fail to make it to the top as the wheels started spinning before they rammed the brakes on and then put the carriage into reverse. After 5 goes and a lot of saw dust later the train made it and the delight of the passengers (and train crew) was evident. We arrived in Ghum (covered in soot) for a “30 minute” break. I and a Russian who was also on the train met in a chai shop directly opposite the station. After only 10 minutes the whistle sounded on the train. We (along with presumably a lot of other people assumed it was just maintenance) and so ignored it.
“Shit its going” the Russian said.
I gulped down my chai and gave the owner 5 ruppees.
“You not coming?”
“Nah, its gone, and I like it here”
Bullshit I thought. I ain’t spending 300 rupees for a one way journey.
I proceeded to peg it down the road (the train for 90% of the time runs on the road with cars having to avoid it) dodging serious amounts of traffic and what not before I eventually caught up with it. One of the conductors on my carriage (there were only 3 carriages each with no more than 15 people and he recognized me) opened the door and I jumped on. Apparently I had turned into something of a tourist attraction and a little cheer was raised as I boarded the train. However it seemed that the Russian wasn’t the only one caught out by the “30 minute break” as my carriage had half emptied. The journey down was largely the same obviously but I spent most of it hanging out the door watching the scenery go by and for some strange reason I couldn’t get enough of all the smells and noises the train produced.
Back to Kalimpong sadly to go to help out at this BBQ Charlie was planning. As it was her last week she had decided to throw all the boarders at the school a bbq and I was tasked with constructing one. A spliced oil drum, welded legs and a bit of sheet aluminium later and what was produced was quite outstanding! Charlie devised an extravagant and delicious menu with BBQ chicken, Jalebees (orange coloured sugar packed sweets), banana fritters, an onion and tomato relish and of course all washed down with coke. The kids helped alot and a really fun party atmosphere emerged with some spontaneous Tibetan singing and dancing occurring. The food was truly delicious and the kids wolfed down a large quantity, so much so one of the kids was dispatched for emergency chicken!! Indeed it was a truly amazing if not exhausting day!
Charlie and I then got a train to Varanassi. This is probably the holiest place in the world for Hindus. The Ganges river paces through this town and the shore is lined with Ghats (strictly speaking the steps leading down to the water but also the areas around the steps). Most of the Ghats are used for fairly mundane activities such as cleaning or religious bathing and offerings. However there are 3 or 4 notable Ghats. There is an evening ceremony called Agni Pooja at Dashashwamedh Ghat. This is particularly impressive to watch with particular emphasis on some serious pyrotechnics!
The other note worth Ghats are those for cremation. This was a little bit of a shock to myself, who through my relatively sheltered existence had not been exposed to death. In fact as I made my way to the hostel my first view of the Ganges was a guy around 25 years old grieving over a body. Bit of a “shitttt” experience. The main Ghat where the cremations occur seemed to be a bit of a human incineration industrial operation with 2 or 3 on the go at once 24/7.
Another amazing experience at Varanasi was when we caught an early morning rowing boat down the Ganges. This was extremely special and it was also fairly quiet; a change to the usual hustle and bustle of Indian cities to which Varanasi was no exception.
However after a few days in Varanasi, in which I also re-discovered my passion for cricket, Charlie and I parted ways. She left for Rishikesh with an American girl and I for Kolkata.
Kolkata really doesn’t deserve an entry into this blog but I must keep you up-to-date come rain or shine. Indeed in Kolkata it rained; for 4 days straight. Whilst this didn’t really limit my experiences there, having a bacterial colitis did! Dont worry its gone! I wasn’t really interested in Kolkata, I was there to go to the Andaman Islands, but the boat I wished to take had engine failure. This doesn’t sound too good does it? Well, I did get out and about. A couple of highlights;
The Victoria memorial: Ah a lovely throw back to better days. Indeed there she is sitting on her throne, nice and rotund. However whilst her individual statue was beautiful it was the actual Memorial building in the background that was special. A cross of the whiteness and simplicity of the Taj and the grandeur of Buckingham Palace surrounded by small lakes and beautifully maintained exotic gardens. Yes indeed this was truly an East meets West clash. But it was still pretty special.hum
The Indian national museum: I spent a whole day in this place; mainly looking at the massive mineralogical collection with its exquisite Asbestos section! Indeed they seemed to have every available type of Asbestos with several different types of manufacture form. Particularly impressive was the massive slab (tree trunk size) they had brought out the ground. Other impressive collections house at the museum were stuffed animals and skeletons of whales and other large mammals, an ancient coin collection, an entire entrance to a Tibetan Pagoda (this took up a whole room and looked quite out of place) and a fossil collection.
There was some other cool stuff in Kolkata but it was mainly differences in street life like the yellow ambassador taxis and the walking rickshaw (i.e. a guy actually pulls you-the place in India to have this). Also a lot of the buildings were colonial, the streets had traffic lights and pavements and there were more police kicking about. But at its heart was just another big city, albeit with a slightly different pulse.
Well it was still not great so instead of training it back to Delhi I flew instead. It was more expensive but I was still ill and well 26 hours on a train is certainly not as “fun” as 2 hours by plane, air con start to finish!
I arrived back in Delhi booked a flight to Thailand then proceeded to chill for 4 days. Mainly writing this beast of a blog but also going round to Neeraj’s house to collect my bag, going out to see a free French embassy gig (Betty Argo and Soulmate were the bands) in the super air con Select city mall. The gig itself was in a really hip and swarve bar. I did some other stuff but not a great deal.
Then the 27th came. Boom on the plane and I up I went, bye bye India, hello Thailand!
A thought on India. India really is a country on the up; a growing middle class and a rampant desire for many people to be educated. This had led to most of the advertisements you see being for colleges and university admissions. The upper class is also developing; in fact on my second last day I saw the latest Rolls-Royce, driven by a chauffeur with white gloves and a rather plump looking Indian in the back scanning documents whilst on the phone. However this growth is being majorly constrained by one thing-corruption. The whole system in India is corrupt from top down. Whilst you may have to pay a few hundred rupees to get a driving licence, birth or death certificate you also vote for political parties whose leaders 90% are helping themselves to the public purse. A contract here at a high price to their brother or a bribe there from a local company for not doing a check, its rampant. The Indian daily papers seem to have some sort of anti-corruption legislation, protest or leader on their front pages everyday with new allegations of corruption at the highest level on the next few pages. In fact lower level bribing is taken as life and a website just opened a few months ago called ipaidabribe.com where you can share your tales of corruption and also find out the market rate for the bribe you are about to pay! On the last day in fact a man randomly walking beside me, obviously frustrated not bringing an umbrella out when it started to rain started a 5 minute long monologue on how he hated Ghandi and Nehru for driving the British away as Indians cannot govern themselves, corruption was destroying the nation, his business and his family life, “what moral authority do I have to teach moral values to my children when I am paying bribes weekly to the police and judiciary to get things done” and how the only thing he could go to help for was the man upstairs.
Anyway, I’m now in Bangkok, Thailand and am not going to bother taking my laptop round with me so you might get a short blog here or there written from a cafe if I have time but overall no blogs for a month or so until my parents come out here and I’m back in Bangkok. Hope all is well!
I got the bus from Bhuntar to Daramasala. A rather unremarkable sleeper bus ride it twas. I arrived early in the morning and didn’t quite read up what the plan was here and was rather disappointed that we had arrived in “McCleod Ganj”. I shouldn’t have been, this was the correct destination for all backpackers wishing to visit “Daramasala” to see the Dalai Lama etc. McCleod Ganj is situated just up the hill from the rather unremarkable semi-industrial city of Daramasala and is the centre for the Tibetan refugee cause containing numerous welfare organizations, the main Monastery for Buddhists, the Dalai’s palace, the government in exile and a considerable population of Tibetan refugees as one would expect. I proceeded to try and gauge accommodation in central McCleod Ganj but was rather disappointed by the lack of availability and the price. Not overly fused about locality, and being one for a walk, I chose to locate in a small settlement half and hours walk away in a small secluded valley called Daramkot. The views also were much better and the morning walks were frequented with several head nods to Buddhist monks also out enjoying the mountain air.
After settling in I walked into town to see the main attraction, the Dalai’s temple and palace quarters. The Palace looked more like a rather wealthy if not slightly eccentric city residence, however visitors were kept at bay by a large gate. The gate also posted the Dalai’s expected programme for the next month. Whilst it was quite exciting, trips to Paris and Australia, there wasn’t anything in the near future for the average Tom, Dick or Harry traveller visiting McCleod Ganj.
The Temple directly opposite was more fascinating with beautiful sculptures and copious quantities of Oreo/digestive and every other type of biscuit being offered. I never quite found out why 90% of the offerings were biscuits but I came to the conclusion that the Buddha was a prolific dunker! Whilst I was there, I sent my prayers into the sky, doing a ceremonious clockwise loop of the giant turning prayer cylinders. It was pretty relaxing if nothing else and it makes you realise just how fast we all walk in the West. Strange thing I know, but if you consciously slow down your normal walking place life really does become a lot more relaxed and chilled out. However slowing your natural cadence is quite difficult to sustain (and can be frustrating at first) and really does require a lot of thought until it becomes natural but as Buddhists point out walking is a form of meditation, but only if you make it. Give it a go!
The Tibetan museum detailing with material verging almost on propaganda, the escape and exile from Tibet after China invaded was also well worth a visit, especially the collection of pre-Chinese occupation recent memorabilia such as a Tibetan passport, or a National Geographic mag praising the colourfulness of the flag.
