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.
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.
Varanasi to Siliguri, a Gorka strike and a birthday July 24, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentSo the final day in Varanasi arrived and we have a train booked from an out of town station in Varanasi to Siliguri (West Bengal). Our train departs early evening, so we had the morning in Varanasi to kill. With the extreme heat plus bags, we opt to chill in Fagin’s Restaurant and eat our last veg Biriyani and read our books. I am totally engrosed in Shantaram – so I have no problem with this plan!
Our hotel manager has told us that he will pre-book a rickshaw to take us to the main station and from there we will be able to catch one of several trains to the out of town station to connect to our 12hr train. All packed up with our luggage we embark in the heat, through the winding lanes for the last time towards the rickshaw stand. To our surprise we have been booked a cycle rickshaw…we realise that unless we a battle with an auto rickshaw over the price, we have no option other than to load our bags onto the cycle carraige. Balancing precariously with Al having to sit on the arm rest, the driver sets off into the dense, chaotic traffic. The driver is so slight, I think he weighs less than one of our backpacks, so I do have my doubts on whether we will make it up the inclining road to Varanasi Juntion Station! Miraculously we make it in one piece and embark on stage 2 of catching our train to Siliguri. The station concourse was rammed. Families, luggage, the odd goat all sat on the floor in their respective parties. We soon learn that there are several very delayed trains, explaining the vast amount of people who appear to have submitted themselves to being at the station for the long haul. Although the ‘out of town’ station, Mughal Serai that we needed to get to wasn’t far away and there were supposedly many trains going there, it was proving difficult to suss out which platform to next delayed train would stop at. Station officers, we have discovered, are very unhelpfull and rarely actually know what is going on. Luckily, the tourist information man turns out to be the most helpful person we have met in India. He made a conserted effort to give us the correct valuable information we need. We decide to risk not buying a ticket, as navigating queues and the chaotic concourse seems worth avoiding for the 30 min train journey. Our connecting train turns out to only be a mere 2 hours late which is comparitively small to our wait in Jalgoan!
When the train did arrive, finding our train carraige was a little more tricky than usual and the LCD screens were not working on the platform. After asking a guy in uniform we locate the correct carraige and then embark on wading through bodies and luggage to find our reserved berths. The train is extremely full, and when we do find our berths, they are already occupied and all the floorspace is full of luggage, including a huge metal trunk. The battle, unfortunately, commenced…
No one would own up to the trunk, no one would tell us where their reserved seat was, and no one was prepared to move themselves or their luggage. So it was a case of either standing for 12hours or fighting for our rightfull seats that we had confirmed and paid for. From previous lessons when we feel we have come to a standstill, the only way to solve it is get on with it. Al moved the unclaimed trunk so that we could access a cavity of space for our bags, with the intention on putting the trunk back as soon as we had ofloaded our heavy bags. Of course as soon as he moved the trunk, the rightful owner spoke up. Not prepared to help us, he made a problem, of course this attracting attention to us and the situation. Explaining to him our intentions was useless when it became clear that English was a no-go, as was our boken Hindi. He only spoke Assamese and wasn’t really responding to our sign language, other than a bewildered blank expression! He finally understood that we meant no harm to his luggage when Al pushed the heafty trunk back into place. All of a sudden I looked around to see a sea of curious faces – of course this is quite normal when you are the only white people in the carraige – but when extra attention is focussed, it feels all that bit more intimidating and harder work.
The next battle was actually being able to claim our seat. No one was willing to give up the space, nor were they willing to show us their reservation slip so we could figure out who it was who thought they would take our seat for the next 12 hrs! Al, rightfully, asks the only adult on the seats if he can see her ticket, so we can try to decipher who should and shouldn’t be there. Out of nowhere a bellowing man comes to her defense. He was very confrontational, defensive and domoneering. It turns out that he is her husband and father of all the kids sitting on the berths. Eventually they make space for us to sit, but by this time, we definately have an audience now. I just wanted to go and hide somewhere. It is pretty uncomfortable when you feel like the odd one out, even though you may be fighting a rightuous cause. It felt like we were fighting a loosing battle, especially with this man shouting his head off and making us feel like we are being unreasonable for wanting to use our reserved berths.
