Pune Round Two September 2, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , 1 comment so farAfter an epic time in Omkareshwar we set off back to the bus station, in conditions that were much quieter than when we arrived. The journey back on the bus to Indore was a little squished this didn’t phase us now and we managed to get off the bus before the final stop, on a busy roundabout, as we knew where we were going, which made our lives easier- all the benefits of knowing what is going on! We caught the train easily and experienced perhaps the most restful journey into Pune where we also felt like we were now in familiar territory. Unfortunately we were due to be picked up from the station and go back to Umesh’s but we had to do this alone. This is fine as we now have experience at shouting at people at 8am, but it is something you’d rather not do. After Umesh giving direction’s to a rickshaw “wallah” (or ‘man) he decides we are too much hassle so tells someone else to go. 6 rickshaw drivers circle around shouting prices and our assumed final destination at the same time to give an Dolby surround effect reminiscent of a car crash you do not need at 8am. I have a cigarette, but Laura shouts louder and ultimately informs them we are not usual tourists and that we are not getting ripped off. After 25 minutes arguing we leave to Kotrud out of town to Umesh’s.
It is mad to be back in a place that we were at 3 months ago. My beard having taken hold and definitely looking a little more ‘rough around the edges’ let’s say. It is great to be in an apartment with AC possibilities and where the cook ensures they provide ‘luxury’ food, like eggs and meat that you can actually trust. It is great to see Umesh and Yash again, although something is amiss. The day we arrive Yash has started feeling really ill, cannot focus or stand up straight. Through a series of situational twists and turns reminiscent of Neighbours where we almost went to Goa, had no one coming to the farm with us, to everyone coming to the farm with us, including Umesh’s daughter who was studying in Mumbai until the next day, we headed to the farm in convoy. Being driven out of the modern city of Pune out into the country we drove through dusty towns that you’d really not like to live in and past vast tent complex’s that people have erected I assume to live in temporarily whilst building the fly over that is being built, that look like asylum camps we finally see how much greener the area is after the main monsoon rains. The rolling hills suddenly start to look like England with beech tree forests and luscious grass.
The farm is even better, with a massive lake that has been filled with the monsoonal rains, surrounded by hills on all sides except the road side that was surprisingly loud and slightly damaged the tranquillity of the area. That night was spent working out family drama and was draining- certainly not what we had expected, but then from the last experience we had grasped that things tend to not happen as they are intended in the Athlekar house!
The next day we hear about a winery up the road, called Chateaux Indage, which does food and are delighted when we are asked if we would like to go, as we had been looking at going wine tasting in Nasik if we hadn’t gone to Omkareshwar. Again going with the flow of things tends to deliver all you want in life, although we are sceptical whether we will make it or if plans change again. They don’t however and we make it up the road to taste 12 wines of white and red varieties, while eating chicken kofta- a real treat. The Indian wines are far more acidic than other wines and are expensive to buy, so ultimately not anywhere near the best wine growing area, as you need to pay around 10 pounds for a good bottle of merlot to get anything of real quality. Either way it was an ace trip out before the family left us on the side of the road and headed back to Pune without us.
The farm was much busier than the other we visited, but we were told to just relax and enjoy for 10 days, which was ace as we were being housed and fed for free and all we had to do was swim in the natural lake, walk around and chill. How we landed on our feet and really appreciated that! What was better was that the monsoon line had now advanced north and so the rains in Pune had now subsided and we were just left with good weather that was not too hot or cold, but still sunny. We were also in the company of the same guy who we met and stayed with for 8 days on the last farm, with his mother who did the cooking at Umesh’s house last time. She loved Laura and despite the language barrier treated her like a daughter for the whole time we were there and Sachin, who had his quirky, childish difficulties was at least predictable now. This place is also a lot more comfortable than the last and ultimately luxurious. We had a bed and a fridge, with electricity most of the time. The place was a new build that was being turned into part of a meditation resort, which has fantastic potential to be something really special. However when Umesh was revealing his plans we suspected that he was going to damage the balance between a natural landscape that benefited the meditation centre’s aims, with also trying to build a place for local kids to come and enjoy. These two markets are in conflict and would not work together well, so when we were told about water slides leading to the lake and a fully landscaped and walled in complex we were disappointed while glad to be there when this had not taken hold. Umesh did tell me that there was land to be bought there and that he had looked into it for me (due to a previous conversation of me buying land in India) and the price was Rs12 lakhs for 1.5 acres (1.2 million rupees or 17 thousand) is good, but not what we would want if we had to look at a fully developed, squeeky clean hotel complex with a wall/ barbed wire surrounding.
For our purpose of staying in a place with a bit of comfort though it was perfect. Days ended up rolling together, each morning carrying a matress down to the side of the lake and planting it on a tiled area that in future is meant to be a tent pitch. Armed with my Yoga books I had swapped in Varanasi, the ipod now with charging capability and a warm lake to swim in we developed a great holidayesque routine reminiscent of Goa, when we started the trip. My yoga practice that I was so determined to continue after the lessons we had in Varanasi but failed to do so was now adopted with a renewed vigour and my stretching 6- 8 times a day eventually led me to be able to pull off some of the “advanced” postures, which was satisfying as India was certainly the place to learn yoga! Laura didn’t fair as well, but was enjoying the peace without feeling like you are about to snap- fair enough.
The whole time turned out perfect, as it meant that we had started with a holiday ended with a holiday, with an exploratory holiday in between! Each morning we would watch the fisherman walk down to the lake with his rubber ring and “set sail” with his bag of fishing net on his lap, sat legs akimbo on his rubber ring and paddle off using his flip flops, dropping his net strategically across different parts of the lake. There were big fish in there, so one day we decided to go fishing. The rods were unsurprisingly bamboo with a fixed line and yes we used uncooked chapati as bait. There are many tribal people who come down to the lake to go fishing. The fisherman stocked the lake himself, but as these tribes people have no house nor job come down to steal or collect food from the land as much as possible. Most people actually just use a crab line and chuck it as far in as possible, so we were quite sophisticated with our float etc. Either way we caught nothing as the line was too short to reach the depths and the hook too big to catch any of the little fish that were nibbling on the bait. It’s the taking part that counts though right?
The only real issues we really had was with the farm hands and the food, which we feel about as we were being given this, and as we should do, feel bad to raise this as a problem. As in the first farm the food was very rural Indian in nature. It consisted what Laura and I ultimately named “Pannee Masala”, which means spiced water. The eating method is the same, vegetables cooked with Tumeric, chilli power onion and perhaps garlic, this is eaten with chapati, then comes the block of rice, which is the main event and this is eaten with a watery dal or another sparse vegetable combo. To be fair it was more variant than the last farm as the vegetables that were used were more plentiful and so had a greater range than just Okra and green beans, but there is only so much rice, spice and veg you can eat in a row when you are eating three meals a day, especially for Laura whose stomach was playing up. In fact for the first few days we ensured she ate a plain noodle dish to try and shift whatever was still giving her grief. Again this sounds ungrateful, but it is not, it is just difficult to eat so many times in a row when you are used to a wealth of different foods including meat. It was great to see how rural Indians ate and talk to the guys about how much English food cost vs India and how much meat we ate. We are sure that these guys could never face and English diet, while we were managing. We will always have a firm in print of what “real Indian food” is all about though and you will not find it in a UK takeaway!
The only other small problem was that we were supposed to be guests on the farm, according to the owner, Umesh’s wishes, but as soon as he left the guys would change from really helpful to lazy. It is interesting to see how much time and lethargically they would work and the little attention that was paid to the details of a job. For example they entirely covered the wooden dividers and dado rail with newspaper immaculately and neatly with tape, but so little attention to the painting that it ran down the grooves onto the wood anyway and then failed to sandpaper it off later, so that ultimately the wood was covered in paint anyway! They would also expect us to come and get food and chai at designated times that suited them instead of offering us what we needed as would happen when Umesh was around. I would also get told how to eat and have pretty much non-stop “No!” and “Baad” (Marati for ‘bad’ literally), which gets annoying when you actually don’t want to be told to eat a second block of rice when you are incredibly full. Either way these were minor points compared to the benefit of the beautify scenery and the value that we were being given without giving anything in return.
This whole relaxing, swimming, reading and taking in the country routine was only broken up by a walk around the hills and scoping out the view over the green valleys below, watching the water buffalo chill out in ‘our’ lake on the other bank listening to the farmer shouting medieval sounding “Huuuuut hiyaaaa!” like sounds to jee them up and scouting out wild peacocks that are native to the area, but too shy for us to see. Peacocks do sound like crying cats though- I didn’t know that! We were also invited to the local village temple again for “puja” (meaning ‘prayer’) and sat with the locals with kids literally open mouthed staring at us. We ate the free food that is given out at these events, comprising of a similar meal that we had been eating but as it is a special occasion they had jeera (cumin) rice and a dessert of sweetened coconut.
On one of the last days Umesh came to pay the farm a visit and said that he would be back tomorrow evening with some chicken to BBQ. Great! Some meat! So dutifully we built a brick bar-b-que in preparation, but were a little skeptical whether it would happen given that everything else we had been told had changed and not happened for a variety of reasons. We put faith that it would happen but prepared us for if it didn’t. When it didn’t happen however we were a little annoyed and disappointed, but kept telling ourselves that it didn’t matter and to go with the flow, exactly what you have to do when travelling and especially when you visit India. It was about being given expectations and then let down, not about what we were going to get out of it. Either way we were promised eggs the next day for omelette, which would just be there. We were not surprised when the farm hand looked at us blankly and made it hard for us to get the eggs through asking, but eventually these turned up and we made great omelettes using the BBQ we had built the day before.
