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.
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!
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.
Tashading or was that Tashadingaling? July 29, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentCruising along the Sikkimese country is beautiful mixed with fear. Boulders strewn across the road and recent slips degrading the road in too recent times makes things a little more distracting.
Heading further and further into the cloud line we finally admitted that things were feeling a little ‘chilly’, something we said we would relish in the Indian plains, baking in 40C plus heat. The lush, dense forest makes it worth it and it is still actually hot despite now being at 2000m above sea level.
We rolled into Tashading despite the jeep driver forgetting to tell us when to get off. This really quaint little village, built on a and stretching along it up to a Buddist Gompa we made it in the middle of low season- more and more we realise the BEST time to visit. We found an empty hotel and negotiated our usual “off season discount” of about 25-50% every time. The owner was the local school teacher and after eating in the one crappy restaurant that had anything to eat except momos he offered us a kerosene cooker. This is perfect fuel for the poor costing just Rs12 per liter (18p to cook at least 6 long-cooking time meals), subsidised by the Indian government. Nice one.
We had good views in Gangtok, but this takes it another level and we start to feel as though the view will a) never tire us and b) never stop impressing for each place we move to.
We also realised that we were in the middle of nowhere through a massive brown and black spider that was sitting on our wall. A mosquito net is crucial in India, not just for mosquitos, but we then realise to stop any other malicious insects and other animals from joining you in bed. We decided to leave the spider alone and in the morning it was gone, which was perhaps more disturbing, but we did not see it again. This place is a breeding ground for a multitude of species of spiders, butterflies and moths of all kinds. In the bathroom alone I counted at least 30 different types of moth, not just those with different markings, but those that were inherently different. I have never been interested in wildlife until I visited India and started encountering a variety of different animals, but this has taken my interest into the next level.
After we were setup and had eaten we headed up to the Gompa (monastery). We were tired as we were up at 5am, but pushed onwards and up for the 20 minute uphill climb. It was worth it. Gompas are beautiful but this especially so and the Tibetan Buddist design work around them intricate in the wooden carving and brightly coloured paintwork depicting scenes from the Buddist scriptures. It was positioned on the highest point on the ridge and so the views were as equally serene. The place was so tranquil we could have slept there easily in the most springy grass I have felt before. Driven by hunger however we retreated back to our Guesthouse/ Hotel and relaxed until the next day.
Tashading was a real local community and small enough village where we quickly became familiar faces and recognised and acknowledged the people there. We developed relationships and understandings with the local ‘off license’, the local fuel and medical store, and the local restaurant owner. This is great as they quickly know what you need and understand that they cannot rip you off. A few places tried to and we quickly made it known that we knew the score and moved our business elsewhere- permanently. I enjoy making this point immensely, as I still find it hard to understand how some people think that foreigners are so stupid and are prepared on paying double the going rate- I guess many do.
We had a few days of wandering around and generally hanging out, listening to people and seeing what people do in their daily lives in each place. On our second day we found a shack that was perched on the back of the steep mountainous hill, made by a young guy who based it on a Goan back shack. The place instead had 4 locals drinking cheap rum at 11am. Apparently he did food, but this turned out to be pasta only as he had nothing else… although it did have italian herbs, which none else has even heard of, so that was interesting. It was a shame though as he told me that he was going to change the place into a shop selling shirts, as the tourist season doesn’t support it out of season. Instead locals all turn up, drink too much and have constant fights. This is surprising in a place that is so quiet and with so few people! he seemed despondent though and like other young people I have talked to wants to get out of Sikkim and head for the cities to get ‘real’ work and a ‘real life’. It is funny that grass is always greener on the other side and I always explain the realities of living in a city like London when they claim that they love London so much, while they can tell me nothing about it. We sat on our private roof terrace that night discussing how we would love to live in Sikkim and the life here. We also decide to walk down to the river below the next day and go for a self-styled trek.