When things quietened down and the curious faces stopped staring as much, Al breaks the awkward silence with the man in an effort to pass an olive branch. The man receives it happliy and explains to Al that the reason he was so defensive is partly to do with the fact he had spoken to his wife. Also, that he is the ‘head’ of the party, so Al should have found him to clear up the problem. This was a strategy we had been unaware of, but will definately put into practise next time. He told Al, ‘My wife doesn’t speak English. She is not in charge of the party. She doesn’t know what is going on’ and winked at him as he smiled. It is one of those cultural differences that caused offense without intention. I thought how weird it must have been for him and his family to see me act as an individual and speak to Al with my own opinions during that journey. I ceratinly don’t practise the ‘woman should be seen and not heard’ mentality!
All of this aside, the journey was amazing once we all relaxed and got on with it. The journey took 6 hours longer than it should have. I think this was due to a thunderstorm and traffic on the lines with all the late trains clogging up the rails. The family got off the tain at Bihar which gave us a little more room and breathing space. For me the best part of the journey, above all other train journeys in India so far, was the change in landscape. So far many of the views have been of dry, arid, barran and sparse landscape.When I woke up at 5am for loo, I peaked out the window to find a beautifull green, lush countryside with sugar cane fields and the odd padi field. WOW. Al and I squeezed onto his middle berth bed which allows you to just about see out the top of the cabin window, and we catched the changed landscape whizz by. Late morning we went through strong rain, which was really exciting as I hadn’t seen rain that heavy since England. It is quite a relief to see rain and green after dry weather and cracked earth.
As the train journey continued, as always, people move around and make themselves more comfortable. An old Holy man along with some younger men shared our cabin. It turned out they had been on the train all the way since Dehli and they were travelling to Gujurhat (Assam) for a special Hindu event where pilgrims from all over India were attending. Apparently there were to be sacrifices of animals such as chicken and goat. At one point the older man began to mix up some kind of concoction- which Al and I watched very curiously. 5-10 mins later he offered us a glass of a thick chunky liquid which turned out to be chickpea flour, chili powder and water mixed together to make a very warming and filling drink called ‘Satu’ traditionally from Bihar. The old man explained to us that it would give us ‘raw energy’ and advised us not to drink anything else other than water for the rest of the day. It tasted pretty good and definately filled a hole! It was brilliant to be involved in their culture for the remainder of our journey.
A Sikkimese guy also chatted to us in flawless English (refreshing and this stage of our journey!). He was really friendly and it was a lovely first encounter of a Sikkimese person. When we finally arrived at New Jalpaiguri (near Siliguri), he did his best to point us in the direction.
We had intended to get to Darjeeling as soon as possible, and by the Toy Steam Train. However, this turned out ‘not to be’. There were no Toy Trains available indefinately, so we decide on finding a place to stay in Siliguri with the idea of somehow getting Darjeeling the next day instead. Siliguri wasn’t the nicest place I had seen, and was definately a transit town- not somewhere you want to be stuck for too long. It was grubby with a lot of traffic and that was about it!
Exhausted, we decide the best tactic is for Al to scout around for the best deal whilst I guard the bags next to a petrol station. Eventually Al came back having done a stirling job of negotiating a nice room nearby.
With it being my birthday the following day, we thought it pretty apt that we locate somewhere for a beer and some good grub. Surprisingly we managed to find the perfect place. A tandori restaurant with a TV sceen to watch to footie and G&Ts! Yay. Al treated me to a great evening. Just what the doctor ordered after our mammoth journey.
In the evening, from our hotel, we heard a bit of comotion and rather bad singing on a loudspeaker. From our window we could make out a few trucks full of people driving slowly down the round with green flags. ‘How nice’ we thought, ’some kind of parade’. The next morning it became apparent that actually we had been very dumb. It had been a Gorka protest, with the knock on effect of the West Bengali Hills being restricted due to an indefinate banda (strike). SO, no Darjeeling for us! Al was dissapointed as he had his heart set on treating me to high tea in for my birthday. To be honest, I had a great day anyway- I am travelling around India after all!! We found somewhere for tea in Siliguri and I ate as many Indian sweets as I could for breakfast as my alternative birthday cake. YUM.