So the next day we were due to leave and again another problem arose that meant our lift back to Pune couldn’t happen either. Now we needed to catch a rickshaw with all our bags and then a bus, we were put a little out of place with this, but were convinced to go to Umesh’s to see him for one last time as he was on his own. We arrived and he wasn’t alone, but again we are now used to what is claimed and the reality being completely different. Either way Umesh was a legend and treated us to a tandoori chicken meal in the form of making up for failing to turn up the other night and going with the flow panned out again, even though we were put out of joint more than we had wanted, but hey changing your personality takes time and we are both sticklers for people not delivering on their word. It was great to spend time with Umesh without the girls and we sat up until 2:30am drinking and chatting about Yoga, religion and everything in between. A pleasurable, comfortable final night before we left for the UK.
The next day came and went with Internet chores and soon we were on a rickshaw to Pune station and a general class seat to Mumbai. The usual questions came from a man sitting next to me, but this time could have some kind of half meaningful conversation in my “Engdi” and his “Hinglish” combined. I even found out how to get to the airport quicker and received more compliments on my Hindi skills- sweet!
In no time we were blasting up the Mumbai backbone road to the airport and sat on the plane. The last day and time always disappears and we realised that already we are 25% through our global adventure. Time… it always goes in a combination of seeming to go slowly when you are there and then quickly when there has been time already passed.
Aum in Omkareshwar August 29, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentAfter a rocky start to our last part of our Indian adventures we set off on the 3 hr local bus journey to Omkareshwar. I was more than ready but I sensed and knew that Laura was not. She was an absolute trooper. We still do not know what the problem was exactly, but despite the need to battle through the usual hecticness of Indore, rickshaws and carrying her overly weighted rucksack we made it to the station, and were directed in an amazingly, not Indian fashion (the guy came to correct himself on the correct bus number- unheard of!)
The bus went with ease, we were allocated a seat (also unheard of) and had a relatively comfortable ride. We had seen many pilgrims in Varanasi and all over India visiting various holy rivers and en route we saw many more. These guys wore orange T-shirts and barefooted carried a stick with two urns of water. The same guys seemed to be heading to and from Omkareshwar. “Bowl Bom!” they cry and echo to each other and other random passers by also repeat in earnest. Making our way to Omkareshwar it became aparrent that this is where these guys had been and had been walking back the 86km to Indore, in the sun, barefooted.
We rolled into Omkareshwar and the ’station’, a dust bowl patch of land with nothing more than a few stalls selling “puja” (prayer) offerings. Instantly bombarded with people pushing to get on the bus. There are people EVERYWHERE and lots of them! We are unable to get off the bus because, as usual people want to get on the bus first. So I do my usual “right let’s go!” barge for it and after a strong shove by a man twice the size of I, shout very loudly 3 inches from his face to let me off the bus. We squeezed through, collected our bags and began a trek down a road to somewhere called “Majaraja guesthouse”, unsure exactly where it was or how far.
After 20 minutes walking we are flagging and losing enthusiasm. Another guesthouse beckoned, but after a quote of Rs 400 we declined, stood firm and headed towards the main square. These place is really “starey” and it is clear that most people have never seen a westerner before. It is really damn busy though and we wonder whether such a small place can hold so many people! What is going on!? To avoid lugging bags around in vain I leave Laura, perhaps foolishly in the middle of the main square to find the guesthouse. There is no space at the guesthouse as there are only 9 rooms, but a man, I assume is the helper catches me up when I walk off dejectedly and wondering how we are going to find anything else. The lady at the guesthouse tells me that we landed on the climax of the 30 day Shiva festival and that things will get quieter tomorrow and more so the day after and if we cannot find anywhere that we can come back and they will let us stay in their actual house with them. I return to find Laura surrounded with people looking at her gaumlessly to relay the news. Ignoring the crowds we focus on blocking everyone else out, the photos, the comments to each other and wide eyed stares. Eventually some kind of event organisers shoo everyone off continually until the throng dissipates, bar the stragglers.
We decide to wait for a bit and then return without trying to find anywhere else and take the guesthouse up on their offer. What a good move we realise later. The man who chased after me helped us set up our beds and we were sorted!
That night we make for an early night and just head out for chai before bed and things are a little crazy. People everywhere, flashing toys reminiscent of Disney World, drums beating, screams and loud, excited chatter from all around, enclosed in one square. A procession begins to come towards us from further up the road. Chanting and wild, epileptic dancing, flailing to a cacophony of different vibrations begin to arrive in the square. This is too much for Laura, so I head through the masses to try to buy some water for us before we retire. I get caught in the parade and give a little jig, which is instantly picked up by all around, the stares begin and people try to drag me into the core of the movable dancefloor. I resist being persuaded and physically dragged in by Sadhu’s (holy man/monk) and pilgrims alike, secured water and pushed back through to find Laura. Back at the guesthouse I realise that we had been actively looking for a Hindu festival, but that we couldn’t find any in the Lonely Planet or heard of any in fact. Inadvertently we had stumbled across one in miraculous fashion and I was going to go to bed! I can’t and knew I would regret it. So leaving Laura I head back out to get right in the middle of the action. That I did. Like Holi (the festival of colour) coloured dust is thrown about as a blessing and a man carried shrine is taken from the top Ghats (bathing steps leading to the river) to the temple on Omkareshwar’s island (the Island is in the “Aum” shape). I dance like a lunatic and everyone wants a piece of dancing with the foreigner, the drummers gather around me and play as hard as possible, so I am immersed in the loudest, most intense drum orchestra ever, literally from all angles, being covered in dust and flailing like the best of them. At points I am literally being pulled in different directions and my arm burns from overly tight grips, so after exhausting myself pull back and call it a (mad) night. A few guys follow me back and have clearly been smoking too much Bhang (marijuana plant all ground together), usual questions ensure as do a few cigerettes and more chai before finally bed.
The next morning we wake to realise the gravitas of the place we are staying in, as if the first impression of it being consumed into the cliff and undergrowth weren’t enough. It was 600 years old and owned by a Raja whose ancestors were paid off with a palace and land in return for not destroying the place. The guesthouse was a courtroom and jail (rooms 7 and 8), but luckily we were in the storage room! We were brought chai by the guesthouse helper and after premium room number 1 was empty we’re allowed to venture across to the ‘balcony’- a smooth rock face jutting over the Narmada river, one of the 3 major holy rivers in India. The rock looked like the bottom of the sea, where it had definitely risen from many years ago. The view was spectacular.
That day we stayed around the guesthouse, feeling zero compulsion to do anything bar take in the amazing scenery and feeling of the whole place. Every moment the air was filled with various chants and readings of the Vedas (Hindu scriptures) or Ramayana (story of Rama and Sita- come on GCSE Religious Education takers!) overlapping each other in harmony and volume throughout the day. We took in the colourful view of the orange pilgrims bathing and collecting the water from the river to take home with them while bathing in the river’s holy water. The bridge on our other side saw various people throwing flowers, rice, water from their home town, coconuts and other offerings into the river, while boats chugged away in a far louder volume than necessary for such small boats. India, all consuming, all go and all the time.
That evening the guesthouse helper who we were introduced to as Rajinder sent up a Sadhu into room 1, who we had noticed the night before in passing sleeping outside. We learnt that he was blind and so the guesthouse helper did all he could to make his stay pleasant, set up his bed, guided him around and set him up outside that night for the evenings puja. This was all while dashing around ensuring we had something to sit on and that the sweeping had been done! My Hindi was coming along and that night the lady who was talking to us in broken English complimented my “excellent Hindi” and was surprised to know that I had been learning it for just 3 months. Ace! This supported a few previous comments from others and so I was chuffed.
That night Laura retired early and I sat out on the cliff with the two men, trying to understand their deep spiritual conversations. I understood about 10%, through gestures, words, and intonation, but deeply wanted to be a greater part of the conversation. Either way I knew that this was the moment I had been looking for in Sikkim and felt blessed this situation was given to me against all the odds. That night I sat for 6 hours next to a small camp fire, watched puja being performed with the blast from a conch shell horn and myrrh incense thrown onto the fire. I was even offered a pipe of Bhang from the Sadhu, which couldn’t be refused given the circumstances.
It turned out to be 1am before retiring to bed, which made the next morning slightly more difficult, especially as we hadn’t put the mosquito net up for 2 nights now due to Laura’s fatigue and me getting immersed into the situation. I awoke with over 50 bites all over my body. So, so itchy! Either way I had picked up cream from the Indore chemist and so that was a welcome relief. That day Laura felt slightly better and we had a walk around the market stalls, then picked up a juice from a juice bar. We were going to walk down to the Ghats when the heat made her feel bad once more so I took her back and then headed out alone once more. Down at the river people playfully splashed around in the holy water, but again, I arrive and all eyes and conversation switches. I get in and have a swim, which initiates an impromptu swimming effort upstream from all the macho looking boys. Flapping against the water, like they are trying to hurt it their swimming is as poor as their tact. One man asks for the obligatory photo, which I decline and everyone laughs at (it gets really boring), then I have the same questions bombarded at me and everyone wants my attention, which I am trying to avoid. This time however people get really close and are splashing around me, ’swimming’ that means kicking me inadvertently. The man repeats his request for a photo and asks why, then people direct splashing at me when I do not respond to their request. They follow me when I move. I feel a stone hit me in the shoulder, which shocked me as I have had the rest before, but that is a nasty gesture. I retort to the continued requests of the photo man that he is not my friend as he says and that is not possible when his friends are splashing me and throwing things at me. He replies that I don’t understand Hindi.
“Throwing stones is an international language of abuse and hate, not friendship. It is shame that this country is so good and yet the men in it so bad. Why do you treat visitors in this way so that they feel like they don’t want to be here. Why don’t you tell these idiots that when I don’t respond to their questions”, went my tirade. I float off downstream to get away further, when more people see me and the same gawks ensue. Then a fairly old lady splashes me in the face with an evil look on her face. I splash her back with force and get out. “This is my trouble” I direct to the photo man, as I leave the river. He tries to get out in time and finally I can sense that he feels and sees the situation as a whole. It’s too late, I’m well dressed and gone. It is a shame but I report to Laura that it was a mixed bag… the water and river was great, but the company less so.
