...about the free food production at the Golden Temple, Amritsar...
How To Feed Ten Thousand Mouths
Here's a plate,
Here's a bowl,
Here's a spoon,
Upstairs shuffle, shuffle, shuffle,
In this door,
On those mats,
Here's your spot,
Sit.
Pour cold water,
Chappatti, chappatti,
TWO HANDS OUT!
Drop.
Dollop of lentils,
Dollop of beans,
Dollop of rice,
Rip the chappatti,
Pincer the curry,
Rice scoop, scoop, scoop,
More chappatti,
More lentils,
More rice, more rice,
Rip rip, pincer, pincer, scoop, scoop,
Done.
Up you stand,
Out that door,
Downstairs shuffle, shuffle, shuffle,
Drop your spoon,
Pass your plate,
Let them grab, dunk, throw,
Into the trolley,
Wheel them over,
To start over,
Here's another-
Here's a plate,
Here's a bowl,
Here's a spoon,
Over and over,
Twenty four hours,
Ten thousand mouths
Fed.
To roam the roads of lands remote/To travel is to live (Hans Christian Andersen)
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
INDIA: My Final Impression...
So, we're in India's capital at the minute. Our final train journey in India was alas not a pleasant one- blooming freezing! And Patrick saw the one thing I've been dreading since we first stepped on trains- a MOUSE in the carriage! So...not the most comfortable journey!
From what we'd heard, we expected Delhi to be extremely stressful from beginning to end. We've only been here one day, and maybe we're used to it by now, but it was nowhere near as hassling as we were expecting. In fact, it seemed like a breeze after Mumbai! Then again, we haven't explored the city yet- we've spent most of the day chilling and reflecting on our time in India. It's difficult to express how you feel about a country, but I thought I'd have a go in these two poems anyway...
I am India
Some would say
I had a playful side,
Others think
I take you for a ride.
All the colours
shine from my white smile,
weaved into clothes
of elegant style.
I throw aromas
to dazzle your mind,
I chuck in spices
to burn your behind!
Put cows in your path-
don't ask me why!
Deafen you with honks
and 'garam chai'.
Give you heaven
with beaches and sunrise pink-
give you hell
with the alley's gut-heaving stink.
I bombard your vision
with crowds and lights,
then peace in the desert
with star-filled nights.
I chew paan and spit
red sparks on the street,
I make you sing loud
and move your shy feet!
I beg
for chocolate, coin and pen.
I take
the lives of starving men,
I grab, I stare
right into your soul;
my sad eyes burn
a permanent hole.
I scatter your senses
near and far,
so you leave not knowing
who you are.
Brothers
Neither one of us
understands the other-
though you frustrate me,
you are like my brother.
With all my heart
I desire to win yours.
In the confusion
I reveal my flaws-
don't hate me for them,
I do the best I can.
It's India's fault
I'm such a desperate man.
Just learn to love me
and my beautiful land;
please don't be afraid
to shake my withered hand.
I'm confused by you
And you're confused by me.
Accept we're different,
love it, and set us free.
From what we'd heard, we expected Delhi to be extremely stressful from beginning to end. We've only been here one day, and maybe we're used to it by now, but it was nowhere near as hassling as we were expecting. In fact, it seemed like a breeze after Mumbai! Then again, we haven't explored the city yet- we've spent most of the day chilling and reflecting on our time in India. It's difficult to express how you feel about a country, but I thought I'd have a go in these two poems anyway...
I am India
Some would say
I had a playful side,
Others think
I take you for a ride.
All the colours
shine from my white smile,
weaved into clothes
of elegant style.
I throw aromas
to dazzle your mind,
I chuck in spices
to burn your behind!
Put cows in your path-
don't ask me why!
Deafen you with honks
and 'garam chai'.
Give you heaven
with beaches and sunrise pink-
give you hell
with the alley's gut-heaving stink.
I bombard your vision
with crowds and lights,
then peace in the desert
with star-filled nights.