The next day I walked into town to send a few pressies back home. Arriving at the town post office I discovered I had to get it formally packaged. Hmm, bit of a pain. Well walking down the street trying to find somewhere that might package it for me I found the Tibetan refugee handicraft shop. There were a number of little old ladies sitting at sewing machines feeding out all matter of garments and a few men kicking about. There was a really good atmosphere in the place, really bubbly and friendly, and when a little old lady started eating a watermelon whilst sewing the rest of the girls found this very funny and started giggling. I couldn’t help but join in. The man who packaged my box did it with the utmost care and attention to detail. He started off by carefully folding everything into shape and putting it into 2 boxes which he then duck taped together. This was followed by a layer of plastic wrapping then finally the whole thing was sewed in a cloth wrapping followed by sealing all of the stitching with blobs of hot wax. I kind of regret the fact that this would eventually have to be opened! I asked how much and he said a 10 Ruppee donation would be sufficient; I chucked in 20 as it was a rather admirable cause. Still a bargain!
On the way back that afternoon I passed one of the many monasteries in town. I could hear it before I had even reached it, which for many of you, is a rather surprising attribute of the usually calm monastic life we associate in the west. Instead here the monks were “debating” on the roof where 1 monk will “lecture” another 1 or 2. After every point there is clap or two of the hands and quite a lot of foot stomping. It’s quite a loud and passionate affair, but also amazing to watch from the road.
The next day I left early in the morning to go to Amritsar which consisted of taking several local buses. The journey was by and large uneventful as usual but also very scenic at times with a few small river valleys. Oh there was a couple of things. The first thing was that as the bus drove through a military town, with the barracks of various regiments seemingly stretching for miles on the left and right side of the road, the local tuk-tuk’s changed. As there had obviously been a surplus of some jeep they had sold these onto the local population. They had then converted these into a tuk-tuk shape forming a rather monsterous looking massive 3 wheel tuk-tuk. Brilliant sighting for the tuk-tuk twitcher! The next thing to report was entering Punjab. The change in the local populous was quite remarkable, from no Sikh to pretty much all Sikh (actually pronounced sie-que not seek). This was quite reassuring for me as I knew that you could “always trust a Sikh”. This was a rule myself and Rob had made and was totally true.
Well I arrived in Amritsar and proceeded to go to the Golden Temple. From the outside, the building is rather unremarkable, but I donned a handkerchief come headscarf, deposited my small bag and shoes, and walked inside. The golden temple is truly beautiful and sits in a manmade lake with a bridge connecting it to the main courtyard area. The lake is quite stunning and much bigger than I expected. The pilgrimage-making Sikh masses go for a spiritual dip in it. Many obviously cannot swim so grip ropes which descend into the water for their lives! There are many massive Koi carp in the lake soothing the atmosphere.
I seemed to be the only white guy kicking around that day, amongst the literal thousands of Sikhs so attracted quite a lot of attention however they were all very friendly. This also included the guards of temple, who like all Sikhs carry the dagger, but are dressed in a long deep blue shirt, white trousers and white Turban, all immaculately Ironed! However they also carry a massive spear ready to skewer any bad boys! They were very friendly and always seemed ready to talk even if their English at times was lacking and basic.
I visited the community kitchen whilst I was there. This huge building is best described as industrial scale 24/7 food. Literally tens of thousands visitors daily expecting to be fed (free of charge obviously but donations are welcomed) and are done so with amazing efficiency. As you enter the complex you are given the various utensils before being directed towards one of the huge dining halls, where you wait outside whilst the previous sitting finishes being fed. Boom, as the last couple people finish off the doors fly open, people rush to take their place on the floor. I casually strolled in having no particular desire to sit next to anybody in particular. The bucket men instantly start coming round plating up dhal, curry potato and rice. The water man comes round filling your cup and then the chapatti man (flat bread, made here in such huge quantities they have a machine) who drops 2 into your waiting hands.
The people finish up and leave with cutlery to the waiting washing up staff downstairs. Off goes your cup, plate and spoon at different stages. The whole process is manned by temp volunteers who for an hour or so after their pilgrimage is complete participate in this form of community service regardless of walk of life. This takes the form of onion peeling, washing up (this is conducted in a massive covered area just next to the dining hall complex and the sound of which can be heard for a hundred metres around as men and women throw plates onto various piles), giving out utensils or dishing out the grub. It really was quite a sight to behold.
After snapping a few more pickies I walked out to where I had been told you pick up the shared taxis to Attari. Attari is nothing special, just a rather dusty border town with waiting trucks, however the taxis don’t take you to Attari, no, they take you to the actual border with Pakistan. I jumped in a taxi with about 7 or 8 Sikh pilgrims and off we sped. They were all really friendly and helped to explain a lot about the Golden Temple’s history and functionality which was really interesting. We arrived in Attari and were in great spirits. After a couple of potato cakes with sauce (really tasty fast food), the guards started to let us stream in to the long walk to the border through a series of security checkpoints and pat downs. At last we arrived at the border area which was in fact more like a sports arena on both sides. On the way there some other guys told me that if I showed my passport I would get into the VIP section. Meh, worth a try! A quick flash of the passport here and there and boom straight in! Well in fact I got into the foreigners section which was still a dam sight less crowded than the Indian section. In fact there were only about 10 other foreigners compared to the hundreds of Indians who had come for the show down.
Whilst the Indian side was rammed to the rafters with many watching from outside the gate, the Pakistani side was almost deserted with maybe 20 people there (apparently there are nearly none during Ramadan). It almost seemed pointless for Pakistan to be part of this event.
Both sides choose the best from their respective militaries to participate and they are dressed to perfection with not a crease out of place and the most ridiculous head gear on both their parts; the Pakistanis have a black fan like structure and the Indians have a red one. When I say best, these solidiers are handpicked for the border guard regiment due to their extreme height (compared to the rest of the Indian and Pakistani populous, 6ft+ is extreme), muscular build and great ‘taches!
The whole event kicks off with an MC (mic controller aka a guy to get the crowd up for it) shouting out some Hindi interspersed with Bollywood tracks. This is alongside a running of the flag by teenage girls from one end of the “arena” up to the border and back again where they pass it over to the next one. Other men are chosen from the crowd to stand at the top of the seating area and wave the flag. The Pakistani side on the other hand doesn’t really have an MC and so just plays a few tracks and allows its small populous to admire the fanfare on the other side. In the background, behind some of the buildings one can see the tall guards warming up. High leg kicks and short spirits prep both sides for the show down.
The crowd are ushered back to their seats and the guards from both sides with impeccably co-ordinated timing steam out onto the road. They then proceed to battle off with the other side with trumpets, high foot stomping and shouting. This is really amazing to watch as the legs literally go above their heads and they are extremely aggressive in their approach. They parade right up to the border line trying to out do the other side and intimidate them but all the while working in complete synchronisation to ensure a good show for the audiences.
At the end of the half hour duel after the two flags are ceremoniously lowered by the 2 sides the gates are slammed shut and the border guards retreat back inside and the crowd stream off.
I too linked back up with my Sikh friends and off we set back to Amritsar. The taxi man was ever so kind as to drop me off at the bus station which was very handy as I just got in on time to catch my sleeper to Delhi (7 hours).
I slept like a baby on that Air con bus and woke up from the relative serenity of my seat to the hustle and bustle of Delhi. No time to lose though! I hopped straight on a train (19 hours long) to Siliguri in West Bengal. The train journey was again rather uneventful and I arrived in Siliguri where I then jumped on another bus to Kalimpong (1 hour).
Now you will surely be thinking why have you rushed across to the other side of the country to a rather inconspicuous town and suffered almost 27 hours non-stop travel? The reason for this was that my friend, Charlie Goodman, who I went to school with had been teaching English in a Tibetan school there and was scheduled to leave soon. To miss out on an opportunity to see a friendly face from back home was not on the cards so off I went! I arrived in Kalimpong fairly exhausted and found a fairly central hotel. I then went out to find some lunch having agreed to meet Charlie later in the day. However coming back from lunch I spotted her. I crept up on her and covered her eyes to do the usual guess who. She instantly turned round but instead of the warm happy reception I had been expecting, it was a “hello Hamish, nice to see you, these are my colleagues from the school.” They looked abit shocked and I was introduced to them by Charlie who then informed me she had to go to a function with her colleagues but would meet me at the agreed time.
I had obviously broken some social convention and was duly given the warm reception when Charlie met me at the agreed time without colleagues in hand and started to apologise for her earlier reaction informing me that it wasn’t really culturally acceptable for men and women to touch in public. But heyho, shit happens and cultural faux-pas aside we scuttled off to a chai shop to catch up on the last few months.
The next few days whilst Charlie was teaching at the school in the day time I went to a number of sites (primarily Buddhist) around Kalimpong although there was a lovely old church on the hillside. Then once school was over an evening of reminiscing and chatting over chai/watching the odd movie on my laptop/visiting a site or being taken to the school for dinner with the headmaster would begin. But often we would then go to this bar in town with live music most nights and the best bloody marys!
I also went on a 2 day vacation to Darjeeling which is on a hill facing Kalimpong but is a good hour and a half drive in a shared taxi. Darjeeling was indeed the quintessential hillside town it had been described to me as. I went to the zoo where I saw the red panda amongst other species, the Himalayan mountain institute with its remarkable museum and statue of Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, a world famous tea store and also went up to Tiger Hill. This was particularly beautiful with the thousands of prayer flags which seemingly block out the sun. The site is shared with Hindus and the whole experience is particularly beautiful.
The next day I caught the Darjeeling-Ghum-Darjeeling toy steam train. This was in my quest to go on all three of India’s world heritage railways (I have one left in the south to do). The train was exceedingly slow but the experience was enthralling. One of the most memorable points was when the train nearly failed to make it up a steep incline. Each time the train would nearly get to the top but due to the rain that had recently fallen fail to make it to the top as the wheels started spinning before they rammed the brakes on and then put the carriage into reverse. After 5 goes and a lot of saw dust later the train made it and the delight of the passengers (and train crew) was evident. We arrived in Ghum (covered in soot) for a “30 minute” break. I and a Russian who was also on the train met in a chai shop directly opposite the station. After only 10 minutes the whistle sounded on the train. We (along with presumably a lot of other people assumed it was just maintenance) and so ignored it.
