Yuksom in the clouds July 31, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , 2commentsWe were told that there was a share jeep that would pass through Tashading to Yuksom at 11am or 1pm. With luggage in tow we waited patiently on the side of the road waiting for the jeep. The 11am one was stuffed, no way would we be able to catch that one. So we continued to wait on the side of the road for several hours, each time a jeep whizzing through or packed with people, our confidence that we would catch one decreased by the hour. No one had mentioned in conjunction with jeep advice that it was market day, so extra busy. The one good thing about sitting on the side of the village road indefinitely was the fantastic people watching opportunities. For the past week, the village had seemed pretty sleepy, and now there were all sorts of people coming out of the wood work! One old farmer lady dressed in traditional Nepali clothing with a massive gold nose ring hiked passed us with a huge basket hanging from her head. She didn’t have any shoes, and to be honest it looked like she had never owned a pair in her life! Those feet must have taken a battering, I had thought to my myself, recalling the hectic climb we had endured to the river only day ago.
It seemed we were a pretty good market attraction for the locals too. The westerners sat at the bottom of the market with big bags were turning out to be great amusement to the kids who spent the next few hours walking past us, up and down the hill, each time shouting NAMASTE! a little louder than the last time. We had to chuckle.
The rain began to start about 2pm and a jeep finally passed us at about 3pm with just enough room for us and our bags. By this time the rains were really coming down. This jeep ride felt a little more hair raising than the last. Despite the lack of views, we did get to see the Phamrong Falls en route, which really were breathtaking.
Arriving in Yuksom was like arriving in a massive cloud. Wet and very foggy. We fell into the nearest hostel, escaping from the outdoors. This turned out to be a good deal as we had a whole dorm to ourselves for Rs60 (90p) per night. Cold and damp, but we were getting used to this…
Yuksom is the place where the major treks to North Sikkim start and the main trailhead for the Khangchendzonga trek. Being off season, the small town felt a bit more like a ghost town, especially with the impending cloud that was not looking like it was going to go anywhere. Only one cafe was our access to food and tea. It was OK, but portions weren’t particularly generous or that appetising. When it is cold and rainy, we have realised that a good cuppa is pretty key to our sanity.
Nevertheless, Yuksom had a few local walks with some interesting things to see. So we spent one full day taking the sights in. A fair few Gompas lined the town, 2 of which we walked to. The most fascinating thing for me was Norbugang Park which is home to the coronation throne of the first Sikkim Chogyal. It was a beautiful park, really nice a fresh with the fine rain. There was an actual footprint fused in stone infront of the throne which is believed to be of one of the crowning lamas. Dubious? No. It was spookily realistic.
The walk to the park took us out of the little town, where immediately ALL of the stray dogs started to follow us (or shall I say, me). They aren’t aggressive or too gammy, but all the same, I really would have preferred if they hadn’t followed us (collecting their friends on the way). I have begun to wonder if I smell of dog or something. Al insisted that it is because they can smell my hormones. GREAT. Anyone who knows me well enough will know that I am not comfortable around dogs at the best of times! One slight deterrent I did discovered on this walk was my umbrella. If I opened it in the dogs face it stopped them from following me for all of about 3 seconds!
The walk took us past Kathok Lake, a Holy lake with loads of prayer flags. It was murky, but peaceful all the same. I say peaceful, it was until we left the lake edge, where we proceeded to scream like little girls. LEACHES. Little buggers on our shoes. It was our first experience of them. Although we had been anticipating them, when one is ‘marching’ very quickly towards skin and you can’t get it off of you, it is a tad disconcerting. Meanwhile, dogs and locals are stood there watching us with amusement as we struggle to rid ourselves of these blood sucking pests!
When we had reached the Norbugang park and enjoyed seeing the coronation throne, massive Buddhist prayer wheel and Monastery; we devised a cunning plan…. With the dogs still in tow, we thought it would be amusing if we locked them in the grounds of the Monastery. So we quickly darted out the gates, shutting them in on our way out. The dogs stood there with their heads through the bars watching us longingly. I felt a little bad, but not for long. We walked back down the hill in hysterical laughter…only to see a monk on his way up. CRAP. He would release the hounds! We kept up our speed, but before long we had our furry friends trotting along side us once more.
With the weather persisting, and only much longer treks to do in Yuksom, we decided to relocate to Pelling the following day.
Tashading or was that Tashadingaling? July 29, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentCruising along the Sikkimese country is beautiful mixed with fear. Boulders strewn across the road and recent slips degrading the road in too recent times makes things a little more distracting.
Heading further and further into the cloud line we finally admitted that things were feeling a little ‘chilly’, something we said we would relish in the Indian plains, baking in 40C plus heat. The lush, dense forest makes it worth it and it is still actually hot despite now being at 2000m above sea level.
We rolled into Tashading despite the jeep driver forgetting to tell us when to get off. This really quaint little village, built on a and stretching along it up to a Buddist Gompa we made it in the middle of low season- more and more we realise the BEST time to visit. We found an empty hotel and negotiated our usual “off season discount” of about 25-50% every time. The owner was the local school teacher and after eating in the one crappy restaurant that had anything to eat except momos he offered us a kerosene cooker. This is perfect fuel for the poor costing just Rs12 per liter (18p to cook at least 6 long-cooking time meals), subsidised by the Indian government. Nice one.