That evening saw another extended session of puja and a broken conversation about where I can find my guru. Inside- I think was the answer. Rajinder appears to think I speak more Hindi than I do, due to my well placed Hindi words and familiar Hindi noises of ‘yes’ and ‘no’. I feel slightly betraying of his trust, but cannot communicate the lack of my understanding either! Either way I feel that I am understanding enough to take something from the conversation and when “Babba” (an affectionate term that means father literally) talked he spoke with an incredible presence and wonder that meant more from how than what was said. Rajinder brought and organised food, put a plate together for Laura against my suggestion that she couldn’t eat it. What a great place, just Rs 250 per night and chai and food is given to us for free!
The next day we decided to head out to walk around Omkareshwar, but Laura needed to eat before we walked around the island for 7km. We headed to the other guesthouse we almost stayed at, but before hand I sensed something was going to happen on the cliff. Babba was performing puja, but this time we were ushered to take part and throw offerings of incense onto the fire with the words “swaha” (I pray eternal words to the eternal God), after which Babba gave us both a blessing and a big bear hug. Some people just make you feel good and peaceful and this man does that better than no one else I know.
The guesthouse had a restaurant which was good and a change of scene. Immediately we were approached by a french lady, who was traveling alone. We could tell she hadn’t seen Western faces for a while and missed it. We learned of her trip to ‘horrible’ Mahabaleshwar due to the fact that no one could speak English and that she was due to leave the next day in a grossly overpriced taxi to avoid a train she was booked on due to the station. For a lady on her own that is understandable, but she had visited Indian before and so we enquired why she returned. She didn’t know, which we found strange, but a lovely person and we ended up eating and chatting all afternoon about various adventures, which is nice to do with other travelers every now and again. We could tell she was pleased to have the company and confided that she felt down the last few days and we could sense that we were charging her batteries, which was good to know.
That evening though the Mandir (temple) near Ganesh guesthouse we were sat at wailed pratana (a verse or prayer) with an irritating pace and fervor that was unrelaxing and a little psychotic. The restaurant did good food, but we then realised how much better we were off by standing firm and going on. I’d like to say we were driven to our guesthouse by intervention, even when space was unlikely and we were almost beaten by the situation. We took our new friend round to our guesthouse to see the view and from what Laura relayed that made her time in Omkareshwar and we were more than happy to know we had injected some good into someone else’s experiences.
That evening we reflected on what had happened so far. Laura finally ate something of volume and solid and felt better that day and we were in our second to last night already! If only we had more time here, but we knew that was the wrong way to look at this situation… we had to do the walk tomorrow as it was now our last chance.
The next morning Rajinder, as he had been doing brought us chai and some snacks. We headed out to the island when we bumped into Rajinder. He was carrying wood and rattled off something quickly in Hindi to which I replied “tikque” and shook my head from side to side. He led us over the bridge towards the island and gestured up with the wood. We followed him and matched his quick pace. We were told to wait 5 minutes. None of this was in our plan, we wanted a quiet walk around the island without anyone, especially Rajinder who spoke to me in normal Hindi, expecting far more from my language skills that was remotely possible. This was getting wearing, as constantly double guessing and listening to someone speak who you do not understand is hard at times. Either way we waited and then followed him at his fast pace towards the Sangen (fork) in the river, stopping occasionally for a Sanskrit translation into Hindi- none of which we understood. He had clearly been here before as he said “hare om” and various forms of religious hello to many people who looked at him fondly in return with many welcoming gestures. We reached a chai spot where we were introduced to his friend, sorted a spot away from the onlookers and chilled out of the sun for a while. Across the path was a temple, our next stop apparently. We walked in a Laura and I walked around. Rajinder walked straight up to the priest in charge and then brought us to join them at the smoking floor. Rajinder seems to know everyone! It turns out that the Sadhu at our guesthouse knows this Sadhu and their temples are connected somehow.
We eventually realised that the heat of day is getting stronger and that we need to move now if we are to make it, much to Rajinder’s some kind of protest. He motioned that he was going elsewhere so we left him and headed off alone. The day was baking, but despite this there were many “village people” (read people who stare at you as they haven’t seen a westerner, giggle to each other and the men act all macho while speeding up and slowing down to ultimately circle you) following the same pilgrim path. We climb further up and there is no where to hide from the now 11:30am sun. We remember what it is like to be this hot again now.
Towards the top of the hill Rajinder bounds up to us with his usual contented smile and together we make it to the top of the hill to a bar that sells cold water and coke. How good is a cold coke when you are literally burning on the inside and out? Very. At this point Rajinder looks more unsettled and anxious to move, but we are taking it easy, out of convenience, ease and need. At the top of the island the old 12th Century Mandir was its usual
impressive sight and someone had even built a large shed with plinths to house some of the stone carvings that had been vandalized by the local monkeys. At this point Rajinder gives us the option to go around the rest of the way, as we are half way round or to head back. It has taken us 3.5 hours and it is now the midday sun. We opt out and take the route back. Past some village huts we finally emerge at the top of the island at the top of the steps we had been looking at from our guesthouse over the last few days. What a view (again!)
We arrived back in the square and slinked off quickly to the juice bar for a bit of solitude. When we returned we caught Rajinder leading Babba out and realise that Babba is heading off to his Madir. We say goodbye in the usual form of respect and shaking of hands. I give Rajinder a glance who looked focused.
We went back to the guesthouse and “did some stuff”, before asking the lady about Babba and if he had gone. “Yes he left with Rajinder to another place. They never stay in the same place”. Our hearts sank. We said goodbye to Babba, but not Rajinder, after all he had done for us and after we had assumed he was the guesthouse helper. It turned out Rajinder was Babba’s helper. I couldn’t help but fight back shedding a tear. Curse my stupid nodding and fake Hindi…. Perhaps Rajinder thought we knew his position and that we were ungrateful at all his help and were really rude at not saying goodbye… Why was he doing everything to help everyone and not just Babba?… Why had he taken us for that tour just before leaving?…. The lady confirmed that Rajinder was much later than he should have been and that Babba was wondering where he was.
I am never going to forget the ceaseless kindness, peace, wisdom and caring that Rajinder clearly shows everyone he meets, without any form of expectation of return. This is a true Sadhu, someone who marches forward in life permanently doing, but for others, in true charity, not one that makes one feel better as a result. That night I felt awful and slept very badly.
How could I have failed to show appreciation for this man? I just take refuge in the fact that he needs no appreciation and takes peace and appreciation as well as everything else from Yoga and God as opposed to human feedback.
The next day we were up early and set off again up the dusty track to pick up the bus to Indore. The bus again was fairly easy despite the seats being “squeeze and one ass cheek on”. I reflected long about Rajinder, how I can find him and how in this life I can take lessons from his being as well as all the experiences I was exposed to during those short 4 days.
All I know is that I want to go back to Omkareshwar.
On the Move back to the South West August 27, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentWe felt sad rolling out of Varanasi as again this meant another section of our journey and another place to say goodbye to. Things are definately closing in our India chapter. The rain began when we left the station and signaled that we were in the trough area of the monsoon. Bihar was now a lot more green than before and the wind from the outside a lot cooler. Laura’s stomach was still shaky from what we believed was caused by our cooking course and had pains throughout the journey, making it not the best we had experienced. We shared the cabin with two couples, who shared their food with us, which was hard as it wasn’t great. Dried nuts and chilli’s deep fried, we ended up chucking a fair bit subtly out of the window to avoid offense as they insisted on us taking them.
The morning came with my reasonable sleep and Laura’s disturbed with pain and rolled into Bhopal on time! Amazing considering we expected the trip back to be at risk of flooding disruption, but as it happened the floods were in the north west of India.
After brushing up on our personal hygiene at the station we look to see whether we should stay in Bhopal, the place looked good from the train as we arrived, which is not the usual experience you get arriving in an Indian city for the first time by train, so it was tempting. Yet there was a train due in 20 minuted to Indore, so we decided to go for it to get more time in Omkareshwar.
Our first general class ticket was met with the usual strategy of people throwing things into the carriage to ’save their seat’. As the train stopped in front of me the shoves from behind began, like the front row of a concert where you cannot go anywhere because of people getting off the train. I stood firm and held on with large rucksack to stop people barging on shouting to “let people off the train first” (very London, British). People shoved harder but I resisted, despite people hurling abuse at me. When one guy squeezed under my arm I ensured he was trapped between me, the train and the people getting off… point made. There were no seats and no one wanted to give us space… so we made some! The journey was tight to say the least and not great for the smaller of backsides as Laura found out. We lurched into Indore in the pouring rain 5 hours later and was greeted by the usual stares that signify a less developed town socially.
After the rickshaw trying to charge Rs30 to go round the corner we inform them “jee nahee! ap ko paisa, angrezee paise nee sasta. Ja o?” Essentially meaning I am not paying English prices, you are not giving me the cheapest rate so go away. The area around the station is the usual grime we have experienced in the past, but head to the recommended hotel. After scouting out a few it becomes clear that Indore is far more sectarian and has separate hotels for westerners and Indians, which limits our options. The recommended place annoyed us, it was too expensive and the manager was being unresponsive in his help, so we left. A couple of guys helped us out as I was buying some cigarettes, who talked to a rickshaw driver about taking us around the the hotels for free until we found one, as it seemed that there were many that were completely full. We took his offer and after a few more being full reached a mid range place that had 24 hour check out (really handy if you can get it, as arriving at 5pm means you get a full day there also). It was more expensive than the last and more than we’d like, but Laura at this point is flagging and in pain so I decide to go for it, despite needing to pay for the water cooling system at Rs495 per night (pounds 7.5). Laura crashes out and doesn’t look good, stomach gurgling and feeling weak. After a heated and unfriendly debate with reception on the standard of the room I get Laura in there with people cleaning around her. Room service took too long so I went to grab her some sugary drinks needed.
That night Laura spends sleeping and so I go out to grab supplies, wash and relax myself. The next day Laura feels no better, so Omakreshwar is off until she is better. I find a local restaurant which was really cheap and everthing is cooked by the road side, in open kitchens (a good sign). It is busy for a reason and I have a great Bindi fry with butter tandoor roti’s for Rs45 (60p). Laura is in bed all day again and so I while away my time wandering around taking in the immediately local area, which is pretty crap. Bhopal seems a better suggestion to have stayed at now. That night I grab a few beers from over the road and watch the crackly non-English TV playing nurse.