To celebrate my birthday we did a street crawl of the street food…Momos (steamed sumplings), Egg rolls, pakora. And then we couldn’t resist repaying the same Tandori restaurant a visit which was equally good. We soon discover that this part of India goes to bed pretty early and when we reach our hotel that night, we a locked out. After shouting for a while, Al decided that the wall with metal spikes didn’t look too hard to climb. Unfortunately, he didn’t see on of the spikes, which went right into his foot. SHIT. Luckliy we managed to make enough noise for the hotel concierge to hear us and let us in. Al’s foot did’t bleed too much, just was painful due to how deep the spike had gone. Not great, seeing as we were hoping to be trekking soon! Well, it got a load of iodine on it and a lick and a promise. Fingers crossed that it heals without infection.
With the banda not having been lifted the following day, we decide to get a jeep to Gangtok (Sikkim) as the route can bypass the roads that were off limit. At the jeep stand we found a group of travellers with the same idea as us, so after some haggling with the jeep driver, all 10 of us catch a jeep to Gangtok. It was one of the first times since Goa that we had encountered ‘travellers’, and the jeep journey ended up being a great bonding session. Half way to Gangtok, we had agreed that some birthday drinks were in order and that we should have a little party when we arrive. In true me style, I was more than happy to continue my birthday for as long as possible! Bring on Sikkim!!
Written by Laura
Working North via Jalgaon June 28, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentThis is a grubby little town, similar to Aurangabad. It is dusty hot, essentially “Arid” all over. That is fine though as we only have one night here before continuing our journey up to Agra.
Despite the general grime of the town, due to its position on the railway line it has become a hub market town and is on the silk route north. There are tailors abound and actually on organised ’shopping street’ that is in marked contrast to the rest of the place. Suits, shirts and Salwar Kameez’s (ladies trouser and long dress and scalf combo) were the order of the day, but we only perused the Salwar’s for Laura, as I am only trying to reduce what I am carrying and not gain more stuff, that tends to accumulate over time by default. My 4 items of clothing are also holding firm and my washing routine including Rs1 washing powder sachet can wash 3 items with no problem and is just enough to keep me fresh!
After walking along and spying some material that would suit Laura over the street, through my broken Hindi, sign language and persistence pointed us towards a market where we could turn the it into a Salwaar. Using the vague directions we found a man with a sewing machine, who quoted us double to what we were told, but as we had 5 hours left in the place figured that was fine as long as he produced it in time.
As a small town the people here stare at you a lot more, especially Laura and don’t feel at all bad at stopping in the street to just gawk at you. So it was not a surprise that there was a gathering of heads facing us and watching us and the situation unfold. We thought nothing of it. That was until we came to do the measurements and failed to consider the social complexities we were dealing with. A lady needs a lady tailor on the street, because of the need of touching the lady. As a result we were being pointed to a ladies tailor further down into the market, but due to the Indian people’s permanent “yes of course as long as you are giving me money attitude” mentioned nothing of it. People all around found this very amusing indeed.
The Hotel Plaza was the only real saving grace of the place for us, as the staff were interesting to talk to and very helpful indeed, which we are finding to be very rare traits of Indian people without an anterior motive. This was a Lonely Planet recommendation due to its cleanliness, but we are finding more and more that we don’t agree with most of the opinions given and so are using it less and less as a decision making tool of any kind- a good thing. The drawback we felt of the place was that it only let Westerners stay there and so as a “Our Pick” have concluded that the Lonely Planet is keen to keep everyone well within the ‘path well trodden’ and that we try to avoid.
The protectionist nature of Hotel Plaza was somewhat justified however, as reading on the steps of the hotel you would attract a group of people who would just stand and stare at you. Apparently this is because most of the people walking by have just come from the train station and are country people who rarely see Westerners. Either way it is a pain having your reading and Chai efforts continually interrupted by people asking the same boring, generic questions;
“Hello, where you from?”
“Ah England”
“What your name?”
“and Madam?”
“Ok”
“My name x……”
Then queue a silence and the guy (always, as women will never approach and talk they just look at you like you are wearing pants on your head with war paint on or something else massively inappropriate) will then just stand and look at us or ask some random question like;
“What Hotel Management like in UK?” (sic to this and everything above in speech brackets!)
As a commuter town it is a strange situation to be looking out and seeing a constant stream of people walking by in uniform spacing. I counted 27 people per 20 seconds, which usefully I thought meant that to see the whole 1.09 billion people in India at this rate would take 25.58574 years. Hmmmn, anyway, you do have time to think about this kind of core issue when traveling and give yourself space!