We had good views in Gangtok, but this takes it another level and we start to feel as though the view will a) never tire us and b) never stop impressing for each place we move to.
We also realised that we were in the middle of nowhere through a massive brown and black spider that was sitting on our wall. A mosquito net is crucial in India, not just for mosquitos, but we then realise to stop any other malicious insects and other animals from joining you in bed. We decided to leave the spider alone and in the morning it was gone, which was perhaps more disturbing, but we did not see it again. This place is a breeding ground for a multitude of species of spiders, butterflies and moths of all kinds. In the bathroom alone I counted at least 30 different types of moth, not just those with different markings, but those that were inherently different. I have never been interested in wildlife until I visited India and started encountering a variety of different animals, but this has taken my interest into the next level.
After we were setup and had eaten we headed up to the Gompa (monastery). We were tired as we were up at 5am, but pushed onwards and up for the 20 minute uphill climb. It was worth it. Gompas are beautiful but this especially so and the Tibetan Buddist design work around them intricate in the wooden carving and brightly coloured paintwork depicting scenes from the Buddist scriptures. It was positioned on the highest point on the ridge and so the views were as equally serene. The place was so tranquil we could have slept there easily in the most springy grass I have felt before. Driven by hunger however we retreated back to our Guesthouse/ Hotel and relaxed until the next day.
Tashading was a real local community and small enough village where we quickly became familiar faces and recognised and acknowledged the people there. We developed relationships and understandings with the local ‘off license’, the local fuel and medical store, and the local restaurant owner. This is great as they quickly know what you need and understand that they cannot rip you off. A few places tried to and we quickly made it known that we knew the score and moved our business elsewhere- permanently. I enjoy making this point immensely, as I still find it hard to understand how some people think that foreigners are so stupid and are prepared on paying double the going rate- I guess many do.
We had a few days of wandering around and generally hanging out, listening to people and seeing what people do in their daily lives in each place. On our second day we found a shack that was perched on the back of the steep mountainous hill, made by a young guy who based it on a Goan back shack. The place instead had 4 locals drinking cheap rum at 11am. Apparently he did food, but this turned out to be pasta only as he had nothing else… although it did have italian herbs, which none else has even heard of, so that was interesting. It was a shame though as he told me that he was going to change the place into a shop selling shirts, as the tourist season doesn’t support it out of season. Instead locals all turn up, drink too much and have constant fights. This is surprising in a place that is so quiet and with so few people! he seemed despondent though and like other young people I have talked to wants to get out of Sikkim and head for the cities to get ‘real’ work and a ‘real life’. It is funny that grass is always greener on the other side and I always explain the realities of living in a city like London when they claim that they love London so much, while they can tell me nothing about it. We sat on our private roof terrace that night discussing how we would love to live in Sikkim and the life here. We also decide to walk down to the river below the next day and go for a self-styled trek.
We were told the river was around an hour walk down some steps to the river- it wasn’t far. We set off in the heat of the day and timed it to coincide with the daily routine of the early morning cloud cover (which literally surrounds Tashading) being burnt off by the sun and to get back before the cloud builds up again in the afternoon covering the village and raining later in the afternoon, before the distant evening storms in the plains. The steps were fine, despite being steep- for 2 minutes. Quickly the steps turned into mud steps, which narrowed as we headed deeper into the thickening jungle. The humidity increased massively, as did the heat and the climate change was incredible in how it changed. Sweat dripped non stop off my nose and I became dizzy with overheating. The river was only slightly bigger.
We headed deeper into the wilderness after we passed the hill people cultivating corn and carrying huge bails of greenery for their small number of livestock. The path disappeared and became steep, which slowed progress. Tropical animals sounds surrounded us now and we could not see our feet. I fell and landed in stinging nettles (5 times the size as those in the UK) after banging my head and really became disorientated. To make matters worse we packed only 2 litres of water to keep our weight burden light. We then had to decide whether to set back up or to continue into what was now pretty much nothing. We pushed on. Eventually the sound of the river really grew and actually looked reachable, but we were now walking along sections that had sheer drop offs into dense undergrowth- not a good place to slip, despite the ground being algae covered clay.
Our final decent was negotiating 5 rocks that were balanced across another steep drop into nothingness, these wobbled alarmingly as we hald onto each other, but finally charged through, incurring more stings and cuts. the river was no longer the peaceful thing we were daydreaming to previously, but completely not made for swimming in. Pools created by massive rocks generated by landslides were welcoming. Laura jumped into the side stream and instantly sank to her knees- she was still sinking. It was quicksand. Laura pulled herself out the other side and I jumped in arse first to spread my weight before climbing up onto the rocks on the other side. We knew that water tricking through rock is clean at the top of the hill and less so at the bottom, due to the increasing number of potential pollutants, but we had no option and filled the bottle with water. We sat in the pool with weight spread half onto the edge of the quicksand pool to cool off in the fresh water. I washed my underwear and sat naked for an hour in the sun. A beautiful moment to be cool and clean at the same time after being drenched in sweat. It is great to be reminded what nature can give you if you are prepared to take it.
The grueling climb back up was even harder on our legs and worked my lungs harder than they have worked in a while, but ascending from the tropical environment and back into the temperate environment higher up the mountain somehow made it easier because you were getting cooler as you were getting hotter- if you know what I mean!