“Shit its going” the Russian said.
I gulped down my chai and gave the owner 5 ruppees.
“You not coming?”
“Nah, its gone, and I like it here”
Bullshit I thought. I ain’t spending 300 rupees for a one way journey.
I proceeded to peg it down the road (the train for 90% of the time runs on the road with cars having to avoid it) dodging serious amounts of traffic and what not before I eventually caught up with it. One of the conductors on my carriage (there were only 3 carriages each with no more than 15 people and he recognized me) opened the door and I jumped on. Apparently I had turned into something of a tourist attraction and a little cheer was raised as I boarded the train. However it seemed that the Russian wasn’t the only one caught out by the “30 minute break” as my carriage had half emptied. The journey down was largely the same obviously but I spent most of it hanging out the door watching the scenery go by and for some strange reason I couldn’t get enough of all the smells and noises the train produced.
Back to Kalimpong sadly to go to help out at this BBQ Charlie was planning. As it was her last week she had decided to throw all the boarders at the school a bbq and I was tasked with constructing one. A spliced oil drum, welded legs and a bit of sheet aluminium later and what was produced was quite outstanding! Charlie devised an extravagant and delicious menu with BBQ chicken, Jalebees (orange coloured sugar packed sweets), banana fritters, an onion and tomato relish and of course all washed down with coke. The kids helped alot and a really fun party atmosphere emerged with some spontaneous Tibetan singing and dancing occurring. The food was truly delicious and the kids wolfed down a large quantity, so much so one of the kids was dispatched for emergency chicken!! Indeed it was a truly amazing if not exhausting day!
Charlie and I then got a train to Varanassi. This is probably the holiest place in the world for Hindus. The Ganges river paces through this town and the shore is lined with Ghats (strictly speaking the steps leading down to the water but also the areas around the steps). Most of the Ghats are used for fairly mundane activities such as cleaning or religious bathing and offerings. However there are 3 or 4 notable Ghats. There is an evening ceremony called Agni Pooja at Dashashwamedh Ghat. This is particularly impressive to watch with particular emphasis on some serious pyrotechnics!
The other note worth Ghats are those for cremation. This was a little bit of a shock to myself, who through my relatively sheltered existence had not been exposed to death. In fact as I made my way to the hostel my first view of the Ganges was a guy around 25 years old grieving over a body. Bit of a “shitttt” experience. The main Ghat where the cremations occur seemed to be a bit of a human incineration industrial operation with 2 or 3 on the go at once 24/7.
Another amazing experience at Varanasi was when we caught an early morning rowing boat down the Ganges. This was extremely special and it was also fairly quiet; a change to the usual hustle and bustle of Indian cities to which Varanasi was no exception.
However after a few days in Varanasi, in which I also re-discovered my passion for cricket, Charlie and I parted ways. She left for Rishikesh with an American girl and I for Kolkata.
Kolkata really doesn’t deserve an entry into this blog but I must keep you up-to-date come rain or shine. Indeed in Kolkata it rained; for 4 days straight. Whilst this didn’t really limit my experiences there, having a bacterial colitis did! Dont worry its gone! I wasn’t really interested in Kolkata, I was there to go to the Andaman Islands, but the boat I wished to take had engine failure. This doesn’t sound too good does it? Well, I did get out and about. A couple of highlights;
The Victoria memorial: Ah a lovely throw back to better days. Indeed there she is sitting on her throne, nice and rotund. However whilst her individual statue was beautiful it was the actual Memorial building in the background that was special. A cross of the whiteness and simplicity of the Taj and the grandeur of Buckingham Palace surrounded by small lakes and beautifully maintained exotic gardens. Yes indeed this was truly an East meets West clash. But it was still pretty special.hum
The Indian national museum: I spent a whole day in this place; mainly looking at the massive mineralogical collection with its exquisite Asbestos section! Indeed they seemed to have every available type of Asbestos with several different types of manufacture form. Particularly impressive was the massive slab (tree trunk size) they had brought out the ground. Other impressive collections house at the museum were stuffed animals and skeletons of whales and other large mammals, an ancient coin collection, an entire entrance to a Tibetan Pagoda (this took up a whole room and looked quite out of place) and a fossil collection.
There was some other cool stuff in Kolkata but it was mainly differences in street life like the yellow ambassador taxis and the walking rickshaw (i.e. a guy actually pulls you-the place in India to have this). Also a lot of the buildings were colonial, the streets had traffic lights and pavements and there were more police kicking about. But at its heart was just another big city, albeit with a slightly different pulse.
Well it was still not great so instead of training it back to Delhi I flew instead. It was more expensive but I was still ill and well 26 hours on a train is certainly not as “fun” as 2 hours by plane, air con start to finish!
I arrived back in Delhi booked a flight to Thailand then proceeded to chill for 4 days. Mainly writing this beast of a blog but also going round to Neeraj’s house to collect my bag, going out to see a free French embassy gig (Betty Argo and Soulmate were the bands) in the super air con Select city mall. The gig itself was in a really hip and swarve bar. I did some other stuff but not a great deal.
Then the 27th came. Boom on the plane and I up I went, bye bye India, hello Thailand!
A thought on India. India really is a country on the up; a growing middle class and a rampant desire for many people to be educated. This had led to most of the advertisements you see being for colleges and university admissions. The upper class is also developing; in fact on my second last day I saw the latest Rolls-Royce, driven by a chauffeur with white gloves and a rather plump looking Indian in the back scanning documents whilst on the phone. However this growth is being majorly constrained by one thing-corruption. The whole system in India is corrupt from top down. Whilst you may have to pay a few hundred rupees to get a driving licence, birth or death certificate you also vote for political parties whose leaders 90% are helping themselves to the public purse. A contract here at a high price to their brother or a bribe there from a local company for not doing a check, its rampant. The Indian daily papers seem to have some sort of anti-corruption legislation, protest or leader on their front pages everyday with new allegations of corruption at the highest level on the next few pages. In fact lower level bribing is taken as life and a website just opened a few months ago called ipaidabribe.com where you can share your tales of corruption and also find out the market rate for the bribe you are about to pay! On the last day in fact a man randomly walking beside me, obviously frustrated not bringing an umbrella out when it started to rain started a 5 minute long monologue on how he hated Ghandi and Nehru for driving the British away as Indians cannot govern themselves, corruption was destroying the nation, his business and his family life, “what moral authority do I have to teach moral values to my children when I am paying bribes weekly to the police and judiciary to get things done” and how the only thing he could go to help for was the man upstairs.
Anyway, I’m now in Bangkok, Thailand and am not going to bother taking my laptop round with me so you might get a short blog here or there written from a cafe if I have time but overall no blogs for a month or so until my parents come out here and I’m back in Bangkok. Hope all is well!
Sunday, 19 June 2011
Delhi-Pravati Valley
So we finished last time at the beginning of a start of a new adventure northwards. Rob, my newly acquired Irish travelling buddy, and I left the hostel to catch a train from Old Delhi train station to Kalka. At the station we had managed to pick up 2 English girls, who despite promising appearances, turned out to be nightmare little bit extreme maybe). Furthermore turns out one is going to Bristol Uni with me next year, lets hope she doesn’t see this blog hehe. They were mates from back home and had met up at the hostel to travel in the north for a few weeks. No problems there, but within in minutes of arriving at the hostel after the usual hugs and kisses associated with meeting an old friend the future Bristol Uni student had to show off her recent purchase in Goa which was effectively 2 sets of tennis balls on the end of a piece of string. Nobody at all had any problem with this bar the fact that she chose to do it indoors under a nice light fixture. And there I was thinking gap years instilled a bit of common sense...
Anyway whilst accidents can be avoided, they do happen, so all was forgiven and we set off for Kalka. The train pulled into Kalka after another rather unremarkable sleeper bar the girls pissing off half of the carriage talking well into the night. A strange sensation swept over me; Deja vu. But I could never have seen this place before! Only once before had I been in India; and that was in Goa, thousands of kilometres from my present location. I did not recall seeing it on TV or any other media source. Then it hit me! Many aspects of the station were a splitting image of Moor street station in Birmingham where I pass through almost daily. We were in colonial country!
The train from Kalka to our intended destination of Shimla was a “toy train”. By this I mean a narrow gauge and one of only 3 in India. In fact it was a tourist attraction in its own right. We tried, in vain, to purchase a 1st class ticket (400 RS) for the last train of the day (wel only 2 a day and the last was at 11:30am!). However with its small size these were in short supply and it was fully booked for that day. One of the girls and I enquired at the station master as to the purchasing of tickets for the next day. He was very helpful and told us about the ticket office, price and times. He said that he couldn’t tell us whether it was full as we would have to find out once it opened in a few hours. Satisfied I thanked him for his advice.
One learns after staying in India that as a non-Hindi speaker you have to ask the right questions to the right people, especially if you wish to have an answer in some sort of English. For example,
“Shimla? Today”
“No available, tomorrow”
“ticket?”
He points to ticket office and 11am on the clock.
“Thank you”
However the girl piped up after I finished the conversation with the guy.
“Is there anything to do or see in this town, any sort of monument, park?”
Now the station master, not recognising any names of towns, train numbers or general trainy things gave the most surprised look I have ever seen. I laughed knowing full well it was like waving at Stevie Wonder. She was unimpressed with my laughter and I explained that it was kind of pointless asking these questions to him.
She persisted.
“How much is accommodation in Kalka?”
“Kalka-Shimla no first class” he replied.