We were told the river was around an hour walk down some steps to the river- it wasn’t far. We set off in the heat of the day and timed it to coincide with the daily routine of the early morning cloud cover (which literally surrounds Tashading) being burnt off by the sun and to get back before the cloud builds up again in the afternoon covering the village and raining later in the afternoon, before the distant evening storms in the plains. The steps were fine, despite being steep- for 2 minutes. Quickly the steps turned into mud steps, which narrowed as we headed deeper into the thickening jungle. The humidity increased massively, as did the heat and the climate change was incredible in how it changed. Sweat dripped non stop off my nose and I became dizzy with overheating. The river was only slightly bigger.
We headed deeper into the wilderness after we passed the hill people cultivating corn and carrying huge bails of greenery for their small number of livestock. The path disappeared and became steep, which slowed progress. Tropical animals sounds surrounded us now and we could not see our feet. I fell and landed in stinging nettles (5 times the size as those in the UK) after banging my head and really became disorientated. To make matters worse we packed only 2 litres of water to keep our weight burden light. We then had to decide whether to set back up or to continue into what was now pretty much nothing. We pushed on. Eventually the sound of the river really grew and actually looked reachable, but we were now walking along sections that had sheer drop offs into dense undergrowth- not a good place to slip, despite the ground being algae covered clay.
Our final decent was negotiating 5 rocks that were balanced across another steep drop into nothingness, these wobbled alarmingly as we hald onto each other, but finally charged through, incurring more stings and cuts. the river was no longer the peaceful thing we were daydreaming to previously, but completely not made for swimming in. Pools created by massive rocks generated by landslides were welcoming. Laura jumped into the side stream and instantly sank to her knees- she was still sinking. It was quicksand. Laura pulled herself out the other side and I jumped in arse first to spread my weight before climbing up onto the rocks on the other side. We knew that water tricking through rock is clean at the top of the hill and less so at the bottom, due to the increasing number of potential pollutants, but we had no option and filled the bottle with water. We sat in the pool with weight spread half onto the edge of the quicksand pool to cool off in the fresh water. I washed my underwear and sat naked for an hour in the sun. A beautiful moment to be cool and clean at the same time after being drenched in sweat. It is great to be reminded what nature can give you if you are prepared to take it.
The grueling climb back up was even harder on our legs and worked my lungs harder than they have worked in a while, but ascending from the tropical environment and back into the temperate environment higher up the mountain somehow made it easier because you were getting cooler as you were getting hotter- if you know what I mean!
We deserved meat after all that exertion and so headed to a man we had seen killing chickens by breaking their back the day earlier. The chicken in Sikkim roam free and are a beautiful yellow colour. We fried it in spiced and ate this with a tomato/potato combination while sipping Hit cool beer the guy had pre-chilled for us (they don’t do this unless requested due to the cost of chilling drinks. We watched the football until the power was cut, as it usually is on a 4 times a day average.
After 5 days in Tashading we again decided to move on, as we could have easily stayed for longer, but more of Sikkim was calling. We knew that there was bound to be more places at least as beautiful as this and we were aware that we had also used half of our maximum time in Sikkim. We decided to move to Yuksom, which was the start of treks and the first capital of Sikkim.
The Slick State of Sikkim- Gangtok July 24, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentWow, what a contrast. Are we still in India?
After the dirty market town of Siliguri making our way north and further a further up the luscious green mountains I feel as though we are somewhere further east like Thailand or Vietnam. A mixture of tropical trees with towering pine trees cover the steep hills. Hitting the boarder we are told that smoking is banned in public here, so we have our last literally one before setting off north again.
The first thing we notice apart from the never ending greenery are the signs by the side of the road delivering words of wisdom and commentary on the roads progress… usefully from your “BRO” (Boarders Road Organisation). Every piece of work that is carried out in Sikkim has a notice telling people how much the work cost, the time it will take, the name of the main contractor (person not company), what is being done, often with technical drawings and the time they guarantee the work. It is nice to know that if something goes wrong you can hunt the responsible party down in person! We also see a sign that says “Better late than never” on a landslide barrier. This confirms our concerns that we are now firmly in landslide territory. We are also in the monsoon season. Rain + steep hills = landslides. A formula we are not liking too much.
As Laura’s Birthday lingers on (as it should) we arrange to have a few drinks with the guys who we caught the jeep with and agree to stay with them to make this easier, despite aiming to stay in somewhere mid market as a Birthday treat for Laura as a Birthday present. This can wait.