We deserved meat after all that exertion and so headed to a man we had seen killing chickens by breaking their back the day earlier. The chicken in Sikkim roam free and are a beautiful yellow colour. We fried it in spiced and ate this with a tomato/potato combination while sipping Hit cool beer the guy had pre-chilled for us (they don’t do this unless requested due to the cost of chilling drinks. We watched the football until the power was cut, as it usually is on a 4 times a day average.
After 5 days in Tashading we again decided to move on, as we could have easily stayed for longer, but more of Sikkim was calling. We knew that there was bound to be more places at least as beautiful as this and we were aware that we had also used half of our maximum time in Sikkim. We decided to move to Yuksom, which was the start of treks and the first capital of Sikkim.
The Slick State of Sikkim- Gangtok July 24, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentWow, what a contrast. Are we still in India?
After the dirty market town of Siliguri making our way north and further a further up the luscious green mountains I feel as though we are somewhere further east like Thailand or Vietnam. A mixture of tropical trees with towering pine trees cover the steep hills. Hitting the boarder we are told that smoking is banned in public here, so we have our last literally one before setting off north again.
The first thing we notice apart from the never ending greenery are the signs by the side of the road delivering words of wisdom and commentary on the roads progress… usefully from your “BRO” (Boarders Road Organisation). Every piece of work that is carried out in Sikkim has a notice telling people how much the work cost, the time it will take, the name of the main contractor (person not company), what is being done, often with technical drawings and the time they guarantee the work. It is nice to know that if something goes wrong you can hunt the responsible party down in person! We also see a sign that says “Better late than never” on a landslide barrier. This confirms our concerns that we are now firmly in landslide territory. We are also in the monsoon season. Rain + steep hills = landslides. A formula we are not liking too much.
As Laura’s Birthday lingers on (as it should) we arrange to have a few drinks with the guys who we caught the jeep with and agree to stay with them to make this easier, despite aiming to stay in somewhere mid market as a Birthday treat for Laura as a Birthday present. This can wait.
After a 6 hour journey heading further and further into the hills we finally glimpse Gangtok the capital of Sikkim, but only a large town really spread over a steep hill, ranging from 700- 1500 meters above sea level! Winding up tight reverse bend turns up to our destination and then caught a rip off taxi from the middle of town to The Modern Central Lodge- the main backpacker hostel in Gangtok (I was overruled in finding something not Lonely Planetary). I thought Sikkim would be different in terms of ripping you off but perhaps not. The hostel was ace though and a good shout. We all shared a dorm room for Rs75 (1.2 pounds). It was damp, but we headed up to see if there was a roof terrace and were instantly hit with the expansive view over Gangtok below. Spectacular.
In the winter season you can apparently see Kanchendonga over 8500m tall. Yet missing this was replaced by seeing the clouds streaming over the mountains, moving faster than any cloud I have seen move with the exception of a tornado itself. One minute we were looking up at blue sky and within literally 3 minutes couldn’t see each other across the roof terrace! We spent 3 days in the hostel with the guys and most of this was spent drinking “Hit” 8% local beer (660ml for Rs39- 60p) and Sikkim XXX rum (500ml for Rs60- 1pound). Both headache juice, but definately traveler style. We finally had our mass backpacker congregation session that was absent up until then and met a local guy Kesang who invited us to his farm.
After 2 days soaking up Gangtok and the different climate, the much more relaxed people and as it turned out eventually people who didn’t make a habit of ripping you off (this is taxi drivers in general) we headed off to Kesang’s farm. Kesang is a character for sure- a man around town who has more business projects and cash than perhaps sense. Yet someone who knows many people and likes helping people out. He really helped out the 5 of us who visited the farm for 1 night. The pace was a “renovators dream”, everything needed just one final touch and the place was absolutely stunning, with better views than Gangtok and 3 bungalows his family planned to rent out to tourists. Sikkim has already started making its mark. I have seen more types of butterfly here in 3 days than in my whole life, in all shapes and sizes. The place has a really relaxed and natural feeling which cannot help but take you down to earth.
We made fire and Laura and I cooked 3 Indian dishes together from ingredients we bought en route, exceeding everyone’s expectations. We are determined to become global culinary legends! Sitting in front of the fire, being eaten by mosquitos, we drank the night away until the sun came up, then slept the day away (well I did!)
Laura and I wanted to stay as we are searching for a retreat in the hills to take stock and strengthen our spirit from the inside, which can use meditation or other practices. This was not open in a practical way so we headed back to Gangtok and split with the other guys who wanted to “get in more sights”, something we are deliberately lax at. Our philosophy is that if you give things time and go with the flow without expectation or planning cool things turn up at your door, just as the farm visit did.
We headed back to Gangtok and decided now was time for the “Garden Retreat” the Lonely Planet promised. Well it had a garden. The food was good and Tibetan, but for Rs1400 (22 pounds per night), we bailed after one night of “luxury”. To be fair the beds were comfortable and actually had a mattress. The one thing you notice in India is that they still seem to use straw of some other material that doesn’t reform after a few people have slept on it. We also managed to watch some of the world cup, which was also a bonus. Either way we headed up the road to another place called Palim and this place was much better and just Rs900 (13.50 pounds for the room). We secured the best room- the “suit” (not by Western standards), which was large and had beautifully designed Tibetan furniture, including a rocking chair, TV and a balcony overlooking Gangtok. This time however we were just below the palace and so had literally the best view in town. This was with the exception of the roof terrace restaurant of course and these guys cooked us a) and English breakfast, which we felt guilty eating…. for 2 minutes. They also cooked Ting Momos (steamed buns) with Alu Dum (amazingly spiced potato dish), which was a local dish I nabbed the recipe for. For 30p you cannot go wrong, especially when the place was full every lunch time with locals- in your hotel. We stayed for 5 days, enjoying the views, eating, watching the football and enjoying that luxury time we reserved.