She gave up and returned back to the group. The 2 girls decided they didn’t wish to stay in Kalka and wait till tomorrow to go first class and so Rob and I said our goodbyes and got a refund on our general class tickets and proceeded to find some cheap accommodation in town before heading down to the ticket office to purchase our tickets. Kalka was nothing spectacular but it was out first taste of the Himalayas. The surrounding foot-hills towards Shimla were particularly impressive contrasting with the flat plains towards Delhi.
4 O’clock came in the morning and all 5 alarms went off right on que. Rob and I paid our bill and made our way down to the train station in the darkness. The tiny train chugged off at 4:45 with it just beginning to get light. The morning grogginess was instantly removed with a couple of hits of chai and we were ready. The train sneaked its way through the town right next to all the houses and daily life before leaving Kalka to start the seemingly endless series of hair-pin-esque bends, bridges and mini-tunnels. The views as we ascended were truly quite something with the sun rising over the mountains before being blocked out as we entered immaculate hillside forests. A man came round our carriage of about 12 seats (the carriages were just bigger than a ford transit van) and asked our request for the complimentary breakfast.
The first stop was a quaint little “perfect” station which resembled those seen on model railway kits. The train collected the breakfast and I received a rather average omelette. Oh well I’m travelling in what could only be described as one of the cutest and most spectacular train journeys on the planet so an average omelette didn’t really disappoint!
Sadly after about 5 and a half hours it had to come to an end as we entered Shimla. Upon recommendation we made a B-line to the YMCA which was on a ridge. After a good half hour trudge up to the hostel, dogged with the usual rikshaw, hotel and tour touts, we rocked up fairly exhausted. Shimla is a very strange town. The historic centre of the town is located on a ridge with the newer areas on the slopes either side. The ridge is a long wide pedestrianized promenade with shops on either side which wouldn’t look out of place in Blackpool.
However this was significantly more beautiful with views on either side across the surrounding valleys and hills.
Shimla’s purpose over the past few years had transformed considerably from a major political centre (Summer capital of the British Empire) to a major tourist destination. However these tourists were all Indian. The rich had come from all over India to enjoy the cooler climate and atmosphere, which for us, the western tourists was definitely a plus.
Night arrived and settling down in the outside garden for a beer we met Adam who was a Danish traveller who was journeying back from the Pravati valley to Delhi to catch a train back home and a Nepalease traveller called Danesh who was travelling with his friends mom. After a few more bevies and some more travellers joining the group we decided to check out a local club we had seen. We all gandered down to find the place deserted.
Seeing a group of Westerners enter the dj instantly started up and within a few moments the whole group was bopping along to some classic 80’s pop and having a real whale of a time. After half an hour of serious move busting the club closed to our dismay due to Shimla’s strict licensing laws and we made our way back up the road to the YMCA.
The next day Rob and I decided to take a walk to the Indian Institute of Advanced studies. However this took slightly longer as we bumped into a group of American Christian missionaries in a chai shop. They were opening and expanding the Christian movement in the north of India and also doing some social work. They were really friendly genuine guys but I was quite sure how I felt about them in the end. On one hand they were really funny and pleasant but on the other I had a feeling what they were doing was fundamentally wrong. Lets not open that can of worms!
Well the IIoAS used to be the former Viceroy’s of India summer residence and also the main building for controlling the British Empire in the Summer before the British left India and then after a period housing governors and Prime Ministers was changed into its current use as a post-doctorate centre for humanities based subjects. The building was quite sight! It looked exactly like a Scottish Baronial house. The grounds were wonderfully maintained and it also housed a “real tennis” court.
Ps this is a very strange game which I have played once. Sadly with more badminton players than real tennis players in India the purpose of the building had changed. The house itself was incredibly impressive with large hanging portraits of former viceroys on the oak panelled walls. The views were equally impressive over the surrounding hills.
Rocking on back we went for a meal with Adam and Danesh in a what can only be described as the Indian equivalent of the English chippy. Packed full of kids from the local schools on their lunch breaks, the place served pizzas, chicken burgers and general western fatty fast food. The pizza was especially tasty. That night we decided to have a little party in the YMCA to celebrate one of the girls birthday who was staying there for a night.
Well I can only say a little party as the YMCA decided that having a few bevies and a bit of quiet music was a crime against humanity. The YMCA at Shimla, whilst being a great place to meet people, was a deridingly boring place. The staff seemed to be only interested in selling you ridiculously overpriced 10 day treks to the middle of no-where and timing to the tea the amount of time you played snooker, table tennis or used the internet.
Rob and I the next day took a walk up to a giant monkey god (Hanuman) statue on a hill. At the beginning of the walk up was a sign detailing how long it should take you and therefore your relative fitness. (Ill try and post a picture, twas brilliant, oh by the way, me and rob it turned out were in great shape-ish!). The monkey statue was pretty cool but the views from the top of the hill were spectacular!
That night, me, Adam and Danesh went with an local Indian friend we had made, Raj, to his friends house for chai and music. Well it turned out he was a pretty amazing player of the Tabalas (Indian drums). However, drums are nice on their own, but we needed a singer! Step forward Danesh who sang a catalogue of classic Nepali songs and a few Hindi songs he knew. Once this amazing catalogue was exhausted, he turned to his favourite Western band, Dire Straits!! Well I have got to say, a Nepali singing Dire Straits along to the tabalas was quite an acoustic experience to say the least! Anyway we went back to the hostel.
The next day me and Rob decided to move up to the Pravati valley upon recommendation of Adam who had just spent 2 weeks there and had said it was a really chilled out amazing place. We woke up and marched on down from the ridge to the bus station where we thought the bus would be. We showed the a conductor the ticket and he laughed and pointed along the road to a bus parked up at the side of the road about 2 km away up the hill. Well neither I or rob are great athletes but we just about made it before it took off. Big high five before collapsing into our seat, soaked in sweat...lovely!
The journey was quite scenic and little quaint villages flew by, but god almighty was it bumpy and travel sickness, which I had never experienced since I was 7, started to set in. Arriving in Bhuntar we both felt like,
well, shit. We gathered our thoughts in a chai shop. I looked up to see that the royal wedding was on the TV and I managed to catch 2 minutes of it, specifically the part where they officially married.
“Look rob, the wedding, its today!”
“Ohh for fuck sake!”
Rob was quite the royalist as you may tell.
Well we got into the bus to take us up to Jari where Adam had recommended. Arriving in Jari we spotted signs to the village guesthouse and snaked our way out of the small village up the side of the hill for 20 minutes till we arrived at a collection of a few houses. The views around were stunning with crop fields cut into the side of the hills and small old wooden houses dotted about. We rocked into the guesthouse and took a bedroom each as they were so cheap, 100 RS (£1.20) per night!
Rob and I spent the next 3 weeks in Pravati (before he had to depart to go back to Ireland), mostly sitting round chatting with people, making friends with some of the locals and going on day walks to small villages and so a day by day account like previous blogs would be rather boring so instead I’ll give an account rather of the couple of highlights.
The trek up the Malana valley to Malana:
Just down the road from Jari on the way to Kasol is the turn off to the Malana valley which houses several new hydroelectric projects and also the ancient town of Malana. I went with a Dutch actor/comedian called Oscar who was incredibly funny and had some great stories. We set off very early in the morning for the 5 hour trek. The trek was truly magnificent with 50m waterfalls either side and snow capped mountains all around. We decided to ditch the road we had been walking on for the old steep redundant track (since the new road now arrived at the base of a short gently sloping track up to the village). We waited outside the village until we were officially invited in by the locals.
There are a number of rules like this for the village which has tried to preserve its unique heritage and culture despite outside influences. The first and foremost one is that there is a strictly enforced (2000 RS fine) rule that there is to be no touching of the locals, their houses or basically anything. This strange rule has its roots in the centuries old caste system still present in the village. This rule is taken to what some may describe as extreme levels in the purchasing of goods from the village. For example after completing our ascent of the steep, yet beautiful path, Oscar and I decided a coke was well earned and deserved. Upon asking at the village shop for “2 cokes”, the cokes were placed on the floor and the money we owed was also placed on the floor allowing a “no touch” if not a little strange transaction to occur.
The village was in a serious state of disrepair after a fire in 2007 had decimated 90% of the original and beautiful old wooden houses. Luckily a few of the houses still remained along with the central temple which had been partially damaged. The temple’s carvings were ornate if a little strange (donkeys performing unspeakable acts upon men!) We hiked up to a couple of guesthouses run by outsiders just above the village limits and had a rather basic pizza and hot chocolate whilst waiting for the weather, which had worsened, to abate. It didn’t, so we walked down to the main road and flagged down a taxi which had just dropped off a few Israelis.
Trek to Kir Ganga:
After having trekked most of the available routes around Jari, and not wishing to become lazy, I chose to go on a solo-mission (Rob quite frankly couldn’t be bothered, but in a good way, he loved the life style of Jari!) up to the top of the valley. I took the bus to Kasol, then caught another to a small settlement called Bilshani. This place served as a sort of trading post for the towns of Tosh, Kalga, Pulga and Kir Ganga.
Arriving in Bilshani, I joined a small group of Israeli travellers heading towards Kalga as it was probably a little too late in the day to start the five hour trek to Kir Ganga. Kalga was a small collection of houses and guesthouse not far from Bilshani but on the other side of the river. One of the guys had already been to this really “cool and chilled out” guesthouse and so we followed him there. It did not disappoint.
The accommodation area was situated in a small square wooden house structure with 2 floors and with external ladders come staircases allowing access to the second floor. May not sound architecturally impressive but I have never been very good at describing architecture, so trust me, it was pretty “neat”. The general chilling cum living quarters comprised a pool table, several hammocks outside, a tandoor heated lounge area and with any wall space filled with a drawing of Bob Marley or LSD inspired painting! Definitively seemed a real shame only to spend a night there, but progress onwards I had to.