The next few days I spread out my search of the city and actually find that further out it is growing into a more modern city. Again it is the center that is a dump, with most shops dealing in bike parts, repairs and selling seat covers. It is auto industry city. I also find out that there are loads of colleges here, which is why it was so busy at the hotels, due to it being admission time for the new students. I also visit the posh coffee shop (coffee is a rarity in India) and it costs a lot more. Rs30 for an espresso and I had to direct them to make an Americano. The coffee is bitter and makes me realise how good we have it. Either way their veg focaccia for Rs 25 (35p) is great!
Apart from a trek around the city to find an Internet connection and having people tell me that Rs15 is the Indian price and Rs 50 the foreigner price, I find Indore the most racist place in India I have been yet. The only thing that makes up for it is the corner eatery that grew used to me after eating there for 4 days and the decent room.
After 4 days in Indore our time in Omkareshwar was being eaten away. Laura made slow progress and eventually made it to see the coffee shop I had been to, in order to fuel up for the journey. She put on a brave face to carry heavy bags across town and to deal with the impending bus journey.
We made our way to the station and with a massive surprise we find a counter with someone who is actually helpful! He spoke English despite our efforts at “Engdi” (English-Hindi) and gave us the bus number. A minute later he chased after us and corrected himself and directed us to the bus himself… these things become so amazing when the rest of the time people are so devoid of care or useful information. The bus driver allocated us a seat and despite the engine plus exhaut blasting on my feet we were away with minimal of fuss and effort, which was a relief for Laura.
Madhya Pradesh is a lesser explored state which has a vast production of agriculture. The people are more “village”, which generally means they are more starey and have a more close minded village attitude, as many Indian people have pointed out to us. They tend to do what they want, have poor awareness of others and live simple lives. This summed up the people on the bus, but winding through the hills through lush forests we are excited at finally making our way to Omkareswar
Business in Varanasi August 25, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentWe some how ended up in a jeep with the owner of Glenary’s, the very same place we had spent on the internet and gazing out of the window with a fine pot of tea. Well she bought it from the British and ultimately is now monetising it as much as possible.
After we are kicked out of the jeep early and ushered into another share taxi to the station we make it early, only to find, as usual that the train is late. We end up waiting for 3 hours extra, on top of the 3 hours we had allowed ourselves as leeway. Great, another wait, not ideal in New Jalpaiguri station ,which is a real hell hole.
Laura experienced her saddest moment here, watching the madly intoxicated kids ranging from 5 ish to early teens. All of them were sniffing glue pretty much the whole time, but when they weren’t they looked gaunt and sad begging incessantly and never taking no as a no. I visited the train cafe and ate some rice/ Dal and subzi (veg) combo and followed another mans lead of giving my left overs to one of the boys peering in at the window. Not looking particularly happy with the food he still asked from 5 Rs! At one point a boy who was really high and flailing down the platform with a crazed smile found some chapati in the bin. He cheered and waved it in the air before taking it off to eat it. His friends came over to share in some of his prize, but the boy had none of it. The only bit he gave away was a large pinch that he gave to a stray dog. Laura was touched.
Later that night we watched the kids gambling the small change that they had collected during that day, we guessed “to make it big”, in between breathing glue vapours from an old bag (see pic). This kid had just had something taken from him and was chasing an older kid…. not the things ‘normal’ children do. Later they curled up under the platform stairwell and smoked marijuana, as well as sneak up on a lady sleeping, flick her in the head before running off to avoid getting caught.
Getting on the train was a relief and we slept for the most part for the journey, with lightning flickering as a back drop to our journey. The journey was painfully slow and our backsides ached instantly after shuffling to a more comfortable position. We arrived at Mughal Serai station, 30 minutes away from Varanasi at 9pm, instead of the quoted 4pm. A man from Delhi kindly cheered our hopes and suggested we take a rest room and food at the station. Sounds good. Perhaps unsurprisingly after being referred from piller to post- literally… why is it that there are booths of 4 men with a sign saying “Happy to help”, when they don’t even turn around, vaguely try to help and just tell you to go somewhere else that doesn’t know!… eventually we find that there is no space and that the canteen is practically empty. I am starving and so eat a really, really bad vegetable Biryani, constantly harassed by a scraggy looking girl who was chased off by station staff to just return again, with a vacant look and filth all over her.
We had to take a rickshaw to Varanasi tonight and so left ourselves at their rip off tactics. After our first reasonable offer we accepted their lead to a guesthouse in the South of the city near the area where the rickshaw can drop us off (the old town is paved and inaccessible and walking was out of the question at this point).
We arrived at Elvis guesthouse and even negotiated another good room rate, but asked to keep it to ourselves. The next day we mooched up to the roof terrace to find a group of Israelis hanging out. What a great roof terrace- not a bad recommendation Mr rickshaw driver! Varanasi is hot again and we realise what the plains were like, although to be fair it is not quite as hot as it was…
We decide that we need to focus our immediate time on sorting business and to head north to the old city that day- we know how long and how things never go to plan in India and with a fair amount of cash at stake need to get things right. We are hijacked by one of the Israeli girls who has yet to have found the markets. We have been warned about loud, in your face Israelis by others, but have only found chilled sound ones, until now. When getting off the rickshaw she informs us that Israeli’s get the best deal with everything because of their ace negotiation skills… which is when she launches into a tirade at the man and makes him really defensive. Really, not a good strategy for an easy and effective life in India and probably why they ended up paying twice the amount for the room as we did! Unlucky! We disembarked in the same place as we were dropped on the very first time we visited Varanasi and it is amazing how you can lose track of a place. We realised how many other things we have seen and done, by the fact that we are very disorientated and unused to the craziness of Varanasi. This place really is the extreme in every way. There are cows walking all over the place disregarding any rules, the drivers beeping non-stop ignoring any traffic rules, the cyclists veering everywhere. Rubbish everywhere smelling to the extreme, the heat, humidity and dust hits you more than any other place we have been. There are prayer calls blaring from loudspeakers from all directions, people wearing orange surging towards the ghats shouting “BALL BAUM!”, so it is all go from all angles to the max!
We eventually regained our senses via my broken Hindi and reached the quieter small lanes where our tailors resides and were greeted by the guys from the Golden Lodge where we stayed the first time round. It is good to be recognised and finally have some understanding of a place that was so alien to us just a few months back. After an hour checking the stitching of all 50 garments and having the knowledge of what is necessary as a good quality shirt we sent 6 back to be redone and went on our way. We wanted to get this all sorted in one day, but the guys needed time to get the restitching done so we had to come back the next day.
The next day came and after breakfast of Laura craving eggs was disappointed at being promised an Israeli delight only to be served some oily onion and overcooked eggs, we headed back to the old town. After drinking the customary chai from the disposible clay cup we got down to business of counting the items, their colours and rechecking everything. The sizing are a bit ‘loose’ lets say, but ultimately it means that every item now has character and we have slight variations on size. How very Indian! After everything was okayed we decide to go to Golden Lodge for an eggs chips and beans meal that we loved when we stayed. We managed to swap some books and convinced the guy to give me (against his rules) two books on Yoga, just what I was after. After a 40 minute food wait, cold food and Laura leaving highly disappointed and feeling “egged out”, but also realising that some things do need to be left as they are remembered and are often not as good second time round when you have expectations (and that applies to everything!), we headed back to the tailors.
We return and are in a rush to get to the post office, but the guys are now tied up and the promise of helping us post the box has fallen through after money exchanged, surprise surprise. They do however get a boy to carry the box and the 4ft tall tailor to come with us, when the heavens open and storm breaks out. We are in two minds… do we have to return again tomorrow or shall we risk water damaging the goods? We wrap the box in torn plastic and go for it, winding down the narrow lanes through streams of pilgrims and water, out queer group of 4 making our way to the post office. The main road is closed, but we pick up a cycle rickshaw to deviate slightly and reach the post office in time. Ushered suddenly through we are told that the box is 1″ too big for government regulations and it cannot be sent! BUT “luckily” we could encourage them to mark it down as smaller to get it through and an extra cost might help… we have been in a few situations where we might have needed to backshish someone, but have avoided it until now. 400Rs extra though!? I doubt it. I hide some cash and begin to raise my voice stating that “the wrapper is government vetted and we only have another 40Rs”… we are ushered through and get away with a bribe of just Rs40, which is not bad on top of a total of around 6000 RS in total.
After a mission of a rickshaw ride back looking at the flash flooding around we get out just in time for the heavens to open again. In just 20 seconds we are both wet through, running through the lanes back to the guesthouse has turned into the wet and wild water park, but just with cow crap buried in random places turning some areas into a slippery sludge pit. The guttering juts out at varying lengths over the lanes and so water torrents are pouring from literally both sides, from above and because the rain is so hard is coming from the ground also! I have never been so wet in such a short space of time, but we were in hysterics when we arrived back to wring ourselves out!
The next day it was gorgeous clear weather again and so we made our way down to the Ghats, vaguely heading to the Hannuman Mandir (Temple), satisfied that our business deal is done and now is time to relax. We sit on Assi Ghat, a truly tranquil place, Sadhus and sellers who are sluggish due to the heat and now give us far less hassle with appropriate responses in Hindi. The Ganges is now massive, the sand dunes on the far side we saw before has now disappeared with the water level 15 foot higher. The water, once slowly flowing, now pouring with a strong current down the banks carrying undergrowth from upstream. We gaze at the eagles soaring gracefully overhead, the pigeons puffing up to look attractive and saw the same baby goat we photographed the first time we landed on the Assi Ghat shores on our boat trip. It all seems familiar now. We sat for a while in silence taking in the relaxed atmosphere and people sleeping under trees, meditating and doing the same as us. I always wonder who the swamis are amongst the general throng.