After a 6 hour journey heading further and further into the hills we finally glimpse Gangtok the capital of Sikkim, but only a large town really spread over a steep hill, ranging from 700- 1500 meters above sea level! Winding up tight reverse bend turns up to our destination and then caught a rip off taxi from the middle of town to The Modern Central Lodge- the main backpacker hostel in Gangtok (I was overruled in finding something not Lonely Planetary). I thought Sikkim would be different in terms of ripping you off but perhaps not. The hostel was ace though and a good shout. We all shared a dorm room for Rs75 (1.2 pounds). It was damp, but we headed up to see if there was a roof terrace and were instantly hit with the expansive view over Gangtok below. Spectacular.
In the winter season you can apparently see Kanchendonga over 8500m tall. Yet missing this was replaced by seeing the clouds streaming over the mountains, moving faster than any cloud I have seen move with the exception of a tornado itself. One minute we were looking up at blue sky and within literally 3 minutes couldn’t see each other across the roof terrace! We spent 3 days in the hostel with the guys and most of this was spent drinking “Hit” 8% local beer (660ml for Rs39- 60p) and Sikkim XXX rum (500ml for Rs60- 1pound). Both headache juice, but definately traveler style. We finally had our mass backpacker congregation session that was absent up until then and met a local guy Kesang who invited us to his farm.
After 2 days soaking up Gangtok and the different climate, the much more relaxed people and as it turned out eventually people who didn’t make a habit of ripping you off (this is taxi drivers in general) we headed off to Kesang’s farm. Kesang is a character for sure- a man around town who has more business projects and cash than perhaps sense. Yet someone who knows many people and likes helping people out. He really helped out the 5 of us who visited the farm for 1 night. The pace was a “renovators dream”, everything needed just one final touch and the place was absolutely stunning, with better views than Gangtok and 3 bungalows his family planned to rent out to tourists. Sikkim has already started making its mark. I have seen more types of butterfly here in 3 days than in my whole life, in all shapes and sizes. The place has a really relaxed and natural feeling which cannot help but take you down to earth.
We made fire and Laura and I cooked 3 Indian dishes together from ingredients we bought en route, exceeding everyone’s expectations. We are determined to become global culinary legends! Sitting in front of the fire, being eaten by mosquitos, we drank the night away until the sun came up, then slept the day away (well I did!)
Laura and I wanted to stay as we are searching for a retreat in the hills to take stock and strengthen our spirit from the inside, which can use meditation or other practices. This was not open in a practical way so we headed back to Gangtok and split with the other guys who wanted to “get in more sights”, something we are deliberately lax at. Our philosophy is that if you give things time and go with the flow without expectation or planning cool things turn up at your door, just as the farm visit did.
We headed back to Gangtok and decided now was time for the “Garden Retreat” the Lonely Planet promised. Well it had a garden. The food was good and Tibetan, but for Rs1400 (22 pounds per night), we bailed after one night of “luxury”. To be fair the beds were comfortable and actually had a mattress. The one thing you notice in India is that they still seem to use straw of some other material that doesn’t reform after a few people have slept on it. We also managed to watch some of the world cup, which was also a bonus. Either way we headed up the road to another place called Palim and this place was much better and just Rs900 (13.50 pounds for the room). We secured the best room- the “suit” (not by Western standards), which was large and had beautifully designed Tibetan furniture, including a rocking chair, TV and a balcony overlooking Gangtok. This time however we were just below the palace and so had literally the best view in town. This was with the exception of the roof terrace restaurant of course and these guys cooked us a) and English breakfast, which we felt guilty eating…. for 2 minutes. They also cooked Ting Momos (steamed buns) with Alu Dum (amazingly spiced potato dish), which was a local dish I nabbed the recipe for. For 30p you cannot go wrong, especially when the place was full every lunch time with locals- in your hotel. We stayed for 5 days, enjoying the views, eating, watching the football and enjoying that luxury time we reserved.
After this we headed back to the damp dingy Modern Central lodge that we had developed a good relationship with. It’s 8 floors of climbing to go to your room, the ace roof terrace, our new rasta friend who lived on the roof with tunes, Soloman the manager and Buddah, who introduced us to Tongba for the first time on a rainy day.