The next morning I set off early to Kir Ganga. After an hour or so I stopped en-route at a small village for a chai. The locals were all extremely friendly and soon a French musician joined the ranks at the open air chai shop with stunning views across the picturesque valley. A conversation soon piped up about the local’s views on the relatively recent surge of hydroelectric developments in the valley. Frenchy (after returning from the hippy settlement of the Rainbow at Kir Ganga) took the rather bunny-hugger pessimistic approach that we dont need electricity. Hmm, yes the Bronze age does seem rather tempting. I, not one for an argument, quietly nodded with a “meh”. The locals, living lives not exactly requiring Kilowatts of energy, rather just to power a few light bulbs, the village cooler and maybe a mobile phone charger, laughed at him. Disgruntled, he quickly pissed off down the valley and I, satisfied and well chai’d up, pissed off up it.
The journey up the valley was exceedingly scenic and beautiful passing through various small villages, crossing small streams (Christ my feet got wet) and creaky bridges, traversing through thick mountain forests (even saw a couple of mountain monkeys!) and stopping at the one other chai shop en-route. I eventually arrived at Kir Ganga. Well at first glimpse the question was “Is this it”. Now for a place to be given a name surely, it must contain more than 4 or 5 glorified long tents. Apparently not so!
My first impressions of dismay were quickly dispelled as I discovered that the real reason it was given its name was due to the holy hot springs in its vicinity. I quickly chose one of the restaurant/cum accommodation hut and settled in for a warm night’s sleep (its close to freezing at night in the mountains, so sleeping in the tents with their tandoor ovens for warmth for 50 RS is a brilliant idea).
The next day I took the short 50m walk to the thermal baths. I was certainly not let down. There were two baths; one for women, which was shielded off by wooden boards, and one for men which was far larger and not shielded. Thank god! It meant you could sit in the small swimming pool concrete structure with water as hot as any hot tub, bright sunshine, uninterrupted views of the spectacular snow capped Himalayas opposite and talk with fellow travellers. I think I found Eden! Apart from one day coming out as wrinkled as an orange and shoulders burnt to a crisp! Oh well.
The following day, after the ritualistic morning “bath”, I went with a few hippies I had met in the village to go to a squatter settlement about 20 minutes walk away. The gathering is called “the rainbow” and involves a small group of people (around 30), living outdoors in caves in this wooded forest. I arrived at the rainbow and proceeded to check out some of the caves the gatherers had inhabited, obviously being hugged at every available opportunity. They share meals and cook communally for the group. The atmosphere was really good and I really wanted to spend a night there, but lacking many warm clothes, a sleeping bag and especially a waterproof (rain was quite common up here), I decided it was not wise to find a cave and bunk it for the night. Meh, maybe should have done, but that nights weather was horrendous, gale force winds and really cold heavy rain. So, wise decision, wouldn’t have been much singing dancing going on, maybe some cave loving. Hehe!
The next day I returned to the “base” of Jari and linked up again with Rob and the other friends we had made.
Well that sums up a few of the highlights. I’ll tell you more in person about this incredible place/might write a fuller account one day of this place however for the moment, I hope I have given you a bit of a flavour!
PS: Rob left shortly afterwards to return to his native Ireland after his year of travelling. Top bloke. I left aswell to go onto Daramasala (strictly speaking McCleod Ganj)
Admin: 2000 page view mark has been reached! Happy days! I know the last blog was almost a month ago. I guess with the serious land crossing I have completed post Pravati I havn’t really had time to sit down and write. Well actually maybe that isn’t strictly true, I have, but Rob gave me a shed load of movies/TV programs/ Documentaries for my computer and so instead of “working” I have actually been gorging myself on Western TV. Well I promise you this, the next one will, definitely be up in less than 7 days? Hehe, I’ll try!!
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Khajuraho-Delhi
Hey guys! Sorry about the delay in postings. Im currently in the Pravati valley which is best described as "Amsterdam 200 years ago". Anyway that will have to wait for the next blog. Back to this one.
Well as I said, I left Khajuraho the next morning to go to Jhansi. The train journey was by and large scenic and uneventful. However I did meet a fellow Brit, Lee. He was a really quiet and introverted kind of guy. He grew up in a really run-down part of London and was struggling to find a job so decided to go travelling. Upon discussing how he financed his trip (not a usual topic of discussion but we were on the subject of poker and it crept up) he revealed he was a shit hot poker player and had played online for about 5 years and so had generated the cash that way. With my basic knowledge and serious interest in poker; Lee proved to be a valuable asset! (ps Im not planning to finance my next trip that way mind, the bank of mom and dad are by far more reliable sources of income!!)
Jhansi is an uncharismatic and rather dirty town. The only thing going for it was that it was the starting point for the taxi/bus to Orchha. Lee and I settled down for the night in a crappy old hotel not far from the train station. The next day we had a little walk around Jhansi, but the scorching heat (45 celsius) proved too much and it was only a little walk before we headed off to catch a cab to Orchha. We arrived in Orchha to a carnival like atmosphere. Turns out we had arrived in the middle of a large festival that was going to go on for another few days. I chose to stay on the main road, close to the action, great for people watching. Lee had been in big cities for quite a while and so chose to go stay in a quieter part of the town.
After lunch, where I met a British father and son who decided to go travelling during the Easter holidays, I went to the main palace. The architecture was very similar to the red fort of Agra, but the views across the surrounding forests and farmland "made it". I then ventured out into the ruins next to the palace which were rather interesting to poke around in. I spent some time chatting to the curator of the local museum gauging the history of the area and palace however his English wasn't great and my Hindi was non-existent; but it was fun nevertheless and he offered to take me round the museum the next day as it was closed that day because of the festival. I rocked on back to the hotel and got prepped for the night's festivities in the main square outside the temple.
After dinner I bought some cake off a local vendor and had a really nice chat with him about what was to come that night. On a side note it turned out I committed a minor religious faux-pas in eating the cake. Gorgeous though it was, its intended destination was supposed to be the main Hindu temple. I hope the gods didn't mind. That night was the turn of the holy men to preach and sing. They had been brought in from around the country with their fee going towards the upkeep of their Ashram (these are spiritual communities, much like monasteries). The crowd sat patiently on floor and chairs in front of the main stage. The three old men made their way on to their respective positions. They preached and sang about Hindu mythology (I was told) and really got the crowd going with clapping, singing along and the occasional Mexican wave!
The next day I walked down to the waterside cenotaphs (ghats). These were deserted and it was pretty cool to have the entire place to myself. The views over the river were spectacular and quite something to behold. The locals and Indian holiday makers were all swimming in the river having a real whale of a time. I hitched lift on the back of a local's motorbike as the day was scorching hot and I really couldn't be bothered to walk back to town. I met Lee in town and we decided to go check out a large temple like structure we had both seen from the palace. After a half hour walk, we found it was closed. Well it was an "Indian closing time" so we slipped the guy 40 Rupees (50p). We had the place all to ourselves. Turns out it was the best 20 Rs I had spent. The views were incredible from the top and we were treated to the best sunset I have ever seen over the mountains (pictures will be up on Picasa shortly).
Well Lee and I split once again. He went off to the ghats to see them at dusk and I went back to the village to watch the night times entertainment. This night times performance was a play. A play about 5 hours in length and apparently a very famous one to! All the locals knew pretty much all the words but I could only just about follow the plot with my non-existent Hindi. I gave up after about 3 hours seeing no end in sight of the play. I can only wonder what happened to the great warrior king...
The next day I decided to go to Bhopal. After a rather boring and bland train journey I arrived in a very run down and dull place; infact the question was often posed to me during my stay there by locals "why have you come to Bhopal? Just why?" Well I replied it was a very interesting place, they looked surprised. Indeed the reason I went there is rather boring itself. I have had the Union carbide disaster in Bhopal as a case study every year for three years for geography (Gcse, As and A levels) and so I reasoned that having studied this depressing place in great detail; knowing probably more than a local tour guide, I might as well go see it whilst I was nearby.
I checked into a respectable hotel on one of the main streets with views into the car park...how lovely I thought. The next day I made the walk to the plant, only 2 km from my room. My ideas of having to correct tour guides with my bank of knowledge of the disaster were rather incorrect. In fact there were no guided tours of the plant. There was not even a plaque for the 5,500 dead or any sort of memorial. The towering industrial chimneys and bland square-box buildings were the only reminder, caged inside a large security wall. People still to this day live next to the site and as a result of the town still yet to be "cleaned up" suffer terrible skin conditions especially but also kids are born today with severe mutations. The price we have to pay?
Alas I shall not dwell upon the arguments for and against industrialization. I saw a water tower under construction (it was about 60 metres high and was just the base with the actual water container yet to be installed, ill try and post a picy) a hundred yards from the plant. I wished to see the full scale of the place and hopefully get a few nice picies as well. I approached the three workers who were having a beadie and chai. On a side note a beadie is a very cheap Indian cigarette consisting of poor quality tobacco wrapped in a dried tobacco leaf (may be some other leaf) with no filter and are incredibly popular. Chai is effectively very milky and sweet tea which is equally popular often flavoured with cinnamon and other spices. Anyway I asked them if I could walk up the first flight of stairs and take a photo.