We mosey along Assi Ghat and enjoy just taking in the chilled morning vibe. Assi Ghat is the furthest south it is possible to walk along the Ganges, so we cut down a street in the general direction on the Hannuman Temple. Laura finally gives in to temptation and we fall into a clothes shop. She has a little birthday money left and is keen to enjoy the extremely cheap shopping opportunity! We settle for some green Ali Babba trousers and enjoy a long chat with the shop keepers. It is fun chilling on a padded floor under a fan discussing random things with Varanasi locals. They end up recommending a local place for lunch. Rs20 Re fill Thali…can’t go wrong we decide!
Finding the Thali place wasn’t difficult, but we were too early for lunch, so continue towards locating the Hannuman Temple. Our attention is distracted with an advertisement for Indian cooking lessons. We check it out, and it doesn’t sound like a bad deal. Tempted we continue our journey to the temple telling the cooking teacher that we will think about it. We somehow took a bit of a wrong turn and found ourselves in a maze of houses, a very local area. Fascinating, but boiling with the sun getting more and more intense as it encroaches 12 midday, Laura is keen to find shade of the temple and escape from the illogical winding maze. Being ace with my sense of direction, I come to the rescue and locate the temple. Sorted.
The temple is shady and cool. It had many paintings, but weren’t that impressive. By now we have seen a fair few temples, so it is easy to become critical! On the plus, holy men were at the gate entrance chanting and playing the tablas, which definitely made it worth while. Meanwhile, inside the temple, more holy men were in deep discussion about their food. We could just about get the jist of their conversation, as we understood the ‘Kanna’ (food) and ‘kitni ka?’ (how much)?
Then Thali time! Flies and all. What a great recommendation it really was. Authentic Thali, only Indian locals eating there. I was in heaven as it was as much as you like. Sweeet. We feel like we fit in as I am wearing my sarong to cope with the heat and manage to use my broken Hindi to ask for more.
We decided to go for the cooking class, so go back and arrange it for the following day. We had a fresh coffee (a rarity in India) which was served in a stove peculator. The restaurant manager was convinced that this addition justified him charging Rs50 for 1 pot coffee (which only made 1 cup)! We told him we didn’t care how the coffee was served and gave him Rs30. This did trigger doubt in my mind on how much value for money we would be getting at the cooking class…but hey ho, got to try these things sometimes! With full belly’s and a strong coffee topping us up, we begin to roll back to Assi Ghat with the sun really pounding down now. Laura finds herself in another shop and picks up some really nice tops and a skirt which I manage to haggle down to a great price. All of her shopping adds up to 5 quid!
On our tired but happy stagger back along the Ganges to the guesthouse we pick up a a chai and pass some men constructing a wooden boat. What skill. Really interesting just sitting and watching the world go by before we finally retire on the guesthouse roof terrace for the evening. Before long the heat and humidity crescendo and clouds balloon until one almighty cloudburst. The tin roof of the terrace leaks pretty badly and it is impossible to hear yourself think. Really intense- but that’s how I like my weather! The weather manages to calm down enough for us to nip around the corner with a Welsh and American guy we have met in the guesthouse to watch an Indian music concert. It was great. The tablas, Sitar, flute and some singing made a great end to a really enjoyable day. The 2 guys had consumed a Bang Lassi along with some dodgy chocolate they had bought- so it was quite amusing watching them absorb themselves in the music.
Our last full day in Varanasi started by us finding a little alcove along a small Ghat near our guesthouse. We wanted to enjoy the ‘cool’ morning reading and meditating looking out over the Ganges. It is so shanty down at the Ghats, we really love chilling out there. Our alcove is next to where a sadhu is sleeping in the shade. It really is a special place. Laura and I agree how much we enjoy Varanasi. Only it isn’t actually very cool this morning, it is rather baking. After an hour or so we retreat back to the shade of the guesthouse terrace until it is time for our cooking lesson.
The cooking lesson was an experience let’ s say! The teacher/restaurant manager is one of those lazy Indians who really doesn’t have the best work ethic in the world.
It become apparent early on that we are really going to have to push him to give us a satisfactory lesson. I am constantly asking him questions and drilling him on his ‘knowledge’. We spend the first hour of our 2hr lesson sat at a table as he explains how to cook Cheese Kofta, Vegetable Jal Frazy and Missi Roti. At one point he was drawing pictures of carrots and tomatoes. Laura was concentrating more at keeping a straight face than how to make bases to the curry dishes! Anyway, we finally got into the kitchen. It was what you would expect of an Indian restaurant kitchen. FILTHY. FLIES. Spring to mind. We put on out aprons and filth goggles and get down to business. Oh. he has prepared almost everything already. So the lesson was pretty quick and as he only has one stove we had to leave each dish on the side going cool as we cooked the next one. All in all, it wasn’t the best lesson in the world, but we did pick up some good tips and learn what goes into the base of most curry dishes- something we experiment with back in the UK. Unfortunately, down the line it transpired that Laura also picked up a a stomach upset from our lesson too…..but that is another story.
That evening, we opt for street food with the Welsh and American people and have a chilled last night with a beer of the terrace. We crash early as checkout is at 10am the following day and we want to get some sleep in before the next mammoth train journey to Bhopal.
Checking out and getting out of Varanasi was pretty hassle free. We needed to get more cash out to pay for guesthouse bill. Laura was lucky enough to get a ride on the back of a motorbike to the nearest ATM with a guy that worked at the guesthouse. She came back exhilarated as she had enjoyed whizzing through the chaos and dust of Varanasi we had only encountered on foot or in rickshaw until now! Having settled up, we make our way to Varanasi Junction Station for the last time. Our train is on time. Woo! We are shocked, this is the second train in 4 months that has departed on time…what a difference that makes to our experience. It feels weird to leave Varanasi as it means we are beginning our descent south and feels like our trip in India is quickly coming to an end now. But with Bhopal and Omkareshwar on the horizons, there is still much to look forward to and be excited about!
The Darjeeling Tea Express August 10, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentJeeps keep on getting more and more hairy. They seem to have been made my a mechano set with a bit of glue, without a clue. Welding here and there keeping things together. The heavy rain over the last week makes us a little more nervous, but after each journey we care less about the 100ft plus drop offs, goats in the back, doors that swing open randomly and drivers that seem to want to overtake each other in thin air.
This trip was to be a bit more epic than before as we need to go to Gazing first, swap jeep and head to Jorethang, then take another jeep to Darjeeling. Tired after our lack of sleep at the lake we head wobble down the road to meet our first roadblock due to boulders falling off the moutainside. This one was only a 30 minute delay and after a pick up continued to Gazing, past Pelling where we had been just a week beforehand, past the bakery and my gleaming new walkway into it. Sikkim now feels familiar and we are sad to know that in a few hours we will be back in what we now consider “India”. Sikkim is a different place. We wound down the final road to Gazing after 3 hours and picked up our next jeep.
We stopped into get some petrol after leaving Gazing in jeep number 2 when the driver couldn’t release the steering lock! After everyone in the vehicle had had a go of twisting and banging a man arrived to take off the steering wheel and column. Another 40 minutes delay and we were off again. Just as we had started our journey climbing up the hills into the clouds and lush greenery we wound down from 1200m above sea level to just 500m in the space of around 20 minutes. The heat difference was marked and we instantly feel like we have landed from the UK in woolen clothing! Jorethang was what we remembered India for. Hecticness, dust, heat, grime, yet was still officially Sikkim, but just on the boarder was more reminiscent of Bengal. Soon though we were in Bengal and started the ascent to Darjeeling 2100m above sea level. The roads here are in a lot poorer condition however. We rose above the earth once more with Jorethang permanently in sight, just sinking below us next to the Rimbi river. The tree and vegetation lined roads changed to tea plantations and Telly Tubby land. Manicured rolling hillsides with all vegetation at the same height, but with winding paths linking the trees together. Eventually we hit a major, we need to change truck landslide. The road had literally fallen through a tea plantation and reduced the road to 1m wide. We had to walk with our gear across the thin remaining gap and wait for another jeep to collect us from the other side. We waited. 30 minutes, 1 hour, 1.5 hours. We were promised an immediate pickup. Great. Luckily others were in the same boat and we made friends who also believed the driver had conned everyone. We hunted the driver down and all made a fuss. He looked bad but continued defending himself. After over 2 hours another jeep arrived and we all piled in.
12 hours later we arrived in Darjeeling and what a disappointment. It is dirty and grimy like many other Indian towns/cities we had seen. I had expected colonial charm and more than towering concrete squares that are so popular in India. We asked a Richshaw driver about heading to a LP recommended hotel to avoid hassle after our long journey- a regular strategy when we need to make things easy in the first instance, even though it generally doesn’t pan out like that! We laughed when he said Rs120 and set off walking where we thought the hotel should be. Steps. Steps and steps, just what we could do without now. Yet we plowed on like troopers and ended up popping out right where we needed too, despite almost loosing our tempers. Turns out that our destination hotel was 4 floors further up, but we were beat. Laura popped next door and secured a place that was cheaper than we had planned to stay in and said it was reasonable. It was passable, but the place had hot water and a TV so we could crash for a day and sort out our wet clothes, wash properly and sleep in a bed without birds tweeting at you at 5am in the morning. Again something that has become a standard when we reach a new place after a heavy journey. Relative luxury for a few days and then downgrade for the longer haul in budget. It works for us.
that night we ordered room service and watched a film… it was pretty good until the power was cut at the climax. The generator was, it seems, only used for the lights so our movie night was cut short and bedtime started abruptly. Although the generator was below us and the walls seemed to vibrate- there is always something… Well good night then!