Tongba is Millet seed soaked in alcohol for 6 months to 2 years to ferment. It is served in Bamboo mugs and a vat of hot water. Pour hot water onto seeds, wait 5 minutes, DON’T Stir- oh too late (it clouds the water and gives you a bad hangover), and then sip slowly to avoid eating seeds, finish drinking and replace with more hot water 3 more times until more millet required.
Places that serve tongba are underground. We sat in a kitchen with 3 kids, locals swaying their heads and blinking too slowly than normal, hazy smoky air, Hindi TV and another vat, this time of Yak Thukpa (Tibetan soup). Going to toilet was interesting, all 5 doors were locked and you are faced with swaying men urinating over the doors- ah to be a man- good luck girls I think.
We end up staying at the Modern Central for another 4 days planning our next move and then putting it off. We visited the Banjakri Falls which has been turned into a bit of a tourist place, but for once it charged the same for foreigners as it did to Indian visitors, which was refreshing. I had swimwear ready for full on shower action and chuckled at the sight of Indian tourists getting in ankle deep for a photo opportunity, only for the only white westerner to strip off and dive in… heavy water is all I could say. The Indians staring in amazement were all asking Laura if I would be ok. As many Indian people cannot swim and being asked if I could swim after the event, they thought I was going to drown.
The Modern Central Lodge was damp and dark, but was our home for 8 days and the food was ace. All their food was freshly made and their Momo’s (dumplings) were great, despite taking 30 minutes to make 8 (I could eat 24). We ate a fair few during our stay and I was taught the fine art of making these little veggie beauties by the chef, including the fine art of crimping to take away with me. After all this and soaking up our first destination in Sikkim we were ready to leave. Having extended our permit to 1 month we headed off by Sumo jeep to Tashading in the early morning foggy fine rain.
Real Varanasi July 5, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentAfter our relaxing 3 days we prepared ourselves for ‘the real Varanasi’ and headed off by autorickshaw to be dumped 15 minutes walk away from our destination “The brown bread bakery”. Rated by the Lonely Planet, but not by us. Overcharging, uninterested and the volunteering they apparently offered seemed to be seasonal (I am not sure that poor and abused kids are only in such a condition from October till May, but overall felt the whole brand they have built up (Everyone knows The Brown Bread Bakery) seems to be a self fulfilling prophecy of money-making to me. My advice? Ask around there are loads of good projects to get involved with, don’t follow a guidebook to help people, chose a cause you actually care about, one that you can actually contribute to and one that is less well supported. Locals always know of good causes you can help out with. We sacked the place off and followed a tout who took us to another basic hostel come hotel, for just Rs150 for a double room (that’s 1.20 each).
Unfortunately like Aurangabad an overstretched city like this experiences many power cuts. In 46C heat with 60% humidity you feel that. We woke up when ever the power and our life line the ceiling fan turned off. Reading was the only option. It was tough, but had to be done after 3 days extravagance. We considered that we deserved it and sacrifice is a part of travel. The Golden Lodge was a good cheap place though and the guys who ran the place were really interesting guys, the chef had a crazed (as most are) laugh and was happy to have in depth conversation about being a Hindu and of Brahmin caste. Brahmins always wear thin cord around their shoulder and waist. It turns out that there are too many Brahmins working in religious institutions and religious teachers for the amount people need, so now the are setting up businesses and tend to do well as they are the most respected group in society. Before you ask, yes if you wear a cord and pretend it will not wash as you have to have in depth knowledge on the lineage of the Brahmin caste and this is something other Brahmins will ask you instantly.
The first day was pretty much sent exploring the old city, a rambling maze of narrow, cobbled alleyways which ultimately all led to the Ganges and the Ghats. As Varanasi is one of the most Holy cities in India and the oldest constantly inhabited city in the world things center around religious practice. This generally focuses on the Ghats as the Ganges is the provider, absolves people’s sins and the toilet all at once. The Ganges has 25 raw sewage points in Varanasi and yet people bathe, drink and wash in these waters. This is despite the fact that 8 million fecal particles exist in every litre of water, over 100x the recommended for drinking water. I know this due to the many conversations I have had with Indians about the irony surrounding the situation. Hindus do not eat pigs as they eat and wallow in their own excrement and are the lowest class of animal. And yet the most holy river for the Hindu religion has more poo in it than most other rivers in the world. Ha. Tragic really and everyone in India agrees, generally with a slow shake of the head in dismay.