After this we headed back to the damp dingy Modern Central lodge that we had developed a good relationship with. It’s 8 floors of climbing to go to your room, the ace roof terrace, our new rasta friend who lived on the roof with tunes, Soloman the manager and Buddah, who introduced us to Tongba for the first time on a rainy day.
Tongba is Millet seed soaked in alcohol for 6 months to 2 years to ferment. It is served in Bamboo mugs and a vat of hot water. Pour hot water onto seeds, wait 5 minutes, DON’T Stir- oh too late (it clouds the water and gives you a bad hangover), and then sip slowly to avoid eating seeds, finish drinking and replace with more hot water 3 more times until more millet required.
Places that serve tongba are underground. We sat in a kitchen with 3 kids, locals swaying their heads and blinking too slowly than normal, hazy smoky air, Hindi TV and another vat, this time of Yak Thukpa (Tibetan soup). Going to toilet was interesting, all 5 doors were locked and you are faced with swaying men urinating over the doors- ah to be a man- good luck girls I think.
We end up staying at the Modern Central for another 4 days planning our next move and then putting it off. We visited the Banjakri Falls which has been turned into a bit of a tourist place, but for once it charged the same for foreigners as it did to Indian visitors, which was refreshing. I had swimwear ready for full on shower action and chuckled at the sight of Indian tourists getting in ankle deep for a photo opportunity, only for the only white westerner to strip off and dive in… heavy water is all I could say. The Indians staring in amazement were all asking Laura if I would be ok. As many Indian people cannot swim and being asked if I could swim after the event, they thought I was going to drown.
The Modern Central Lodge was damp and dark, but was our home for 8 days and the food was ace. All their food was freshly made and their Momo’s (dumplings) were great, despite taking 30 minutes to make 8 (I could eat 24). We ate a fair few during our stay and I was taught the fine art of making these little veggie beauties by the chef, including the fine art of crimping to take away with me. After all this and soaking up our first destination in Sikkim we were ready to leave. Having extended our permit to 1 month we headed off by Sumo jeep to Tashading in the early morning foggy fine rain.
Varanasi to Siliguri, a Gorka strike and a birthday July 24, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentSo the final day in Varanasi arrived and we have a train booked from an out of town station in Varanasi to Siliguri (West Bengal). Our train departs early evening, so we had the morning in Varanasi to kill. With the extreme heat plus bags, we opt to chill in Fagin’s Restaurant and eat our last veg Biriyani and read our books. I am totally engrosed in Shantaram – so I have no problem with this plan!
Our hotel manager has told us that he will pre-book a rickshaw to take us to the main station and from there we will be able to catch one of several trains to the out of town station to connect to our 12hr train. All packed up with our luggage we embark in the heat, through the winding lanes for the last time towards the rickshaw stand. To our surprise we have been booked a cycle rickshaw…we realise that unless we a battle with an auto rickshaw over the price, we have no option other than to load our bags onto the cycle carraige. Balancing precariously with Al having to sit on the arm rest, the driver sets off into the dense, chaotic traffic. The driver is so slight, I think he weighs less than one of our backpacks, so I do have my doubts on whether we will make it up the inclining road to Varanasi Juntion Station! Miraculously we make it in one piece and embark on stage 2 of catching our train to Siliguri. The station concourse was rammed. Families, luggage, the odd goat all sat on the floor in their respective parties. We soon learn that there are several very delayed trains, explaining the vast amount of people who appear to have submitted themselves to being at the station for the long haul. Although the ‘out of town’ station, Mughal Serai that we needed to get to wasn’t far away and there were supposedly many trains going there, it was proving difficult to suss out which platform to next delayed train would stop at. Station officers, we have discovered, are very unhelpfull and rarely actually know what is going on. Luckily, the tourist information man turns out to be the most helpful person we have met in India. He made a conserted effort to give us the correct valuable information we need. We decide to risk not buying a ticket, as navigating queues and the chaotic concourse seems worth avoiding for the 30 min train journey. Our connecting train turns out to only be a mere 2 hours late which is comparitively small to our wait in Jalgoan!