The next day we headed down to get some of our most soiled clothes, including various mould growths from the non-stop damp weather in Sikkim. At Rs30 per item (45p), this is a serious expense as you can buy lunch for that! Dry cleaning though it is supposed to be, although mentions of ‘drying’ do not fill me with confidence. I ask and get into a fairly usual circular conversation. We asked for a local recommendation of where to grab some lunch- the best way to find the local gem restaurants off the tourist trap. We are recommended a place almost next door and found a REALLY cheap place that served a kind of stir fry rice with chicken and noodles for 40p. The usual dirty, but popular place that you have to trust for food, but would rather not. We found the Internet cafe for a catch up and people who run cyber cafe’s really do not know how to run a network or a lot of the time what antivirus is and how to clean viruses. A worm on my computer was easy to clean, but I had to point out to the owner how this can be done without reformatting every computer. I sigh and consider charging, but leave needing a password change (apologies for the techno rant, but it is worth noting!)
Set up for more exploration we decide to find the station and look at the feasibility of taking the toy train, something we were gutted was a no go from Siliguri because of the strike. What we quickly realised is that Darjeeling is a shopping market town that has items from Nepal and India, so there is a lot of choice. Winding our way around the town towards the station we notice a lot of the British colonial buildings with their design work, columns and elaborate awnings. They just happen to be scattered amongst the concrete blocks built after the British left. The old clock tower, red cross centers and hospital are all reminiscent of times that once were and then not maintained. That said the town feels and looks a lot better after exploration and a vast improvement on first impressions, something we are getting used to, as most of the time we have arrived at a place thinking “what a dump”, but then it grows on you, you see through it, or get used to it, whichever the case may be and start to like it for what it is. I guess that is true of India as a whole!
We found the station and if by magic Thomas the Tank Engine… sorry the steam train, but you have to understand I have been excited about this for ages and felt like I was 5 again and I have not even been on it yet! From the station we also glimpse the view for the first time due to cloud cover and it really is Telly Tubby land and I am not sure if I like it or not. It has a charm of rolling hills full of tea, but looks almost too manicured to look good.
The steam train seems possible and almost too easy. Unfortunately we needed to book our trains for the rest of the trip and it seemed that although even cyber cafe’s have geenrator power that the train station doesn’t feel it is necessary. Poor Laura waited in for it for 2.5 hours while I trawled across what seemed the whole of Darjeeling to find cash.
Afterwards we had a wander around Darjeeling. The shops have everything and makes shopping very difficult to avoid, especially with Laura craving a shop and there being tea everywhere! Woolen products from Nepal, tea (unsurprisingly), standard clothes, Tibetan art, tea wear… so much choice, so little budget and little space in bags (probably a good thing!)
We also notice that there are a lot of pork shops in Darjeeling- something that is generally missing from Indian towns due to their dislike of pigs due to their ‘dirty nature’. So this is a Tibetan/ Nepali influence, which carries on into Sikkim. The good news is that because Darjeeling is at high altitude that the weather is cooler and risk of diseased meat lower than on the plains of India. That is good because the next day we visited a cafe and it had bacon and sausages on the menu and we couldn’t resist. A fry up? How could one say no! and after all we hadn’t been looking, but it came to us via sheer intervention of higher powers (or something like that). It was great and loads of it, which made it even better. In fact we had enough sausage to keep for the next days breakfast, ‘with accessories’ to make sandwiches, as we had done in Pelling.
That day we packed up our stuff and moved towards a hotel that had been recommended to us by the English girls in Pelling. We found it the day earlier and hiked up the steep roads to reach the top of town. The girls paid Rs200 for the room, but we managed to negotiate it for Rs130, which we were happy about as we have managed to reduce our accommodation bill by a fair amount and always seem to pay less than everyone else we speak to. The place smelt like a toilet, but we had a separate bathroom (they all faced out onto the corridor so unsurprisingly it wafts about), two double beds(!) and a balcony, so ace value.
The rest of the day saw us picking up bits for presents for people, being approached by people selling Charas (I seem to be getting this more and more now with more hair..) Suddenly we see the Police barricading the market street and a low murmer. It is a Gorkaland protest. Individuals in a long stream of people start the chanting, so pockets of chanting can be heard like waves of song starting at different times, but strangely all sound like they fit together. This is the women’s protest and they headed straight towards us, stopping just where we were stood and shouting with masses of passion. I’ve done nothing wrong I swear!
We headed out that evening to the middle of town where most of the restaurants are. The choice here is limited and has a lot of “chinese” food, which is generally made up of a greasy chowmain. The second problem is that everything closes at 9pm and the pub at 9:30pm, so dinner has to be early. After eating at the mid market place a few night previous. That place was the only Thai restaurant we have seen in India, where we had Indian food, under the same logic as eating Western food- it is not their forte and so you will pay over the odds to be disappointed- don’t do it. We tried a small place that looked extremely local and only had 3 tables in it, but that was full, so grabbed some south Indian snacks of Dosas (pancake with veg curry and hot sauce) and Puri (puffed up deep fried bread with curry). We walked back in buckets of rain and that night saw the storm that we were waiting for. As we were at the top of the cliff the clouds were forced to rise over our hotel and so the lightning seemed to be coming from below and above, but was very close for sure!
The next morning the weather had cleared and we sat drinking tea on our balcony looking out to the East. In fact that became our routine for the next 5 days here as the tea was the best and only 30p a pot. That day was my Internet day. There is a place called Glenarys that is an old colonial building serves posh tea, and has a great view over Darjeeling. I decide to drink tea and catch up on some blog writing as it is raining again. The Internet worked for just 4.5 of the 6 hours I was there and the man tried to charge for all of them, but as I had already told him it was his router problem as opposed to the net’s speed, which he agreed to, I was having none of it.
The next day was steam train day. We woke up early and made our way down anticipating problems. There were none! The weather was even behaving itself slightly and was not raining. By the time the train left however we managed to get a bit of view action, but generally were fogged in. Either way it was a great experience to feel what a traditional train was like, soot spewing and covering you through the open window. The tracks really were made as an urban railway, as it snakes through town crossing the roads at many points. Darjeeling is the only place where a train can be caught in a traffic jam!
We wound through the full 360 degree “Bastia loop”, took in the view (see above) and made our way to Ghum, which should have been ‘gloom’ that day. There was something eerie about a steam train in fog…ghost train-esque one might say. So the view wasn’t great but we had fun. To continue our roll we headed to the main market square to try and buy some tea. We had already done this in Sikkim and so knew which expensive teas to “try”! We are a fan of Castleton estate tea. It has to be first flush (first round of picking to get the tips of the leaf) of the current year. White Peyone tea is the most expensive, but not strong enough in taste for us. We prefer something a little less delicate dahling!
After our fun filled day we sat back on our balcony admiring the view. The hotel worker came out and began telling us where everything was. It turned out that we could see Gangtok, Kalimpong and Namchi. Namchi has a massive statue of Buddha on the hills and we could see it from our balcony (with binoculars). A great angle to have as we had debated whether to go and see it, but this was much better. We were sad to pack up the next day, but had drasnk our fill of tea, eaten aty most of the restaurants. The private members club we wanted to hangout at for a day to pretend to be an aristocrat was closed for the season, so a quick look around there completed all the things we wanted to see in Darjeeling. There is more, but we again felt we got more from simply ‘being’ than just seeing. We headed down to pick up a jeep to Siliguri and were made suddenly aware that we were now heading back towards Mumbai and the UK! Curse. We will especially miss the North East and agreed it was the best area we had visited in India. We will return!
Our last jeep ride proved ok, despite our recurring dodgy stomachs making it wobbly for the start (I am starting to think it is the Dioxycyclin), a traffic jam later and then we were back to winding, reverse bend roads taking us directly downwards towards the Indian plains.
Khecheopalri lake August 5, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentWe finally left Pelling feeling recharged and ready for some more of Sikkim, as time was suddenly streaming along without signs of slowing down. It was a bright and warm day when we sat on the roadside waiting for our jeep to take us around the mountains once more, along dangerous roads and to somewhere new, interesting and with its unique unknown experiences.
You can see the route we took above, winding around the hills with shafts of light spotlighting various parts of the sparsely populated hills. It is quite something to be able to see houses if you look up and down 170 degrees.
The jeep was more comfortable than usual but that is probably now because we are used to having legs dangling outside or contorted to ensure 10 people can fit in one jeep. We rolled into Khecheopalri during mid morning as usual and shouted to be dropped off at the trekker’s hut. There was no one around and so we hung around a bit until a little girl walked in off the road and asked to help us. She told us the rooms were Rs150 and it is hard to haggle with young girls without feeling guilty and also wondering if they can make that call in the first place. We did anyway and secured the room for Rs100 (1.20 pounds for a twin). We needed food and the girl vaguely told us she might do food. There is no one else around, so is she the manager of this place!?
We decided to head out to have a quick look round and grab a bite to eat. The 4 restaurants in Khecheopalri all said they were not doing food at all. great- what were we going to eat and this would mean we have to leave tomorrow. We went back to the Travelers Hut and asked the girl if we could eat and after making our request for Chinese noodles (we are sick of greasy veg Chinese noodles now, but it is what is cheap, filling and generally on offer).
Throughout Sikkim we were looking for a nook of complete peace, a place to meditate, take stock, get back to nature, go past boredom and more. There are some remote places we visited, including Yuksom, but none of these places were quite right for different reasons. In Khecheopalri lake we found it. Refuelled we headed to the lake itself and passed the meditation centre (looking good) and then before the lake saw a sign for “Home Stay”. Walking up a steep path towards a lookout there were two lone buildings, one shrine and one a guest house. One way looking out across the valley to Yuksom and the hotel we had visited just a week and a half ago and the other overlooking Khecheopalri’s sacred lake.
The lake is the shape of a foot print, which was supposed to be that of Shiva. The story goes that one day the indigenous Lepcha people were collecting the local nettle to eat when a conch shell buried itself into the ground and water started filling up the lake. It certainly had a very spiritual feeling about it and was the most quiet, relaxing place we have been in Sikkim yet. we were right to think that things would not stop surprising us and impressing- we love this state of India the most so far.