Either way the Ghats are a hive of activity at any point as not just foreign visitors pour into the area. Mostly Southern Indians come to Varanasi for their major “Puja” (prayer) and every morning will visit the golden temple, make offerings to Shiva and then walk down the alleyways to the Ganges to bathe in the holy water or float a candle down the river. The place is a mass of colour, sounds and action. Different ceremonies are happening at the same time, people bathing, chanting, waving flames around, tai-chi like moves on the banks, loudspeakers reciting prayers all at the same time.
The next day we took another another stroll through the lanes of Old Varanasi to get used to the layout and the place in general. We looked at some of the temples, performed puja ourselves at the Ganesh shrine to wish for good fortune in the wealth department (Ganesh’s specialty) before investigating a boat ride the following morning. Before a further explore we needed tea. It was just 10:20am and I was already soaked all the way through in sweat. It is seriously hot in the summer in the confines of the old city. Gazing across from the highest view point on the river bank we saw a dust devil form and die on the sands on the other side of the Ganges through shear heat. It was that hot.
Understanding the fabric industry:
After a brief scope around we headed back towards our hotel and stopped in at some of the many clothing shops lining the streets. Khadi is the Varanasi fabric of note and what they are famous for. It is a hand woven cloth that can use various materials, but ultimately results in a loosely woven, but thick cloth. Ghandi used Khadi as a symbol of Indian independence and urged Indians to only buy Khadi cloth to support the people. In India it works well as its thickness absorbs a lot of sweat, but its loose weave means that a draft penetrates to your body, cooling you down and drying the material quicker than machine made fabric. The sellers were a mass of information on fabric and were more than happy to teach you what they knew. Did you know that in order to tell what material is being used you can pull off some of the thread and burn it? If it smells like newspaper it is cotton, if it smells like plastic it is polyester and if it smells like burning hair then it is silk. A lot of the sellers will mix polyester with silk and sell it as raw silk to improve their profits, but not if you know this! If you are going to try this then you must take thread from both directions of the fabric and test it, as fabric is produced by weaving thread in two directions. You can also see if a fabric has been machine or hand woven. Machine made fabric shows uniform lines on one direction as small imperfections deposit more colour in some areas that you can see.
We sat with the Khadi wallers (men) and drank tea from disposable unbaked clay pots, which you chuck out of any window onto the street for the rain to reclaim the clay into the earth. What an ace idea (although seen in some UK festivals it is not used widely enough!) We discussed the nature of Khadi, who produced it, learnt about its background and became more and more interested at looking at the distribution of Khadi clothing in the UK. Not only does it support local people with a fair wage, but is also a practical material that Westerners know little about.
….and back to reality:
Being spat out of a shop after sitting there for hours is like being given birth to… the heat and smells hit you once more like being slapped…. in a good way! The next day we thought we would relax and catch up with ourselves. You need time to relax and take stock, sitting and observing things as they happen, for me, is the most valuable experience, as you get to pick up on things that you wouldn’t otherwise see. I learnt about Paan that day and how people process Betel Nut bark to produce a highly concentrated stimulant that is rolled in a Betel Nut leaf with dried coconut, the actual Betel Nut and tobacco. This is the red substance that we now know covers the pavements and stains the rubbish bins (people spit like they would with chewing tobacco but all over the place). Apparently unscrupulous dealers are replacing the red jelly that is formed with red food colouring that is reducing the potency of the mixture, something many Paan chewers are concerned about.
At the Ghats a tout/guide/ overly friendly person introduced himself in the usual way, which spells money grabbing. We are becoming accustomed to this now though and as long as you do not feel guilty for taking and then not giving (what the Indians often pray on) then there is no problem. The guy was helpful in showing us around and explaining some of the temples and the well that Shiva and Parvarti supposedly bathed in together. Then he fetched us some tea and then tried to sell us some marijuana, when this didn’t work he tried to take us to his shop and then the factory where the things he sells in his shop are produced. When a decisive “No” is given they continue to follow, but as long as you don’t mind that and continue as you would then they lose interest and leave you alone. Shanty (to be easy/ chill!) is the key.