When the train did arrive, finding our train carraige was a little more tricky than usual and the LCD screens were not working on the platform. After asking a guy in uniform we locate the correct carraige and then embark on wading through bodies and luggage to find our reserved berths. The train is extremely full, and when we do find our berths, they are already occupied and all the floorspace is full of luggage, including a huge metal trunk. The battle, unfortunately, commenced…
No one would own up to the trunk, no one would tell us where their reserved seat was, and no one was prepared to move themselves or their luggage. So it was a case of either standing for 12hours or fighting for our rightfull seats that we had confirmed and paid for. From previous lessons when we feel we have come to a standstill, the only way to solve it is get on with it. Al moved the unclaimed trunk so that we could access a cavity of space for our bags, with the intention on putting the trunk back as soon as we had ofloaded our heavy bags. Of course as soon as he moved the trunk, the rightful owner spoke up. Not prepared to help us, he made a problem, of course this attracting attention to us and the situation. Explaining to him our intentions was useless when it became clear that English was a no-go, as was our boken Hindi. He only spoke Assamese and wasn’t really responding to our sign language, other than a bewildered blank expression! He finally understood that we meant no harm to his luggage when Al pushed the heafty trunk back into place. All of a sudden I looked around to see a sea of curious faces – of course this is quite normal when you are the only white people in the carraige – but when extra attention is focussed, it feels all that bit more intimidating and harder work.
The next battle was actually being able to claim our seat. No one was willing to give up the space, nor were they willing to show us their reservation slip so we could figure out who it was who thought they would take our seat for the next 12 hrs! Al, rightfully, asks the only adult on the seats if he can see her ticket, so we can try to decipher who should and shouldn’t be there. Out of nowhere a bellowing man comes to her defense. He was very confrontational, defensive and domoneering. It turns out that he is her husband and father of all the kids sitting on the berths. Eventually they make space for us to sit, but by this time, we definately have an audience now. I just wanted to go and hide somewhere. It is pretty uncomfortable when you feel like the odd one out, even though you may be fighting a rightuous cause. It felt like we were fighting a loosing battle, especially with this man shouting his head off and making us feel like we are being unreasonable for wanting to use our reserved berths.
When things quietened down and the curious faces stopped staring as much, Al breaks the awkward silence with the man in an effort to pass an olive branch. The man receives it happliy and explains to Al that the reason he was so defensive is partly to do with the fact he had spoken to his wife. Also, that he is the ‘head’ of the party, so Al should have found him to clear up the problem. This was a strategy we had been unaware of, but will definately put into practise next time. He told Al, ‘My wife doesn’t speak English. She is not in charge of the party. She doesn’t know what is going on’ and winked at him as he smiled. It is one of those cultural differences that caused offense without intention. I thought how weird it must have been for him and his family to see me act as an individual and speak to Al with my own opinions during that journey. I ceratinly don’t practise the ‘woman should be seen and not heard’ mentality!
All of this aside, the journey was amazing once we all relaxed and got on with it. The journey took 6 hours longer than it should have. I think this was due to a thunderstorm and traffic on the lines with all the late trains clogging up the rails. The family got off the tain at Bihar which gave us a little more room and breathing space. For me the best part of the journey, above all other train journeys in India so far, was the change in landscape. So far many of the views have been of dry, arid, barran and sparse landscape.When I woke up at 5am for loo, I peaked out the window to find a beautifull green, lush countryside with sugar cane fields and the odd padi field. WOW. Al and I squeezed onto his middle berth bed which allows you to just about see out the top of the cabin window, and we catched the changed landscape whizz by. Late morning we went through strong rain, which was really exciting as I hadn’t seen rain that heavy since England. It is quite a relief to see rain and green after dry weather and cracked earth.
As the train journey continued, as always, people move around and make themselves more comfortable. An old Holy man along with some younger men shared our cabin. It turned out they had been on the train all the way since Dehli and they were travelling to Gujurhat (Assam) for a special Hindu event where pilgrims from all over India were attending. Apparently there were to be sacrifices of animals such as chicken and goat. At one point the older man began to mix up some kind of concoction- which Al and I watched very curiously. 5-10 mins later he offered us a glass of a thick chunky liquid which turned out to be chickpea flour, chili powder and water mixed together to make a very warming and filling drink called ‘Satu’ traditionally from Bihar. The old man explained to us that it would give us ‘raw energy’ and advised us not to drink anything else other than water for the rest of the day. It tasted pretty good and definately filled a hole! It was brilliant to be involved in their culture for the remainder of our journey.
A Sikkimese guy also chatted to us in flawless English (refreshing and this stage of our journey!). He was really friendly and it was a lovely first encounter of a Sikkimese person. When we finally arrived at New Jalpaiguri (near Siliguri), he did his best to point us in the direction.
We had intended to get to Darjeeling as soon as possible, and by the Toy Steam Train. However, this turned out ‘not to be’. There were no Toy Trains available indefinately, so we decide on finding a place to stay in Siliguri with the idea of somehow getting Darjeeling the next day instead. Siliguri wasn’t the nicest place I had seen, and was definately a transit town- not somewhere you want to be stuck for too long. It was grubby with a lot of traffic and that was about it!
Exhausted, we decide the best tactic is for Al to scout around for the best deal whilst I guard the bags next to a petrol station. Eventually Al came back having done a stirling job of negotiating a nice room nearby.
With it being my birthday the following day, we thought it pretty apt that we locate somewhere for a beer and some good grub. Surprisingly we managed to find the perfect place. A tandori restaurant with a TV sceen to watch to footie and G&Ts! Yay. Al treated me to a great evening. Just what the doctor ordered after our mammoth journey.