We met Sonam the manager of the guesthouse who promised to tech us about the local medicinal plants and head out into the jungle. Sold! We agreed to be back the next day and headed back for what would now be the only night we would stay in the Traveller’s guesthouse. For dinner we arranged to eat the same as the family to ran the place and sat in their outside kitchen watching the young girl, who turned out to be 10 years old and her sister make fire and cook for their family of 5. Dinner was what we learnt to be pumpkin Dal, a watery version of the South Indian Dal, with pumpkin mushed in to give it some substance. This was accompanied with the tips of the pumpkin plant, with skin peeled off- something we have never thought of eating, but was delicious and something we are definitely going to try in the UK.
The next day after a night of tossing and turning because of the heard beds we headed off for the guesthouse, with beds of the same nature, knocked together by Sonam himself. We negotiated free tea and a reduced food rate to fit our budget with him and started exploring our new wooden abode. The place was surrounded by wildlife and plants of all kinds, the perfume of a marijuana tree outside was delivered by the winds streaming up from the valley, but everything was peaceful.
We met two Spanish girls who had been staying for a few nights, but were covered in bed bugs and scratching like mad. We hoped that our room overlooking the lake was blessed and we wouldn’t succumb to the same fate. We sat for the first time on plastic chairs looking out over the valley, soaking up the nothingness filled beauty of the landscape.
For dinner we were scheduled to make momos, something I had already learnt in Gangtok. The filling was slightly different and casing made sightly wider than I was taught, but hey, everyone has their own style of moms, as Sonam pointed out. All 5 of us sat as a production line producing moms of every shape and creative style we fancied. In total we made 98 momos! Sonam also organised some Tongba with dinner and guaranteed that this with the momos would ensure we slept well. This millet had been fermenting for at least 1 year and so was stronger than what we had drunk in Gangtok. After eating around 28 momos myself and Laura also eating till she couldn’t eat anymore! We did sleep well that night, despite unconsciously moving around due to the hard beds. We had a great night though and Sonam was a real wild card after drinks, but unfortunately his Japanese wife was not impressed by his playful stupidity of crazy singing and crazy faces. We had a great night as the Spanish girls had a drum and Sonam was adept at making flutes with bamboo, while Mr Bean had a harmonica. It was a Chang and music filled night, but unfortunately Sonam was apologising in the morning, we suspect due to words from “the Mrs”.
The following lunchtime we were cooked another local dish mostly harvested that day from the jungle. “Mr Bean” delivered the goods, a local with a massive grin, bowl haircut and yellow wellies- what a legend! We ate a massive amount of rice with green Dal, another watery Dal which was made up of spices, onion and stinging nettles. This was accompanied by friend potato and local edible fern. There are apparently 7 types of edible fern in Sikkim, which are a staple and cheap diet of the locals. We would be going out to find some ourselves in the next few days. We also decided that we would show Sonam some of our local dishes. That evening we would make a beef and ale stew and the following day the Spanish girls would make Spanish Omlette. Helping to make the fire however we knew that it would be a hard task as all the wood is wet and so constant air feeding is required to burn anything. We realised that the first fire of the day was the most difficult and arduous because of the wet ground developing over night and soon you really begin to appreciate what it can take to make just a cup of tea in this environment. I also took 45 minutes of wood chopping, fire fanning and water boiling just to have a hot stand up wash, something we would not make a daily habit of for sure!
That day we had a small hike up to the lookout point and I experienced my first actual leaching. Sonam is a wealth of knowledge on the medicinal plats around the area and showed us at least 6 different types of plants for; killing pigs and leeches, stopping bleeding, reducing headache and stomach aches, antiseptic cleansing, making airplanes and more! It is amazing to see people really use their land and understand it to get along in an environment that has its unique challenges of being situated on a hillside. We sat on a flat rock at the view point and overlooked the lake to see the famous footprint shape. After this Sonam showed us a holy cave where monks go to meditate. He warned us of bears sometimes living there, but also explained how to ward them off by running away and then by playing dead if they go for you, as they are only attacking to defend themselves. The only problem that I got was a massive cloud of tiny flies taking off as I peeked out of the side of the cave. No worries though Titapate (antiseptic cleaning leaf) sorted that out, bar those in my eyes…
That evening we headed off to the next village, a 30 minute walk away to collect the needed supplies. A Kazakhstani couple turned up, so it meant we were cooking for 9. After walking too far and then weighing out 2.5 kg of potatoes and the rest of the few ingredients they had (they had some soya tofu and strong beer though!), we headed back up the hill weighed down and being rained on.
It was dark when we arrived back and people thought we had deserted them, but after a rum and coke we got cracking and I mobilised everyone to preparation duties as I stoked the fire. The meal was a mission and ended up taking 4 hours, which meant we ate at 10:30 (late for Sikkim!) and I had blisters from fanning the two fires we needed with a massive rice sieve! BUT the food was ace and really tasted like an English beef stew, despite using local variations. This is what cooking is all about. unfortunately the locals disappeared and didn’t eat with us, which was disappointing as we wanted this to be inclusive, but Sonam went to eat with his family without telling us at all. As a result there was more than enough and it cost more than we had wanted but it ended up being part of the next 4 meals, which made things easier later.
The next few days we bumbled along, ralaxing, meditating a little, but generally hiding due to the rain that started and was not going to stop now for a long time. This meant our plans to meditate in the cave or over looking the lake was thwarted and we actually started to get a bit of cabin fever. It is hard work to continually have to build a fire to eat, drink or do anything it seemed! It really is harder to relax and meditate than you think. There is always something to “do” and I am especially bad at “doing” things that are not really necessary. Our meditation comprised mostly facing out of the guesthouse at the view, sometimes this was “zoning out”, but either way I started to understand the fundamental starting point of Taoist meditation that I had been learning up until then.
The Spanish girls had their last day and although they couldn’t make spanish omlette, made 2 courses, including Bruscetta and a dried shrimp dish, which was good. More rum and a good night we said our goodbyes.
The next day we went out on the hunt with Sonam and his wife, who turned out to be a true sour puss. Deep in the jungle we were scouting out Sisnu (edible stinging nettle) and edible fern, but the rain and wet ground meant that leeches were EVERYWHERE. Sonam with just flipflops and shorts ignored them and said that they remove bad blood. the rest of us reviewed and flicked off the i9nvaders from below and weren’t impressed with their approach of sticking out straight to look like a stick and then clinging on when you brush past. Things became more and more dense and we eventually gave up on leeches. I simply tied my shoes up as tight as possible and pulled my socks up. There are so many types of fern that a positive identification is hard. You need to pick those that are young with the leaves uncurling in a spiral before unwrapping its leaves. Some ferms are poisonous and if you rub any open wound or part of your body, including your eyes then that area will not stop burning for 3 days Sonam assures us. We sloshed through deep streams and thick grasses to search for just a few “spring vegetables” as they call the edible fern. When we arrived back it turns out that we only took a walk around the lake- the back way. Sonam’s feet had at least 26 leeches attached and full of blood. He covered them in ash to kill them through dehydration and blood poured down his legs…. they love the ankle area best. Laura also had been fully attacked and had 24 leeches, included fully infested socks, which she noticed only after peeling off the leeches and then rediscovering more after putting them back on! I can out fairly ok with only 7 due to the tightness of my boots. There were loads literally queuing up around the lip of my boots and when I opened my shoes they were off to find my pulse… unlucky suckers!
That evening after battling with the fire again, due to increasing water logging of the cooking area we eventually ended up with a meal harvested from the jungle and we ate 3 plates hungrily.
After a week in Khecheopalri we decided that we had overstayed our visit as well. Although we were indeed lucky that we did not have bed bugs (well a few suspect, but nothing major) we had been sleeping badly and became increasingly irritable, which is not the intended vibe of Khecheopalri and although we had completed some meditation we felt this was difficult due to the conditions making us wet, dirty, generally cold and hungry. We should be able to meditate to reduce our needs in these respects, but failed. We decided to head back to “Real India” and West Bengal to Darjeeling, which we diverted around due to the strike a month ago. It has gone quickly in Sikkim, but we feel that we did well in staying for a week in each place to understand it more than just as a fleeting visit, which most people seemed to do. We would love to go back to Khecheopalri despite the challenges it brought.
On our last night we thought we would have some chicken, as we agreed with Sonam it would be good and he seemed keen. we decided 2kg was enough for 4 of us but with some misunderstandings Sonam wouldn’t eat with us again as it was not local chicken (apparently it was from Siliguri). He went down to pick up some sugar, but promised he would be back to show us his way of doing this- the main reason for cooking the meal. Once again he deserted us and we battled with a fire with just wet wood, until Mr Bean came back and started cutting down bits of the house making it easy. Very frustrating to be left to cook despite paying for the meal and not being told where dry wood is or anything to make life easier. Sonam eventually returned and told us he would cook it. It was 9pm so we were skeptical, especially as it was 2kg. Sonam announced it was ready in 15 minutes after holding it naked flames… a sure fire route to a burnt skin and raw centre. Surprise surprise it was grossly undercooked. He put it back on the fire but after 15 more minutes was still not cooked. Sonam insisted that that is how the locals ate it and they even ate it raw, with the Lepcha’s drinking the blood also. We refused and you could see his disappointment as he had to buy a whole chicken and sell 3kg to provide for us. They ate the chicken anyway to prove that they were telling the truth and I ate a few pieces that were dubious, but was weary because of Aurangabad. Yet I couldn’t see how they could be so confident and for us to not eat it. Surely they had done this before!? Perhaps it was so fresh that bacteria couldn’t have developed yet? Either way this proved that some cultural gaps were extremely difficult to close.
The next day we headed off at 6am again ready for a 3 jeep journey. With another jeep that has material as a roof and DIY welding on the body we set off one saturated roads hoping for the best.
Pelling to bake, watch the world cup and chill. August 4, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentA 6am jeep ride in the torrential rain was like being at Universal Studios, only on this ‘Wet and Wild’ ride you CAN die. The land was really saturated and we went past many landslides that had been cleared. At one point we went under a small waterfall. The goat in the back of the jeep took it all in his stride though…obviously quite a norm to have such a journey!