Unsurprisingly their English was non-existent and they insisted on taking me all the way to the top. Well I arrived at a the top of the 2 banister-less flights of stairs and ascended a small ladder onto a small platform just a metre below the main platform on which they were working on. Well I don't have a fear of heights but something was definitively kicking in! I asked if they could walk out to the other side facing the plant and take a photo. After 30 seconds or so the "oh sod it" thought came to my head and I climbed up from the relative safety of the lower platform onto the maze of planks with a 60 metre drop either side of me. There's no adrenaline rush like knowing certain death awaits with a slip! (ps I dont actually seek these "rushes", it just sort cropped up!) I made it across to the other side where some sheets of steel provided a makeshift platform. However despite the danger, the view of the city of Bhopal was incredible and the guys explained the various sights with the use of hand signals. The view plant on the other hand was really interesting. One could only see a few of the buildings and the towering spires of the former works which on one hand was really disappointing but the reason for this was that the absence of human occupation in the preceding 30 years had caused a miniature forest and ecosystem to develop encased in the walls. This created quite a poignant image of what most towns might look like if we were to just die out. Very strange.
Anyway that night I met an American girl called Emily in the foyer of my hotel. We decided to go out for dinner that night. However we decided to check out this local boozer just down the road. This was the first thing resembling a pub I had found in India. Well I say it was a pub, it was just a guy pulling pints behind a small bar with everybody standing around chatting. We stayed for a draught pint (25 rs, bargain!) which was rather refreshing. However we were advised by a kind local that we should leave after our pint as quote "dodgy places attract dodgy people" and that Emily was probably the first woman to visit this place. Anyway we then walked to a restaurant and as we entered we were waved at by this traveller. In a town not famed for its tourism we joined him at his table for a chat.
His name was Rob and he was a really nice 26 year old Irish bloke from Dublin with the true gift of the gab! Anyway this chance encounter resulted in Rob and I travelling together for the next month. Well the three of us had a great evening together culminating in drinking considerable quantities of Old Monk Rum and coke on top of the hotel having a really good deep conversation often going off on some random tangent.
Anyway the next day Emily left as she was moving into a homestay with one of her tutors. She was doing a term in India and doing a short course in Bhopal. I met up with rob again and we ventured on down into Bhopal. It was a pretty colourful and authentic Indian town with generally people just happy to see us. Upon recommendation of the Lonely planet we ate a local restaurant. The place had no name but was distinguishable by the palm tree motif outside the front door. The place was rather quirky in many respects but the thali was awesome and truly unlimited. Me and rob stumbled out of there filled to the brim!
The next day we departed by train for Delhi as we decided to move up north along with the rest of the Indian traveller cohort as the weather was far too hot in the south. The train journey was by and large unremarkable as it was a sleeper. We arrived in Delhi in the early morning and proceeded to go the Nirvana hostel to sort out tickets for our travel north. Also some of you who follow this blog and can sort of map out where I have been will see I made a rather "pointless" circle. It's kind of like dipping your toe in the bath to find out it is too hot and deciding to pour in some cold water. Dont get me wrong I saw some really amazing places and met some really cool people but the heat of the day often was a real struggle and so I joined the mass migration northwards. Hehe kind of pointless story there.
Anyway sorry I didn't get round to telling you about the journey north with rob. I thought this was a good place to break finishing this loop. But dont get me wrong I have been rather slow to update this blog. I'm now in McLeod Ganj; the home of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. Thought I would give his full title, he is after all, a pretty big cheese around here. Anyway the next blog consisting of the journey from Delhi to the Pravati valley will be up shortly (touch wood).
Admin: I have a new mobile phone number! This is it 00919736779339. Feel free to call me or drop us a text anytime you like (bear in mind it's like a 7 hour time difference to the UK) so keep it reasonable folks!! I have also decided I'm going to probably come back to ol'blighty late August (departure destination unknown) to see my friends, finish my motorbike licence, go to weddings and anniversaries before Bristol Uni takes my freedom!! It's also exam "season" in the UK, best of luck to my brother and any others struggling through! Remember your life does not depend on it- may I refer you to "the paradox of our age" by H.H. the 14th Dalai Lama. Really rings home living in our western society. Anyway keep well and keep in touch folks!!
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Agra-Khajuraho
So as I said in the last blog, I arrived in the backpackers hostel in Agra. To say it was a hostel was a bit rich; more of a hotel with individual rooms and what not, but the rooms did surround a central courtyard where I met some pretty cool people. I arrived on Thursday at about 12. Still soaked in sweat from the train journey (previous blog) I took a shower then ordered some Thali (plate of various bits of food, staple diet in India) and got chatting to two nice girls from Germany. Well the conversation got on to how long I was staying in Agra.
“Today, then leave tomorrow night I think”
“And have you seen the Taj MahaL?”
“Nope, was going to save that for tomorrow morning, you know less tourists and try catch the sunrise, should be epic!”
“But don’t you know its closed on Friday’s?”
“Bollocks”
Off I shot to the Taj by cycle rickshaw. I made it there with about 20 mins before the ticket desk closed.
I entered into the grounds and was not disappointed. The Taj is beautiful. It is set upon a platform so that from whichever side you look at it the background is always blue sky. I spent a good few hours there. I kind of wished I had seen it in the morning as the throngs of tourists “polluted” the photos I took. However, photos are not the be all and end all of visits, the memories of that building will stay with me for a long time.
I met my first English guys since the start of my trip at the Taj. A couple of 20 year old lads from Leeds. They had paid a vast sum (by Indian standards) to be driven around Rajasthan by a private driver. Seemed a bit of a waste but they said they loved the experience of visiting these small towns with a guy who speaks Hindi.
Was so nice though to hear a familiar voice and be able to have a good conversation in fluent British English, we exchanged details and agreed to meet some point in the future as they had to go back to their driver.
I made my way back to my hotel at night exhausted from the experiences of the day; I slept for a couple hours before going to the courtyard for dinner. I got chatting to this nice guy from Portsmouth (I was on a roll today for meeting English people!!) He was really friendly and interesting. He took a gap year, started uni at Manchester, dropped out not liking the course and then has taken a second gap year and is now going to do building surveying at Reading.
The next day we chose to do a day trip to Fatehpur Sikri with this French girl called Veronica. She was fairly introverted unlike me and Tom. She kind of followed us like an annoying kid completely engrossed in her Le Guide du Routard (the French answer to the lonely planet guide. The bus pulled off the main highway onto a smaller road. The ruins of the old town became quickly visible as we passed through an arch in the fortress walls.
Our first port of call was a large truly stunning mosque. We were shown round by a stone carver who worked there; he explained all the intricacies and the various aspects of its history. The mosque in many ways was very similar to the ones I had visited in the Middle East (faced east, had minarets and shoes removed before entering), however differed in many ways as well having features obviously taken from other cultures (such as some Hindi carved on the walls as explained by the guy and also sales of goods to tourists occurring inside the courtyard which was frowned upon by the security and holy men but seemingly prevalent).
We then rocked over to the palace. The place was intricately designed, expansive and beautiful. The grounds were wonderfully maintained and the flowers in blossom, totally unique experience. We made our way to the bus station. We waited and waited. Veronica assured us that there would be a bus here at 4 going to Agra according to Routard so we sat and waited. The locals assured us that we should walk up the main road and flag a bus down going the right way. At 4:30 we convinced Veronica Le Guide du Routard was probably wrong and that the one quoted at 5 would most likely not turn up either. She looked almost tearful. It was like the love of her life had let her down, he had cheated and left. Tom and I just giggled at this 29 year old that obviously had a lot to learn!
As the locals said, we flagged the bus down going the right way to Agra. Veronica looked even less pleased with the bus actually turning up and going the right way. Upon entering Agra town me and tom saw a cricket match taking place. We made a spontaneous decision to jump off and go play. The kids and young teens were obviously excited about 2 whities coming down to join their game. Tom (a brilliant county cricketer) took the crease and whalloped the delivery for 6 that took forever to recover. I (a shite cricketer) then took the crease and they obviously changed bowler expecting me to be just as good as Tom. I said good bye to my middle stump first ball. We chatted with them for abit and bowled a few balls back. However as we left one of the kids asked us for money (to which we refused) then it seemed as if everyone wanted to see if they could get in on the act. Kind of spoiled the moment and we beat a hasty retreat back to the hotel.
That night we had a great meal on the street with Veronica and the two nice Germans. Central, non-touristy agra has a large thriving community of businesses selling stir-fries and tandoorie meals. We chose the most popular hut and the price was dirty cheap but the food was excellent. We got some beers from a local shop and took them back for desert. Tom and I guzzled our way through a good couple of cans of Kingfisher draught, but the German girls made us look puny in comparison. The Germans certainly can handle their booze!!
The day after me and Tom ditched veronica and headed off to the Red fort. The fort was beautiful with great views over the Taj at the Eastern side. The fort was stunning and we both felt it was well worth seeing!
Ps. A word of warning to would be tourists/travellers in India- Indian monuments and places of note will often have “sound and light shows” advertised. I met several duped by ticket salesmen to go and see them. Think not multi-million dollar setup with lasers and Sir Simon Rattle scripted music; rather kids disco lights, crappy music and all strung out for 1 hour to for fill the promises made by the ticket salesmen. If you wish a sound and light show at night at one of these monuments I recommend finding a nice spot to view them under moon light, an MP3 player and a head torch!!
Next we chose to go to Khajuraho, Veronica was going the same way so she tagged along. Going from the hotel to the station we had to catch an auto-rick. I looked outside with 45 mins to go, only to notice, no auto rick, no taxis, nothing!! We grabbed our stuff and sprinted to the junction to try and find something however there was nothing bar private cars and motorbikes! I said we should just see if we can hitch it, otherwise we were kind of screwed for this train! Tom was game, Victoria was too engrossed in Le routard to notice we were late to which me and Tom laughed. Hearing this Veronica glanced up, perplexed at our laughter then went to the book. Between us we flagged down a bloke in a tiny car, we piled in, his wife piled out and sat at the side of the road with her watermelon not looking overly joyed at being thrown out of her own car by hitchhikers but her husband insisted. We made it there in the nick of time, thanked the guy profusely and climbed aboard the train to settle down for the night.