In the evening, from our hotel, we heard a bit of comotion and rather bad singing on a loudspeaker. From our window we could make out a few trucks full of people driving slowly down the round with green flags. ‘How nice’ we thought, ’some kind of parade’. The next morning it became apparent that actually we had been very dumb. It had been a Gorka protest, with the knock on effect of the West Bengali Hills being restricted due to an indefinate banda (strike). SO, no Darjeeling for us! Al was dissapointed as he had his heart set on treating me to high tea in for my birthday. To be honest, I had a great day anyway- I am travelling around India after all!! We found somewhere for tea in Siliguri and I ate as many Indian sweets as I could for breakfast as my alternative birthday cake. YUM.
To celebrate my birthday we did a street crawl of the street food…Momos (steamed sumplings), Egg rolls, pakora. And then we couldn’t resist repaying the same Tandori restaurant a visit which was equally good. We soon discover that this part of India goes to bed pretty early and when we reach our hotel that night, we a locked out. After shouting for a while, Al decided that the wall with metal spikes didn’t look too hard to climb. Unfortunately, he didn’t see on of the spikes, which went right into his foot. SHIT. Luckliy we managed to make enough noise for the hotel concierge to hear us and let us in. Al’s foot did’t bleed too much, just was painful due to how deep the spike had gone. Not great, seeing as we were hoping to be trekking soon! Well, it got a load of iodine on it and a lick and a promise. Fingers crossed that it heals without infection.
With the banda not having been lifted the following day, we decide to get a jeep to Gangtok (Sikkim) as the route can bypass the roads that were off limit. At the jeep stand we found a group of travellers with the same idea as us, so after some haggling with the jeep driver, all 10 of us catch a jeep to Gangtok. It was one of the first times since Goa that we had encountered ‘travellers’, and the jeep journey ended up being a great bonding session. Half way to Gangtok, we had agreed that some birthday drinks were in order and that we should have a little party when we arrive. In true me style, I was more than happy to continue my birthday for as long as possible! Bring on Sikkim!!
Written by Laura
Real Varanasi July 5, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentAfter our relaxing 3 days we prepared ourselves for ‘the real Varanasi’ and headed off by autorickshaw to be dumped 15 minutes walk away from our destination “The brown bread bakery”. Rated by the Lonely Planet, but not by us. Overcharging, uninterested and the volunteering they apparently offered seemed to be seasonal (I am not sure that poor and abused kids are only in such a condition from October till May, but overall felt the whole brand they have built up (Everyone knows The Brown Bread Bakery) seems to be a self fulfilling prophecy of money-making to me. My advice? Ask around there are loads of good projects to get involved with, don’t follow a guidebook to help people, chose a cause you actually care about, one that you can actually contribute to and one that is less well supported. Locals always know of good causes you can help out with. We sacked the place off and followed a tout who took us to another basic hostel come hotel, for just Rs150 for a double room (that’s 1.20 each).
Unfortunately like Aurangabad an overstretched city like this experiences many power cuts. In 46C heat with 60% humidity you feel that. We woke up when ever the power and our life line the ceiling fan turned off. Reading was the only option. It was tough, but had to be done after 3 days extravagance. We considered that we deserved it and sacrifice is a part of travel. The Golden Lodge was a good cheap place though and the guys who ran the place were really interesting guys, the chef had a crazed (as most are) laugh and was happy to have in depth conversation about being a Hindu and of Brahmin caste. Brahmins always wear thin cord around their shoulder and waist. It turns out that there are too many Brahmins working in religious institutions and religious teachers for the amount people need, so now the are setting up businesses and tend to do well as they are the most respected group in society. Before you ask, yes if you wear a cord and pretend it will not wash as you have to have in depth knowledge on the lineage of the Brahmin caste and this is something other Brahmins will ask you instantly.
The first day was pretty much sent exploring the old city, a rambling maze of narrow, cobbled alleyways which ultimately all led to the Ganges and the Ghats. As Varanasi is one of the most Holy cities in India and the oldest constantly inhabited city in the world things center around religious practice. This generally focuses on the Ghats as the Ganges is the provider, absolves people’s sins and the toilet all at once. The Ganges has 25 raw sewage points in Varanasi and yet people bathe, drink and wash in these waters. This is despite the fact that 8 million fecal particles exist in every litre of water, over 100x the recommended for drinking water. I know this due to the many conversations I have had with Indians about the irony surrounding the situation. Hindus do not eat pigs as they eat and wallow in their own excrement and are the lowest class of animal. And yet the most holy river for the Hindu religion has more poo in it than most other rivers in the world. Ha. Tragic really and everyone in India agrees, generally with a slow shake of the head in dismay.
Either way the Ghats are a hive of activity at any point as not just foreign visitors pour into the area. Mostly Southern Indians come to Varanasi for their major “Puja” (prayer) and every morning will visit the golden temple, make offerings to Shiva and then walk down the alleyways to the Ganges to bathe in the holy water or float a candle down the river. The place is a mass of colour, sounds and action. Different ceremonies are happening at the same time, people bathing, chanting, waving flames around, tai-chi like moves on the banks, loudspeakers reciting prayers all at the same time.
The next day we took another another stroll through the lanes of Old Varanasi to get used to the layout and the place in general. We looked at some of the temples, performed puja ourselves at the Ganesh shrine to wish for good fortune in the wealth department (Ganesh’s specialty) before investigating a boat ride the following morning. Before a further explore we needed tea. It was just 10:20am and I was already soaked all the way through in sweat. It is seriously hot in the summer in the confines of the old city. Gazing across from the highest view point on the river bank we saw a dust devil form and die on the sands on the other side of the Ganges through shear heat. It was that hot.