Arriving in Pelling, we went for breakfast a hostel in town with the hope of securing a cheap room there too. The breakfast hall was really crowded with about 60 people all eating Subzi Puri (Indian style breakfast of veggie slob and fried chapati). It turned out that the crowd was a Bhutanese film crew. A few of them wearing traditional Bhutanese clothing socks with flip flops and a silk dressing gown! One man in this attire was the most famous actor in Bhutan. Al got the all important tourist snap, which we didn’t want but we thought would be apt considering the temporary entourage they had collected.
In the breakfast hall we also met 2 English girls and 1 Israeli guy, who turned out to be good companions for the following week. They were the most British people I had spoken to since arriving in India, and weirdly, very refreshing and funny!
We opted for a room in another hotel nearby, after I stayed and drank tea with the girls and Al marched around in the rain haggling for the best deal. What a star 
Our room was at the top of Pelling (the whole town was situated on a steep hill). It was a clean room with a communal balcony, hot shower and a TV (for the all important final of the World Cup)- all for Rs200 (4 quid). So we were happy and looking forward to digging in for a little while. We both agree in the philosophy that when traveling for a long period of time and moving around a lot, it is important to have chill out days too. This felt like the right place to achieve this.
With the continued interest to do volunteering work, we hear about the possibility of working at an English school and orphanage run by a Buddhist monastery, Pemayangste. We decide to explore this opportunity and walk up to the monastery to speak to the monk in charge, Cptn Yongda. The walk out of Pelling to the monastery is fantastic. Large pine trees line the steep winding road, with cloud flowing through the trunks makes the place feel very magical. We saw this sign on the way, it seemed pretty apt:
En route to the monastery we stumble across a little bakery. They serve good coffee and selection of bakery items. I am in heaven, as only days earlier I had dreamt about eating cake! This served as a good pit stop for our ascent to the monastery where we located Captain Yongda. He was in the middle of a meeting, but saw us waiting in his office, so unexpectedly excused himself so he could speak with us. He was one of those people that had an amazing aura about him. I think he is the first person like it I have ever met. He felt important, but kind and generous all at once. He explained to us that it wouldn’t be possible to work at the school as we required a work permit in Sikkim. He could see we were disappointed, so said that if we keep a low key we could help out at the bakery, which we then learnt gave the profits to the school and orphanage, also set up by him. Excellent! I was so excited to be able to put my bakery skills to good use. He asked us if we could teach the staff some English bakery. Green Tea cake immediately sprung to mind! Al was eager to teach Cheese Twists…sorted. We agreed to come and help in a few days time. Just as we were ready to leave his office, he invited us into his important meeting and introduced us to several important distinguished men of Sikkim, including the Mayor and Headmaster of the school.
After a quick introduction we headed back to the Monastery to have a look around. There was one room that we couldn’t pin point at first, but the sound of a low drum beat echoed around the wooden building and a drone of Buddist chanting could be heard. We had heard of this monastery from other foreigners who said it was amazing, and it was. There is an air about a place and this was one of them. Truly intoxicating peace combined with awe of the intimidating statues towering over the rooms, decorated by detailed artworks from the ancient scriptures (as above).
The top floor had a massive wooden carving of the Buddist circle of life, which was described to us, but didn’t prepare us for it. It was massive, took 5 years to make and was really intricate. Around the walls images of the different incarnations of Buddha and his disciples. Interestingly there were also curtains scattered around the wall that looked out of place…. Al had a cheeky peek and found the above image. The Buddists today mostly renounce the sexual yoga and spiritual development through sexual acts, but as an old monastery we guessed that these pieces had been produced before this change in the Buddist moral code. Feeling guilty of having a look under deliberately placed cover but believing that this is an important part of Buddist history and also assured by the thought that if no one sees us then no one is offended (a philosophical treatment in itself) we sure caught a glimpse of things that no one else had dared, as we found out later in the hotel. We felt awed as we left and a sense of peace from the leader of the monastery, the place itself, setting and the thought that we can help support their activities.
As we had just arrived we decided to rest in our decent room for 2 days before helping out at the bakery. We watched some of the world cup games on our TV, ate at the hotel restaurant and became acquainted with the staff who were Sikkimise through and through. That evening we decided with our new traveller companions to buy in some beers etc. The shop down the road were charging far higher than the “MRP” (maximum retail price), which is a good guide to avoid being conned. There are a few “added extras”, e.g. blags that people give to charge more. This time it was transportation from Gazing, where most people in West Sikkim buy their weekly provisions. With company Al really couldn’t be bothered to engage in a debate, but let the lady know that we knew her game.
That evening was spent drinking “Hit” 8% beer, a few Old Monk rum and cokes and some laughs with most people staying at the hotel (collectively we were loud enough to force everyone to join in!) We met a crazy New Zealand guy whose mustache has grown so long it was permanently in his mouth. I told Al that he better not go that far! We watched the world cup and relaxed, intermittently staring out at another amazing view and chatting to the owner about Sikkim. The owner was a very proud Sikkimese man who disliked the West Bengalis treating the place like a holiday home. This is why most the hotels are closed during the low season, as the Bengalis only come to capitalise on the tourist season, so the place is empty in low season. He was pleased to hear that we were to be helping out at the bakery the next day and also warned us of the bakeries in town who are very bad at changing their stock and reports of people getting ill from them. Who would have thought- illness by cakes. The world is so unfair.
The next day we set off at 7:30am walking the 3km through the wet heavily forested road, lined with rocks dripping water through the moss that covers them to the school. No one was there. We had let them know, but also knew that we were still in India. At 8:30am two girls we had seen the other day turned up. We went inside and tried to tell them that we had come to help, but they didn’t seem to understand or want to either and instead started cleaning. Despite numerous attempts to help we failed and were met with “Yonga, ok”. We waited almost an hour until another man turned up and who spoke enough English to know what we were trying to do and made some suggestions of how to help. They didn’t seem to know we were coming like they were supposed to. Eventually however another guy turned up who was to start learning and ultimately becoming the main baker. He was happy for us to help and teach him some recipes.
We soon found out that this was to be harder than we thought. The place was ultimately very poorly maintained and levels of hygiene were poor. There was no real record of how old items were, moldy dough was left on the side, nothing was washed well and the place was, overall dirty. The guy took no responsibility nor directed cause, but Al reiterated that the most important aspect of getting this right had to be a good level of cleanliness and effective stock control in the first instance. The next issue was ingredients. There was no butter, a kind of requisite for a bakery. Al went first to bake his cheese straws and substituted butter for oil. We paid for the cheese to make them and other ingredients and were amazed when they turned out better than they do at home. The price per unit would be fairly high as a 200gm block of cheese is Rs100, but the tourists would love them. A success under the circumstances and while Al began cleaning and sorting out the equipment I set about baking a green tea cake with no butter and only black tea. In just half the day the cake was out and despite being a little sunken in the middle due to fluctuating temperature in the oven as a result of bread being cooked in the meantime. Al had passed on a recipe and the kitchen was now spotless, old rusted tins disposed of and things a little ordered. Next Al got wind of an entrance problem, where the rainwater flowed around the steps in and meant kids had to walk through water. He set about building a bridge and moat to stretch across the front of the bakery so that in the monsoon the water wouldn’t cause an entrance problem. Using the silver and gold rock in the area he made a gold entrance for the place that looked amazing!
At around 4pm we were invited for lunch at the school. We headed up and met some of the local kids who live at the school through being orphaned and were cooked a freshly picked meal of ’spring greens’ with Dal, rice and Nepali (hot) Aloo Dum, which was becoming a favourite of ours. We were starving and so ate gladly, especially because of how fresh and good for you a vegetarian/ rice meal is for you. We left the school and headed back to the hotel afterwards full to the brim and having realised that we had done all we could at the bakery at that time. Our first volunteering experience was a good one and despite initial misunderstandings, felt they had been glad of the support and that we actually left something of worth behind to benefit the place, which is something that many people do not feel afterwards.
We also bought some bread to supplement our breakfast next day as we sensed that things were racking up towards ‘expensive’, a bad point of adding things to your bill. The single aluminium pot we bought in Tashading was becoming useful for storing random bits like tomatoes and onion that can be used to make sandwiches or supplement egg on toast for breakfast and makes things cheaper. We are all about cheaper.
After another “Internet day” and relax we said goodbye to the English girls and set off for a walk back down the road we came from. The rains had developed many more waterfalls that we collected water from and Al clambered up insisting on a shower in a waterfall, which is easier said than done! We had no direction, but always find that the best way. We saw fresh landslips since our arrival, found the local TB clinic which we learned is in every town or available. TB is still a killer in India, but the government are making free medicine available to make this a thing of the past. After a few hours we reached a point where a traditional village was supposed to be. We saw a few houses that were wooden but built on base pile of uncemented stone and double slanted tin roof with a gap at the top point to let fire smoke out. This didn’t seem like a village though. Either way the rain which had been a drizzle was now a downpour and so we decided to head back, by jeep if one was passing through. After 10 minutes of heading back we heard a jeep sound, but it was a goods carrier. Eitherway they let us ride with them to Tashading, bouncing around inches from the roadslips above the overly large drop below with our heavy stone cargo. We said our thankyous and without saying a word in acknowledgment or goodbye set off back to the saftey of our hotel room. En route we decided to eat in a roadside shack looking place for a fix of Indian food and ate well for Rs40 (60p). Many places are such a disappointment, but it is always great when you find a cheap shack that serves great food at almost no cost.
That evening as we were due to set off to Khecheopalri Lake Al asked to watch the preparation of a Thentuk, the Tibetan soup we had been eating to add to his growing recipe collection, so ended up making his own dinner! We realise that Sikkimese food is great, but the range is fairly limited and so Indian food is always welcome as we realised at lunch. We did also realise that we were going to take home a bad momo habit and craving that we would need to maintain!
The next day after our usual combo of egg on toast with additional market extras we sorted our bill, reminded ourselves that 35 pound for 5 days stay with hot water and TV, including most meals was still excellent value and waited by the side of the road in glorious sunshine and a sweat for the first time in a week waiting for the arranged jeep to the lake.
- Written by Laura
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.