Meandering through the lanes, picking up the best spinach and onion pakora (deep fried crispy veg) en route and realising that rice flour is the key, we stumbled across the burning Ghats, which is where wealthy Hindu’s burn and scatter their dead. We actually ended up walking above the pyers quite by accident. Usually priests lead you up there and drag a donation to help pay for the wood that is used during the burning process. There was no one around and so we saw 7 bodies at different point of decomposition, flesh and form exposed to leave a prominent image in our heads about this truly interesting ritual. Different types of wood are offered, sandlewood being the most expensive, the amount of wood is weighed and then calculated accordingly depending on the size of the body. The bodies are carried down to the Ghats through the lanes with two pole bearers at the front and back, who are not related to the dead. All the way “Rama is true” is repeated, which they ultimately say to mean “Here is the dead, the one thing that is guaranteed is to ultimately be reunited with God (Rama)”
The next day the boat ride came. We woke at 4am to get there for sun rise and after a spot of negotiation agreed on a slightly above the guide price, but this meant we secured a full 2 hours, which many people had said was too long. It was not. Trawling slowly down the Ganges watching morning puja take place, with more people spilling onto the Ghats to perform their personal prayer and blessings. The morning was misty and yet still humid, which gave the distance a dulled view and dampened the colour of the place, giving it a really eerie feel. Across from the Ghats on the other bank is a flat of sand that is flooded during the monsoon, a few temporary huts and boats sat there bobbing in the slow current and just a few boats were out pulling out inadequately sized fish and definitely something I would not want to eat. We slowly rowed past all the Ghats to the south, each having been built by a different civilization that owned or influenced the city at the time. At the southern most point I landed ashore to pick up some tea and slowly headed back upstream to see the same backwards. We saw a fish that was dead by “natural” causes- I suspect the toxicity of the river. We saw a dead cow being ripped apart by wild dogs and a man literally 6 meters away having a wash. We saw people washing their clothes directly next to the sewage outlet pipes. We saw the ceremonies and daily chores all being performed simultaneously. You can see why the Ganges is believed to be the prover of everything that the city needs, but unfortunately it just isn’t as effective at doing that as it should be given the state it is in.
The next day we had arranged to do some Yoga with a guy that was recommended to us by our Hotel Manager. After a lot of the warnings of fake teachers we felt this would be ok. It was. For Rs200 (3 pounds) each per 1.5 hour session we covered the basic Hathi Yoga positions and 30 minutes of meditation, which compliments Yoga as ultimately the aim it to develop external and internal strength. We both left feeling great and looked forward to the next day. The next day came and went in a relaxed “what did we do today” kind of way. This session was equally good and straight afterward we headed to the Ganges feeling very Shanty for the evenings Ganges puja, which literally worships the river as provider. The ceremony was awesome, with intoxicating loudspeakers blasting out recitals of blessings and prayer. 7 bells were rang in time continuously and the drums rolled along with the spoken prayer. The usual throng of sellers left you alone if you looked involved in proceedings enough out of respect (for once) and just during the climax of events the rain began, people’s faces lit up as the monsoon rains finally reached Varanasi. It was just a shower, but the season had finally caught us up and at the most meaningful point. Magic.
The next day we had an afternoon train and so we just had time to go back to the Khadi shop to complete our final round of negotiation. This needed to include packing as the postal service require you to have a cloth stitched wrapper sealed with a wax stamp. We picked our colours and arranged things for our return journey back through Varanasi, which we felt was inevitable considering we pretty much buried ourselves in the old city, while there is some much more to explore.
Agra and the Taj June 30, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentThe only issue of our 26 hour delay was the fact that we had 2 days in Agra to see the town. Although we this was the only place that we were going to to only see a tourist sight 2 days would have been good.