Understanding the fabric industry:
After a brief scope around we headed back towards our hotel and stopped in at some of the many clothing shops lining the streets. Khadi is the Varanasi fabric of note and what they are famous for. It is a hand woven cloth that can use various materials, but ultimately results in a loosely woven, but thick cloth. Ghandi used Khadi as a symbol of Indian independence and urged Indians to only buy Khadi cloth to support the people. In India it works well as its thickness absorbs a lot of sweat, but its loose weave means that a draft penetrates to your body, cooling you down and drying the material quicker than machine made fabric. The sellers were a mass of information on fabric and were more than happy to teach you what they knew. Did you know that in order to tell what material is being used you can pull off some of the thread and burn it? If it smells like newspaper it is cotton, if it smells like plastic it is polyester and if it smells like burning hair then it is silk. A lot of the sellers will mix polyester with silk and sell it as raw silk to improve their profits, but not if you know this! If you are going to try this then you must take thread from both directions of the fabric and test it, as fabric is produced by weaving thread in two directions. You can also see if a fabric has been machine or hand woven. Machine made fabric shows uniform lines on one direction as small imperfections deposit more colour in some areas that you can see.
We sat with the Khadi wallers (men) and drank tea from disposable unbaked clay pots, which you chuck out of any window onto the street for the rain to reclaim the clay into the earth. What an ace idea (although seen in some UK festivals it is not used widely enough!) We discussed the nature of Khadi, who produced it, learnt about its background and became more and more interested at looking at the distribution of Khadi clothing in the UK. Not only does it support local people with a fair wage, but is also a practical material that Westerners know little about.
….and back to reality:
Being spat out of a shop after sitting there for hours is like being given birth to… the heat and smells hit you once more like being slapped…. in a good way! The next day we thought we would relax and catch up with ourselves. You need time to relax and take stock, sitting and observing things as they happen, for me, is the most valuable experience, as you get to pick up on things that you wouldn’t otherwise see. I learnt about Paan that day and how people process Betel Nut bark to produce a highly concentrated stimulant that is rolled in a Betel Nut leaf with dried coconut, the actual Betel Nut and tobacco. This is the red substance that we now know covers the pavements and stains the rubbish bins (people spit like they would with chewing tobacco but all over the place). Apparently unscrupulous dealers are replacing the red jelly that is formed with red food colouring that is reducing the potency of the mixture, something many Paan chewers are concerned about.
At the Ghats a tout/guide/ overly friendly person introduced himself in the usual way, which spells money grabbing. We are becoming accustomed to this now though and as long as you do not feel guilty for taking and then not giving (what the Indians often pray on) then there is no problem. The guy was helpful in showing us around and explaining some of the temples and the well that Shiva and Parvarti supposedly bathed in together. Then he fetched us some tea and then tried to sell us some marijuana, when this didn’t work he tried to take us to his shop and then the factory where the things he sells in his shop are produced. When a decisive “No” is given they continue to follow, but as long as you don’t mind that and continue as you would then they lose interest and leave you alone. Shanty (to be easy/ chill!) is the key.
Meandering through the lanes, picking up the best spinach and onion pakora (deep fried crispy veg) en route and realising that rice flour is the key, we stumbled across the burning Ghats, which is where wealthy Hindu’s burn and scatter their dead. We actually ended up walking above the pyers quite by accident. Usually priests lead you up there and drag a donation to help pay for the wood that is used during the burning process. There was no one around and so we saw 7 bodies at different point of decomposition, flesh and form exposed to leave a prominent image in our heads about this truly interesting ritual. Different types of wood are offered, sandlewood being the most expensive, the amount of wood is weighed and then calculated accordingly depending on the size of the body. The bodies are carried down to the Ghats through the lanes with two pole bearers at the front and back, who are not related to the dead. All the way “Rama is true” is repeated, which they ultimately say to mean “Here is the dead, the one thing that is guaranteed is to ultimately be reunited with God (Rama)”
The next day the boat ride came. We woke at 4am to get there for sun rise and after a spot of negotiation agreed on a slightly above the guide price, but this meant we secured a full 2 hours, which many people had said was too long. It was not. Trawling slowly down the Ganges watching morning puja take place, with more people spilling onto the Ghats to perform their personal prayer and blessings. The morning was misty and yet still humid, which gave the distance a dulled view and dampened the colour of the place, giving it a really eerie feel. Across from the Ghats on the other bank is a flat of sand that is flooded during the monsoon, a few temporary huts and boats sat there bobbing in the slow current and just a few boats were out pulling out inadequately sized fish and definitely something I would not want to eat. We slowly rowed past all the Ghats to the south, each having been built by a different civilization that owned or influenced the city at the time. At the southern most point I landed ashore to pick up some tea and slowly headed back upstream to see the same backwards. We saw a fish that was dead by “natural” causes- I suspect the toxicity of the river. We saw a dead cow being ripped apart by wild dogs and a man literally 6 meters away having a wash. We saw people washing their clothes directly next to the sewage outlet pipes. We saw the ceremonies and daily chores all being performed simultaneously. You can see why the Ganges is believed to be the prover of everything that the city needs, but unfortunately it just isn’t as effective at doing that as it should be given the state it is in.