After a while you start to get used to the gormless comments and ignoring people is now a lot easier, although I’d rather say after the introductory comments “I’m sorry gumby you faded out there… what was that you fancy my girlfriend do ya- well gutted. Bye!”
So next day I asked the Hotel Manager.
“I have a question for you… why do the Indian people stare at us so much?”, I inquire.
“Well… let me tell you something and what I think and I’ll be frank. They look at Madam. Now, I know you people. I have been here 20 years and know white skin and how you are. But these people have not, they only know this area. In your culture you have lots of freedoms; sex before marriage, but here sex only after marriage and young people are very frustrated. Some people are only married at 28 or more, so from 16 – 28 they are frustrated.
If a lady is standing outside the front here smoking then I advise her to come inside, otherwise people will stop and stare. These people, especially the uneducated think the girl is a hippy and easy if she smokes. There was a problem in the 70’s when all the hippies came to India. They smoked drugs, sunbathed and walked around naked. So people now often think white people are all hippies- free and easy, so they might have a chance (with a lady). The trouble is the more they stare the more their mind is working and this can lead to trouble. People in India are good people, they care about their local community, most people are scared about what people think of them. If madam was to start to shout, people would go away quickly, as they care about what their community think.”
“Ok, so how can I tell people in Hindi to have respect?”
“Tamiez Rakier” (Phonetic spelling only!)
So the next day glad to be leaving we arrived at the station, but no train on screen. Laura panics.. is this the right station, have we missed it, is this the right date etc…. Turns out the train is 16hrs late! Damn, ok back to Plaza, who still had our room in the same condition. Right…. we deserve a beer!
Recommended the Bombay Hotel halfway down the 2 minute walk between the hotel and station we enter. Men… everywhere. Hmmmn that generally means a bar in the traditional sense of a male only drinking hole, oh well it was Laura’s idea (as I still had a recovering stomach), we are up for it anyway, let’s go… We were ushered into the back room. One loud man with a table of 3 quiet goons insisted on ‘making friends’ and especially picked up on Laura’s order of a large beer, the same as mine. “You know… this is bad, no no, women should not drink” the man directs at me. Again it is clear this is going to be a difference of woman’s place in society and this also means that the women are not spoken to but the men have ‘issues’ directed at them.
After forcibly discussing some of the merits of the difference in culture, India’s beauty and the usual topics of our status in society I was told, “Hey, have some of this (whiskey) in your beer, it is really good”. Well, obviously I am not stupid enough to think this was done, but after 5 minutes of continual harassment I give in and think go on then I’ve had worse and if it feeds your small ego then great. After a half shot is added and I drink it laughter erupts and the whole place thinks this is hilarious.
“Good?” the man asks sarcastically.
“Fine” I retort “is that what your are drinking?”
“No I don’t drink that”
“You should try it, it is really good. Here have some beer in your whiskey and lemonade”.
“No” the guy insists in the same manner as I was in 10 minutes ago.
“Go on…”, I say pouring it in anyway.
Unhappy about the turn in the situation and the establishment’s eyes fixed on what is happening. So the guy tries it and winces, everyone laughs and settles down.
“Have a bottle of rum with me”, the man says next. Oh bloody hell my acceptance and diffusion didn’t really work, but in retrospect it was unlikely to, but with a love of situational experimentation it was worth a go. I am not up for a bottle of rum really due to my stomach, but can always have a few rum and coke’s and the 180ml bottles are not heavy duty. The guy is slurring from one, so let’s match him and see how things pan out…
“Ok, if you are buying”, I say
“OF COURSE!”, he replies
Using the guys directions on how I should pour a rum and coke (I usually have it two thirds coke and a third rum, if not half half, so the measures I am given are fine with me.
“Strong?”, he asks
“Sure”, I reply
He is finally happy about getting the English guy drunk, but when in reality I could drink another. Finally after we finish the bottle the guy is now looking worse for wear. He staggers to the toilet and I suspect a little too long. After coming back he tells us we have to go, which I found hilarious. He really does think he is the man. Well turns out he was the mayor of Jalgaon’s husband and the 3 other guys really were his goons. No wonder that they were not taking part in any banter aimed at us or at them. We walk back to the hotel drained from the intensity of the situation and bellowing of the guys loud mouth and return to the hotel. After mentioning the situation to the manager he tells us that the local government are massively corrupt (more than usual in India) and really arrogant, power hungry people with low moral value. So our conclusions were pretty spot on then.