I chew paan and spit
red sparks on the street,
I make you sing loud
and move your shy feet!
I beg
for chocolate, coin and pen.
I take
the lives of starving men,
I grab, I stare
right into your soul;
my sad eyes burn
a permanent hole.
I scatter your senses
near and far,
so you leave not knowing
who you are.
Brothers
Neither one of us
understands the other-
though you frustrate me,
you are like my brother.
With all my heart
I desire to win yours.
In the confusion
I reveal my flaws-
don't hate me for them,
I do the best I can.
It's India's fault
I'm such a desperate man.
Just learn to love me
and my beautiful land;
please don't be afraid
to shake my withered hand.
I'm confused by you
And you're confused by me.
Accept we're different,
love it, and set us free.
Monday, 25 October 2010
Photos, photos, photos!...
We're slowly updating all the blog entries with a few photos; am going to add more to Facebook soon. xxx
From Food Production Lines to Enemy Lines...
After milling around uninspiring Bikaner, we finally made it to Amritsar. I'm probably a little harsh on Bikaner; it's not all that bad. We met some interesting characters there, that's for sure! Waiting at the station, Patrick had his second preacher of the trip. It was not a Jehovah's witness this time, but a Muslim who strongly dissaproved of unmarital relationships. Desperately needing a shower after our desert retreat, we checked into a random hotel in town; it was clear from our hotel manager's childlike fascination with our passports that we were the first foreign guests- possibly first foreign people- he'd ever seen. Finding nothing special in Bikaner itself- we'd seen sandy forts in Jaisalmer- we were pretty relieved to leave that evening on our last Indian sleeper bus to Amritsar. Maybe it's because I've gotten used to them now, but for once I actually managed to sleep through the night! We met a lovely couple from Montreal on the bus too, Nick and Annie, with the four of us reflecting on the lack of travellers on sleeper buses.
12 hours later we arrived in the Golden Temple city, noticing the prickly chill on our skins compared to the dry heat of Rajastan. We asked our cycle rickshaw-wallah to take us to the Golden Temple grounds, where we heard we could find free food and accomodation! Of course he tried to take us somewhere else- I would have been dissapointed in him if he hadn't- but we eventually arrived at the Gate. 6am, and the Temple was buzzing with colourful turbans and robes- complete contrast to Bikaner's lonely, sandy streets at that hour! It took us a while for the four of us to orientate, but we soon stumbled into the dorm-like room, where the 4 of us were shown by a Sikh wearing a peacock-blue turban to our 3 beds. The bedrooms may be a tad claustrophobic, but the bathrooms are probably the most immaculate I've seen in India- with HANDWASH and everything! Doesn't take much to please me these days...
With plenty of time to see the Temple, we decided to instead check out the free delicacies offered by the Temple. The whole process felt a little like school-lunches, except at double the pace! First, you collect your metal plate, bowl and spoon, then follow the crowds upstairs. You are then shown into a big school-hall type room, where another Sikh quickly guides you to your spot on one of the long, thin straw mats. Crossing your legs, you place your metal plate in front of you, and before you have time to blink, two types of curry and rice have been dolloped onto your plate. You see a man walking towards you fast with a large basket full of chappati- when you go to grab one, he barks 'Two hands!'. You cup your hands and he drops two chappati into your hands. There are about 200 people with you in the hall at any given time, all finished within 20 minutes. It's mind boggling trying to work out how many people are fed a day...Patrick estimated around 10,000. Mass catering to the extreme! Despite these huge numbers, the food quality is not compromised. The sweet rice pudding, with sultanas and coconut pieces in it, was one of the best things I've tasted in India. Likewise, the bean curries they've served up have been so flavourful!