The next day we had arranged to do some Yoga with a guy that was recommended to us by our Hotel Manager. After a lot of the warnings of fake teachers we felt this would be ok. It was. For Rs200 (3 pounds) each per 1.5 hour session we covered the basic Hathi Yoga positions and 30 minutes of meditation, which compliments Yoga as ultimately the aim it to develop external and internal strength. We both left feeling great and looked forward to the next day. The next day came and went in a relaxed “what did we do today” kind of way. This session was equally good and straight afterward we headed to the Ganges feeling very Shanty for the evenings Ganges puja, which literally worships the river as provider. The ceremony was awesome, with intoxicating loudspeakers blasting out recitals of blessings and prayer. 7 bells were rang in time continuously and the drums rolled along with the spoken prayer. The usual throng of sellers left you alone if you looked involved in proceedings enough out of respect (for once) and just during the climax of events the rain began, people’s faces lit up as the monsoon rains finally reached Varanasi. It was just a shower, but the season had finally caught us up and at the most meaningful point. Magic.
The next day we had an afternoon train and so we just had time to go back to the Khadi shop to complete our final round of negotiation. This needed to include packing as the postal service require you to have a cloth stitched wrapper sealed with a wax stamp. We picked our colours and arranged things for our return journey back through Varanasi, which we felt was inevitable considering we pretty much buried ourselves in the old city, while there is some much more to explore.
To Varanasi and Luxury! July 3, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , 1 comment so farLanding on in our 2-tiered AC cabin because every other class was full, we were happy as we had previously decided to try every class in order to compare and find out what the differences were. Thus the relatively expensive Rs1950 (30 pounds for both) was a must and we didn’t feel bad. Feeling good about saving Rs700 on avoiding a hotel in Agra, we decided to treat ourselves to a spot of luxury when we reached Varanasi. Checking out a few Lonely Planet options we saw that there was a hotel called ‘Hotel Surya’, which had a good restaurant and pool for just Rs800 (12 pounds) for the room per night.
Both of these experiences fit into the upper middle class style that was also facing us on the train and so it all made sense… unfortunately for the train ride the people opposite us were the worst we have had to share a space with for over 8 hours. The middle classes in mid/north India are all so aloof and value themselves so much that they are rude and really selfish. They were ready to sleep at 9:30 and turned the only light off despite the fact they knew we were eating and reading. On the light goes…. you can already see what was bound to happen, but the tutting and childish game of turning the light off every 5 minutes was wearing especially considering the “two fat ladies” were just drinking coke and eating crisps and making the most (impressive in some circles) disgusting burping that made me feel ill. What was interesting though was that in sleeper class we have always been faced with a dominant male character who is very much the head of the household. The man in this situation just sat back and said nothing while sharp words were being exchanged and ignored literally everyone all night. I suspect this relates to other middle class people I have seen and met. The women are subservient to the man of the house, but not in the middle class.
I have to also emphasis what we suspected on previous train journeys. AC cabins disconnect you from the country and passing land. For us that is not ideal at all. It is sterile. You are given blankets and a towel for the shower, but really, where is the fun in all that!?
Being disconnected from the outside for 10 hours and eventually being woken up by vile scoffing noises we neared Varanasi. Having picked up on the fact that more expensive hotels in major cities will pick you up for free, we gave them a call to arrange in order to avoid the hectic onslaught of touts and rickshaw drivers. We were whisked away in a jeep in sweltering 46C heat sticking to your T-shirt within 5 minutes. When we arrived at Surya this was a moot point. A really good looking hotel, which would cost at least 75- 100 pounds per night, we realised we had made a good choice. First one in the pool was a loser and after that we ended up expending our stay by “just one more day” for 3 days. The good thing was that if we just stayed here in the pool and spent the cash on accommodation we were still within our 8 pound a day budget! Even more reason not to leave- sweet! To be honest we did well to avoid the spa treatments and get carried away. All we needed was a pool to jump in when the heat became too much and relax.
This was clearly disconnected from Varanasi. We were next to the Radission so the area was fairly posh (as it gets). Again we inadvertently ‘met’ a middle class family and I hate to say that it makes eating hard, but it does. They are very loud people and so ‘having a quiet meal’ is hard. Either way I had the first meat dish since Aurangabad- a mutton curry- which was good and was cooked through (I chose Mutton as it needs to be cooked for a long time and should therefore avoid the undercooked chicken issue experienced last time). The Indian gravy tastes so much better with a meat that needs slow cooking, the flavour develops. Laura craved some western food and so had moussaka. This panned out, but is a risky game in India- western food is generally terrible, and something I avoid generally as it is generally either bad quality or small in size. This was the only meal we had in the hotel restaurant due to cost. The remaining nights we ate street food. We found a great stall dishing out a mash up of all the food he had. Pani is a hollow crispy semolina shell, usually filled with spicy liquid (Puri) and coriander. Yet this guy mixed it with fried potato with tamarind and beans. It tasted so much like BBQ beans that considering the stuff this guy was using was quite different was really amazing. Culinary creativity on the streets!
We met another traveling couple who reconfirmed the benefits of working and traveling. Being a lumber jack in Canada or picking berries for 20USd per hour? Maybe a hostel worker in Australia? All seem doable to earn enough and carry on traveling. Forever maybe? Ah day dreaming in the sun, but definitely worth thinking about….