The next day it was time to leave again. We arrive at the station and waited for an hour on the platform. Having another look the train had become another 6 hours late. A wait on the platform then? No, let’s go to lunch in the same place! Returning to the station again the train was another 2 hours late, but surprisingly we both were taking this in our stride and made me realise that we were now accustomed to this kind of thing and ‘Indianised’ in the lack of information, certainty of anyone in the country about anything, events that are possible and the rest. We were slowly seeing what the real India is like.
After a 24 hour delay we finally boarded our sleeper cabin, where we found a lovely Indian family going on holiday up north to see family. They moved about to accommodate us and we dug in for the night. Sleeper trains really are great. You are sweaty, it is hot and noisy. Chai walla’s (“tea men”) shouting till late, but everything has an amazing charm that I will cherish as a key part of traveling in India. The windows are open so you can see the country flow past, at night the breeze makes it warm enough to not need anything to sleep with, but not too warm. The price is half of any AC train and people bring their own food because they are poorer than those traveling in AC class. Throughout the night I dozed, woke up every few hours, got off the train and had a brief look around, bought some chai and then got back on the train before reading some more of “The Darma Buns” book by Jack Kerouac (perfect for such an occasion) and then fell asleep again.
Waking up in the morning with the world still whizzing by is another moment that makes you smile. The landscape transformed. Now there were hills of dusty rock formations, wide gorges and arid landscape. We had hit the Rajastani desert. Another 6 hours of training through an increasingly dry land we arrived in Agra, 26 hours late.
Arriving in Aurangabad June 9, 2010
Posted by admin in : India , add a commentAfter spending 6 hours the night before uploading photos due to numerous power failures rendering Internet use almost impossible, a 6am start was tiring. We set of to find a rickshaw hoping that we would receive the usual battle. After dismissing the first group on a scam, the next was ok and we made it to the station having spent the right amount of money and in good time.
The train departed under “training cumulus” clouds, which signal the onset of the Monsoon season and say goodbye to the risk of rain as we head north to Aurangabad. In the spirit of trying everything we opted for 3-AC class this time due to travelling across the Deccan plateau for 9 hours (in Goa we used the standard sleeper “SL” class). My suspicion was that 3-AC was a standard sleeper, plus the “luxury” of air conditioning, which attracts a charge of at least 70% extra (this Internet café is charging Rs15 instead of 10 due to their AC, and hotels do the same- the rooms are the same they just switch AC on). However I was wrong. The train actually had something that resembled a toilet and not just a hole onto the tracks below. The clientele was also middle class Indian people, there was far less screaming, noise and crowding, which made the experience a lot more civilized. I do question the value of AC overall, but burning your hands on double glazed windows from the sun also made me think twice. Fans, as is the outside breeze traveling at speed are great for cooling down and so AC is perhaps an unnecessary luxury, but both of these do increase dehydration and so maximum comfort is worth it occasionally.
We arrived in dusty Aurangabad at 7pm the same evening and the first impressions were the swarms of Rickshaws. Harassed instantly we head for the only guy sat patiently and get in, most to the disgust of the other people. Trouble is he doubled the fare when we arrived at the Youth Hostel (the meter was the reading per person didn’t you know!) to which I told him where to go and paid the actual reading.
Thankfully the hostel was Rs70 per night for a dorm room because it was more like a concentration camp. I have been to quite a few hostels and this was the dirtiest. Why a lady is sweeping the outside area from falling leaves and flowers when the floor inside makes your feet instantly filthy is beyond me. I also wonder of the benefits of urinals which are disconnected from any water supply or sewerage system so that going to the toilet means you urinate all over your feet… use the floor next time (you think I am joking). Either way due to the low season we are in a pretty much empty hostel, although there is no food available as the guidebook states for this reason (another limitation of guide books is that they are written with high season visitors in mind).
The hostel though resembles the city as a whole- a bit of a dump. More baron wastelands and rubbish, plus a river running through it that literally has more poo in it than water (you can see this due to the colour and consistency, oh and the smell is a bit of a giveaway). That is a shame considering that this area is perhaps the most historically significant due to the sights collected in an area of 100km. Built predominantly by Aurangzeb, the Mughal who built the Taj Mahal and then some years later decide to march the population of Delhi over 1000km to Aurangabad only to turn them back later due to Delhi being defenseless against attack!