We landed at 12:30pm and had our train out to Varanasi the same night at 9:30pm. This makes me nervous know that we know the general rule to add 30% extra time to anything that should take x time then we have little time to see the Taj or anything else. The good news was that we no longer needed to stay in Agra and pay Rs700 (11 pounds) for the pleasure to stay in tourist town. The better news was that the hotel had already arranged a pick up for us, which we used to get to Agra city train station in order to secure confirmed bunks on the next train, which we had to do as priority. The rickshaw driver was used to tourists and had a book of recommendations and was really useful (makes a change) in figuring our plan of attack. Although he was hunting for us to pay for a full day tour we used all the needed information, declined and went to the booking office. A dedicated tourist booth, which was empty due to low season was really useful and made things quick- a novel benefit associated with a tourist town for sure.
Michael L. Kaufman at the English language Wikipedia
The two sights in Agra are The Fort (above), which was where Shah Jahan, the man who began building the Taj Mahal was imprisoned by his son Aurangzeb, who later transferred the capital of India to Aurangabad and continued building Daulatabad (interesting considering we had just seen Daulatabad a week or so previously). The next needs no introduction and the clear winner, the Taj.
After some extortionate offers for a rickshaw ride (knowing the distance) we decided to walk towards it until a reasonable offer turned up. We walked along the grounds of “The Red Fort”, took so good photos. We realised that you could buy a combo ticket for both and were tempted, but getting to the ticket office we decided to focus on one, took a photos of the commanding battlements (See above photo, which is pretty much the same shot) and main fortification and I was happy enough to give it a miss.
Further down the road we saw a horse drawn cart, which was quoted at Rs40 (60p) to the Taj, same as a crappy auto-rickshaw. What a way to arrive! Done! So despite the horses looking a bit ‘broken in’ let’s say we were whisked down the road on a flimsy cart and Laura ‘drove’.
The Taj is Rs50 for Indian people and Rs750 for foreigners, something that hurts as the visitor, but something I applaud in terms of policy and something I think the UK need to adopt. Proving access to your history as priority, while charging visitors more (or at least some) for the maintenance of the sight is a must. Anyway, we coughed it up and walked through the first arch that frames the main Taj structure perfectly. Again, we are not aiming to see the typical sights on the trip and want to avoid sightseeing tourists, but this is a must. Truly spectacular and amazing to compare it to the “poor man’s Taj” in Aurangabad. The marble keeps it’s colour, maintained it’s sharp edges through resisting erosion and sparkled. Certainly a romantic structure that deserves it’s wonder of the world status. We managed to usher people out of the way of the classic picture view so we could get the classic picture and were pretty much awe struck the whole time.
With our tourist kit as part of the Rs750 package, we were given water (needed) and shoe covers, so we didn’t need to walk barefooted on the boiling marble like the poor locals who didn’t cough up. The building is perhaps unsurprisingly the most well kept thing I have seen in India and the semi-precious stone inlays in the marble are still flush and crystal clear today. In the burial chamber the infamous marble screen is truly incredible. How you can carve decorative voids into panels of marble an inch thick is beyond me, let alone with the technology available in the 1650’s. We managed to capture an illicit photo, purely because all the Indian tourists were using flash everywhere and the armed guards were paying zero attention.
We wandered around the other Muslim structures on site and sat in the garden looking at the Taj for a few hours before deciding to find a rooftop terrace overlooking the Taj for dinner before heading to the station. Surprisingly we were relatively undisturbed by the usual “let’s have our picture taken of a westerner so we can tell them how many foreign friends we have” (seriously this fact has been verified by numerous people now). A few were taken of Laura when I was taking a shot, but my new line of “That will be Rs100 please, my wife is a model and gets payed a lot for having her picture taken” ensured pictures are deleted in front of me quickly.
We found the ideal place and apart from a few tables of Lonely Planeters (a word I have just invented to describe people wandering around clutching the book for dear life) we had 4 hours watching the sun set over the Taj with a beer and now typical Indian curry (Dal fry, rice, 1 tandoor roti each and a share dish of veg, this time muttar paneer- peas and unpasturised cheese).
We headed back after our lazy afternoon of staring at the Taj and decided to catch a cycle rickshaw to the station. 4 modes of transport in one day is not bad. Now to pick up our nights supply of water and snacks for the next journey to make a total journey time of 23 hours in 3 days.