The moment we arrived in Khajuraho we realised business was obviously slow and so were instantly set upon by touts. We went with a guy who seemed to have the best deal, 150RS a night (£2.50) and a central location. Veronica agreed happily as it was in her guide and sounded good. We arrived to find Routard had not let us down. The place was clean, but did have the feel it had seen better days.
After settling down in my room I went out into the courtyard. Tom came down the stairs from the roof in a fit of giggles. I asked what was up. Tom went up there to check out the views across the lake and mountains and had found Veronica. He told me she had read in the guide that this place served welcome tea on the roof, and so had deposited her bag in the room and made her way up to the roof in the blazing mid-day heat (46 celsius we were told) of Indian Summer to claim her complimentary tea. She had been waiting at least 20 minutes when he found her, burnt by the sun and suffering terribly! All the staff were down stairs in the lobby with the curtains tightly drawn shut and invited me and Tom in for “welcome tea”.
Veronica who had now been waiting for this welcome tea on the roof for over half an hour came down into the lobby, obviously exhausted, and saw me and Tom sipping tea with the staff, we smiled, she didn’t, and beat a hasty retreat into her room, probably tearful, le guide had cheated on her again, grr!!!
Tom and I then set out to Raneh falls by bicycle we rented out for 50RS each. The mid-day conditions were close to intolerable albeit a slight cooling wind but after a good hour cycling through some lovely countryside we made it there. The man at the ticket office pointed out the way. As we cycled into the nature reserve we spotted a huge mass of black objects flying up from the ground into the air then swirling around. I suggested it maybe a starling flock. The mass was travelling from left to right from our perspective and about to cross the road shortly in front of us. We stopped just short of where we expected it to cross the road and noticed as it approached that it was not birds, but leaves, it was a TORNADO! Albeit a small one only capable of picking up leaves, dust and twigs but still quite impressive to see it just 20 yards in front of us! We should have cycled into it; I mean it wasn’t obviously capable of picking up anything of any weight, but it passed too quickly, we lost track of it and could no longer hear its jet engine style noise (a small jet though).
Thrilled, we continued on our bikes along the dusty road to the falls and arrived there in the afternoon. We walked along the dried out river bed (the river is monsoonal, at the moment there were just puddles). Still we saw pictures of what it was like full flow and were very impressed, we would have been 50 ft under! The wildlife was all around and we saw pretty much everything; colourful parakeets, small bee-eaters, lizards, herds of 8ft tall antelope, spotted deer, peacocks and lizards.
We stopped at the museum/viewing platform and were planning to go back when a tuk-tuk pulled up. The people were French and knowing how the French treated cyclists I asked if we could hitch a lift back to Khajuraho with them and put the bikes on top. They wilfully obliged but said they were first going a couple of miles down a dirt track to see the alligators and Gharial and asked if we wished to join them, otherwise they would pick us and the bikes up on the way back. We jumped at the chance! Me and Tom decided that we should not spoil their comfortable tuk-tuk ride and chose to ride on the back, with our feet in the open boot and holding onto the top railings, which was the best decision we made that day!
The guy weaved his along this dirt track stopping every so often so the frogs could see the wildlife in so creating an auto-rickshaw safari but me and Tom had the best views and would help to act as spotters with our birds eye view. A totally unique and cheap way to see wildlife, why countries like South Africa still insist on taking their safari guests in air conditioned jeeps, is beyond me! The tuk-tuk safari is by far and away the best thing not invented!! We made it to the look-out spot which looked out onto a sort of canyon. After almost giving up trying to spot on, after 20 mins one of the frogs proclaimed “Regarde!” (ps it was something in French, everyone knew what he had seen though!) I borrowed their binoculars and low and behold, it was a young Alligator (nobody had binoculars good enough to distinguish what variety it
was as its head was turned slightly away but the consensus was that it was a alligator, not the more reclusive and rare Gharial).
Thrilled but gutted we didn’t see the rare Gharial we jumped back on our tuk-tuk and proceeded to go back. We threw the bikes on top of the tuk-tuk and me and tom held onto them as we made our way back to Khajuraho! We gave them back and had a bevie, satisfied with our day’s achievements.
The next day we spent walking round the Western group of temples. They were particularly impressive with the Karma Sutra carvings on the side of them, a real eye opener for two sweet naive boy’s... Tom and I spent a good hour or so there and picked up a few ideas on route! He then chose to leave to go to Udaipur and some of Rajastan. I wanted to stay longer and look around the Eastern temple group and go to a Hindu Festival that night. The festival that night...oh son it was nuts!! It all started in the early afternoon with long motorcycle parades with men waving orange flags and wearing orange headbands all juggling for position behind a small truck with a massive speaker set pumping out the heaviest Indian tunes!
After the rides died down I then made my way to a gathering on a side street. The women were all sitting on the floor on one side of the street, the men on chairs on the other. Men who felt “god come to them” went absolutely crazy and entered some trance like state . They screamed, took their tops off, ran into an inconspicuous door, ran out, and then back in and so on. They were given something resembling a cat-of-nine-tails in order to whip their backs all whilst the spikes were sharpened. The beat increased and these four guys continued to whip themselves faster and faster. I was sitting up on a roof and had an excellent view. The young men then along with the aid of a helper pierced the side of their mouths with a spear with a diameter the size of a nice fat Cuban cigar. Blood gushed onto the street. The young men were then paraded on the end of the poles through the streets to the Hindu temple, I followed. The festival lasted most of the night; I retired to bed after a short time, but not after being interviewed by a local TV network!!
The next day, along with a nice French girl called Beatrice I cycled around the Eastern group of Temples and the old town of Khajuraho. These were not that dissimilar to the Western ones, but just less tourists. It was a really pleasant day out. The following morning I departed for Jhansi. That will have to wait for the next blog!
The job. Some of you may have heard I had a job in Khajuraho. Well I say a job. The owner was complaining about having fewer guests than he used to. I said I would help, in return for free board and lodgings. I started the process of putting him on hostel world and wrote letters on his behalf to the Lonely Planet. I also did him an excel spreadsheet for his staff to use to organize bookings and gave advice to his staff on customer service. All pretty bland stuff, but hell, it was easy and the food he gave me was delicious, mango pickles, dhal, roti and fluffy rice 3 times a day!
Admin: My Indian sim has been cut off for violation of rule 277 or some crap. Basically I bought it and registered it to the Nirvana hostel in Delhi and didn’t really think anything more of it. I then get a call on a noisy train and the guy wants to confirm my address. I tell the guy to call me back in an hour as I couldn’t hear him and also I didn’t have the address at the moment. He didn’t bother. 5 Days later I get a text message saying that I hadn’t completed a form and so they have decided to cut me off! There goes the £4 of credit I still had on the phone! Not really admin, more of a gripe against the pointless bureaucracy of the Indian government and Airtel my Indian sim provider. But if you had my Indian number, it wont work no more! So for the moment make do with email(shakethelake@hotmail.com, Facebook and English mobile number).
“Today, then leave tomorrow night I think”
“And have you seen the Taj MahaL?”
“Nope, was going to save that for tomorrow morning, you know less tourists and try catch the sunrise, should be epic!”
“But don’t you know its closed on Friday’s?”
“Bollocks”
Off I shot to the Taj by cycle rickshaw. I made it there with about 20 mins before the ticket desk closed.
I entered into the grounds and was not disappointed. The Taj is beautiful. It is set upon a platform so that from whichever side you look at it the background is always blue sky. I spent a good few hours there. I kind of wished I had seen it in the morning as the throngs of tourists “polluted” the photos I took. However, photos are not the be all and end all of visits, the memories of that building will stay with me for a long time.
I met my first English guys since the start of my trip at the Taj. A couple of 20 year old lads from Leeds. They had paid a vast sum (by Indian standards) to be driven around Rajasthan by a private driver. Seemed a bit of a waste but they said they loved the experience of visiting these small towns with a guy who speaks Hindi.
Was so nice though to hear a familiar voice and be able to have a good conversation in fluent British English, we exchanged details and agreed to meet some point in the future as they had to go back to their driver.
I made my way back to my hotel at night exhausted from the experiences of the day; I slept for a couple hours before going to the courtyard for dinner. I got chatting to this nice guy from Portsmouth (I was on a roll today for meeting English people!!) He was really friendly and interesting. He took a gap year, started uni at Manchester, dropped out not liking the course and then has taken a second gap year and is now going to do building surveying at Reading.
The next day we chose to do a day trip to Fatehpur Sikri with this French girl called Veronica. She was fairly introverted unlike me and Tom. She kind of followed us like an annoying kid completely engrossed in her Le Guide du Routard (the French answer to the lonely planet guide. The bus pulled off the main highway onto a smaller road. The ruins of the old town became quickly visible as we passed through an arch in the fortress walls.
Our first port of call was a large truly stunning mosque. We were shown round by a stone carver who worked there; he explained all the intricacies and the various aspects of its history. The mosque in many ways was very similar to the ones I had visited in the Middle East (faced east, had minarets and shoes removed before entering), however differed in many ways as well having features obviously taken from other cultures (such as some Hindi carved on the walls as explained by the guy and also sales of goods to tourists occurring inside the courtyard which was frowned upon by the security and holy men but seemingly prevalent).
We then rocked over to the palace. The place was intricately designed, expansive and beautiful. The grounds were wonderfully maintained and the flowers in blossom, totally unique experience. We made our way to the bus station. We waited and waited. Veronica assured us that there would be a bus here at 4 going to Agra according to Routard so we sat and waited. The locals assured us that we should walk up the main road and flag a bus down going the right way. At 4:30 we convinced Veronica Le Guide du Routard was probably wrong and that the one quoted at 5 would most likely not turn up either. She looked almost tearful. It was like the love of her life had let her down, he had cheated and left. Tom and I just giggled at this 29 year old that obviously had a lot to learn!
As the locals said, we flagged the bus down going the right way to Agra. Veronica looked even less pleased with the bus actually turning up and going the right way. Upon entering Agra town me and tom saw a cricket match taking place. We made a spontaneous decision to jump off and go play. The kids and young teens were obviously excited about 2 whities coming down to join their game. Tom (a brilliant county cricketer) took the crease and whalloped the delivery for 6 that took forever to recover. I (a shite cricketer) then took the crease and they obviously changed bowler expecting me to be just as good as Tom. I said good bye to my middle stump first ball. We chatted with them for abit and bowled a few balls back. However as we left one of the kids asked us for money (to which we refused) then it seemed as if everyone wanted to see if they could get in on the act. Kind of spoiled the moment and we beat a hasty retreat back to the hotel.
That night we had a great meal on the street with Veronica and the two nice Germans. Central, non-touristy agra has a large thriving community of businesses selling stir-fries and tandoorie meals. We chose the most popular hut and the price was dirty cheap but the food was excellent. We got some beers from a local shop and took them back for desert. Tom and I guzzled our way through a good couple of cans of Kingfisher draught, but the German girls made us look puny in comparison. The Germans certainly can handle their booze!!
The day after me and Tom ditched veronica and headed off to the Red fort. The fort was beautiful with great views over the Taj at the Eastern side. The fort was stunning and we both felt it was well worth seeing!
Ps. A word of warning to would be tourists/travellers in India- Indian monuments and places of note will often have “sound and light shows” advertised. I met several duped by ticket salesmen to go and see them. Think not multi-million dollar setup with lasers and Sir Simon Rattle scripted music; rather kids disco lights, crappy music and all strung out for 1 hour to for fill the promises made by the ticket salesmen. If you wish a sound and light show at night at one of these monuments I recommend finding a nice spot to view them under moon light, an MP3 player and a head torch!!
Next we chose to go to Khajuraho, Veronica was going the same way so she tagged along. Going from the hotel to the station we had to catch an auto-rick. I looked outside with 45 mins to go, only to notice, no auto rick, no taxis, nothing!! We grabbed our stuff and sprinted to the junction to try and find something however there was nothing bar private cars and motorbikes! I said we should just see if we can hitch it, otherwise we were kind of screwed for this train! Tom was game, Victoria was too engrossed in Le routard to notice we were late to which me and Tom laughed. Hearing this Veronica glanced up, perplexed at our laughter then went to the book. Between us we flagged down a bloke in a tiny car, we piled in, his wife piled out and sat at the side of the road with her watermelon not looking overly joyed at being thrown out of her own car by hitchhikers but her husband insisted. We made it there in the nick of time, thanked the guy profusely and climbed aboard the train to settle down for the night.
The moment we arrived in Khajuraho we realised business was obviously slow and so were instantly set upon by touts. We went with a guy who seemed to have the best deal, 150RS a night (£2.50) and a central location. Veronica agreed happily as it was in her guide and sounded good. We arrived to find Routard had not let us down. The place was clean, but did have the feel it had seen better days.
After settling down in my room I went out into the courtyard. Tom came down the stairs from the roof in a fit of giggles. I asked what was up. Tom went up there to check out the views across the lake and mountains and had found Veronica. He told me she had read in the guide that this place served welcome tea on the roof, and so had deposited her bag in the room and made her way up to the roof in the blazing mid-day heat (46 celsius we were told) of Indian Summer to claim her complimentary tea. She had been waiting at least 20 minutes when he found her, burnt by the sun and suffering terribly! All the staff were down stairs in the lobby with the curtains tightly drawn shut and invited me and Tom in for “welcome tea”.
Veronica who had now been waiting for this welcome tea on the roof for over half an hour came down into the lobby, obviously exhausted, and saw me and Tom sipping tea with the staff, we smiled, she didn’t, and beat a hasty retreat into her room, probably tearful, le guide had cheated on her again, grr!!!
Tom and I then set out to Raneh falls by bicycle we rented out for 50RS each. The mid-day conditions were close to intolerable albeit a slight cooling wind but after a good hour cycling through some lovely countryside we made it there. The man at the ticket office pointed out the way. As we cycled into the nature reserve we spotted a huge mass of black objects flying up from the ground into the air then swirling around. I suggested it maybe a starling flock. The mass was travelling from left to right from our perspective and about to cross the road shortly in front of us. We stopped just short of where we expected it to cross the road and noticed as it approached that it was not birds, but leaves, it was a TORNADO! Albeit a small one only capable of picking up leaves, dust and twigs but still quite impressive to see it just 20 yards in front of us! We should have cycled into it; I mean it wasn’t obviously capable of picking up anything of any weight, but it passed too quickly, we lost track of it and could no longer hear its jet engine style noise (a small jet though).
Thrilled, we continued on our bikes along the dusty road to the falls and arrived there in the afternoon. We walked along the dried out river bed (the river is monsoonal, at the moment there were just puddles). Still we saw pictures of what it was like full flow and were very impressed, we would have been 50 ft under! The wildlife was all around and we saw pretty much everything; colourful parakeets, small bee-eaters, lizards, herds of 8ft tall antelope, spotted deer, peacocks and lizards.
We stopped at the museum/viewing platform and were planning to go back when a tuk-tuk pulled up. The people were French and knowing how the French treated cyclists I asked if we could hitch a lift back to Khajuraho with them and put the bikes on top. They wilfully obliged but said they were first going a couple of miles down a dirt track to see the alligators and Gharial and asked if we wished to join them, otherwise they would pick us and the bikes up on the way back. We jumped at the chance! Me and Tom decided that we should not spoil their comfortable tuk-tuk ride and chose to ride on the back, with our feet in the open boot and holding onto the top railings, which was the best decision we made that day!
The guy weaved his along this dirt track stopping every so often so the frogs could see the wildlife in so creating an auto-rickshaw safari but me and Tom had the best views and would help to act as spotters with our birds eye view. A totally unique and cheap way to see wildlife, why countries like South Africa still insist on taking their safari guests in air conditioned jeeps, is beyond me! The tuk-tuk safari is by far and away the best thing not invented!! We made it to the look-out spot which looked out onto a sort of canyon. After almost giving up trying to spot on, after 20 mins one of the frogs proclaimed “Regarde!” (ps it was something in French, everyone knew what he had seen though!) I borrowed their binoculars and low and behold, it was a young Alligator (nobody had binoculars good enough to distinguish what variety it
was as its head was turned slightly away but the consensus was that it was a alligator, not the more reclusive and rare Gharial).
Thrilled but gutted we didn’t see the rare Gharial we jumped back on our tuk-tuk and proceeded to go back. We threw the bikes on top of the tuk-tuk and me and tom held onto them as we made our way back to Khajuraho! We gave them back and had a bevie, satisfied with our day’s achievements.
The next day we spent walking round the Western group of temples. They were particularly impressive with the Karma Sutra carvings on the side of them, a real eye opener for two sweet naive boy’s... Tom and I spent a good hour or so there and picked up a few ideas on route! He then chose to leave to go to Udaipur and some of Rajastan. I wanted to stay longer and look around the Eastern temple group and go to a Hindu Festival that night. The festival that night...oh son it was nuts!! It all started in the early afternoon with long motorcycle parades with men waving orange flags and wearing orange headbands all juggling for position behind a small truck with a massive speaker set pumping out the heaviest Indian tunes!
After the rides died down I then made my way to a gathering on a side street. The women were all sitting on the floor on one side of the street, the men on chairs on the other. Men who felt “god come to them” went absolutely crazy and entered some trance like state . They screamed, took their tops off, ran into an inconspicuous door, ran out, and then back in and so on. They were given something resembling a cat-of-nine-tails in order to whip their backs all whilst the spikes were sharpened. The beat increased and these four guys continued to whip themselves faster and faster. I was sitting up on a roof and had an excellent view. The young men then along with the aid of a helper pierced the side of their mouths with a spear with a diameter the size of a nice fat Cuban cigar. Blood gushed onto the street. The young men were then paraded on the end of the poles through the streets to the Hindu temple, I followed. The festival lasted most of the night; I retired to bed after a short time, but not after being interviewed by a local TV network!!
The next day, along with a nice French girl called Beatrice I cycled around the Eastern group of Temples and the old town of Khajuraho. These were not that dissimilar to the Western ones, but just less tourists. It was a really pleasant day out. The following morning I departed for Jhansi. That will have to wait for the next blog!
The job. Some of you may have heard I had a job in Khajuraho. Well I say a job. The owner was complaining about having fewer guests than he used to. I said I would help, in return for free board and lodgings. I started the process of putting him on hostel world and wrote letters on his behalf to the Lonely Planet. I also did him an excel spreadsheet for his staff to use to organize bookings and gave advice to his staff on customer service. All pretty bland stuff, but hell, it was easy and the food he gave me was delicious, mango pickles, dhal, roti and fluffy rice 3 times a day!
Admin: My Indian sim has been cut off for violation of rule 277 or some crap. Basically I bought it and registered it to the Nirvana hostel in Delhi and didn’t really think anything more of it. I then get a call on a noisy train and the guy wants to confirm my address. I tell the guy to call me back in an hour as I couldn’t hear him and also I didn’t have the address at the moment. He didn’t bother. 5 Days later I get a text message saying that I hadn’t completed a form and so they have decided to cut me off! There goes the £4 of credit I still had on the phone! Not really admin, more of a gripe against the pointless bureaucracy of the Indian government and Airtel my Indian sim provider. But if you had my Indian number, it wont work no more! So for the moment make do with email(shakethelake@hotmail.com, Facebook and English mobile number).
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)