Once you've finally finished, after your plate has been refilled several times, you take your plate to the washing-up team, who worked at an astounding pace. One team member grabbed your plate, passing it to another to dunk into water, who passed it to another to throw in the trolley. Except this all happened in a matter of seconds. Grab, dunk, throw, grab, dunk, throw. I need to learn a thing or two from these guys about efficiency! As we walked to the chai corner, we suddenly noticed many more production lines. There were groups of about 5 men or women, sitting in a circle, quickly peeling onions and garlic and piling it in front of them. Peel, pile, peel, pile, for god knows how many hours. All this effort, and they offer the food for free! Of course, donations are appreciated, but their kindness is still inspiring.
That evening, the four of us decided to visit the daily border-closing ceremony at the India/Pakistan border. It sounded truly bizarre- the kind of thing you would have to see to believe! We got a share-taxi to the border, where Pat and I got very cosy at the front with our driver, Pula, who must've been at least 80 years old. Poor guy had to shove my knees out of the way everytime he needed to change gear; he insisted it wasn't a problem though, as I was 'like his daughter'! After stopping at the Silver Temple, Pula pulled onto G.T. road- the long, straigth road that leads from Kolkata to the Pakistan border. Half an hour later, in which time I'd somehow acquired an Indian-flag visor, we arrived at the border- or so we thought. Pula dropped us off, and we walked with the crowds, only to join a crush of people 5 minutes later. We were so amused by the patrotic chants erupting beside us from a group of boisterous Indian boys that we almost failed to notice our fellow Westerners edging to the sides to flee the crowds. Quickly following them, we were allowed through straight away. Hearing that the ceremony had started, we ran through the (not hugely thorough) security checks, showed our passports, and settled down in the front of the stalls.
There's just one word for the ceremony, from the concept of stadium-esque stands for such a ceremony to the crazy feathered helmets that both troops wear. Strange. The ceremony in a nutshell- six Indian troops stand in a line, and I'm sure six Pakistani troops on the other side of the gate are doing the same. One of the Indian troops, in his funny red hat and golden army uniform, stomps and marches to the Pakistani gate dramatically, kicking his legs as possible. He meets one of the Pakistani troops, dressed in the same unform but in dark velvet green, and shakes his hand. As he marches back in the same over-the-top manner, the crowd goes truly wild, waving the Indian flag, following the 'Hindustan' chants of a loudspeaker voice. To think that the troops do this EVERY NIGHT! They even have a warm-up guy on the Indian side, looking more like a lost businessmen in a blue shirt, throwing his palms up in the air to encourage the crowd's cheers. The Pakistani flag being waved solemnly against an orange sunset was a truly striking image, and somehow took the pomposity out of it for a second, and gave it more poignancy and depth. Then, just like that, the gates were closed, and the whole shebang was over. Kids were trying to sell us DVDs on the way home; as hilarious as it was, I don't think I'd want to watch it again and again! We noticed the welcome sign into India on the walk back: 'India, the biggest democracy in the world, welcomes you.' Certainly not the first description that many travellers would think of, but a very interesting, positive way to view this flavourful country.
And so! The main reason we came to Amritsar- the Golden Temple itself! Pat and I walked around the perimeter at sunset yesterday; although there were many people walking with us, there was a peace in the air that is immediately lost when walking into Amritsar town. Some were bathing, some were bending down and praying to Guru-Nanak lookalikes in booths, others were just sitting by the lakeside, admiring the majestic Golden Temple and its rippling reflection in the water. I dragged myself out of bed this morning to witness the Temple at sunrise, to see the golden sun hit the Golden Temple for a truly piercing, magical effect. Upon entering the temple, I finally found the source of the continous chanting that reverberates around the lake (complete with computerised subtitles). Looking a little like the Sikh Elton John, a turbaned, long bearded man sat cross legged, chanting into a microphone and playing a keyboard, with about 20 bearded men muttering behind him, and a group of women sat opposite. The inside of the temple sparkled with the same golden hue as the outside, along with that rich peacock blue of many Sikh turbans.
We leave for Delhi tonight, the ultimate destination before Kathmandu- its the final countdown! Damn, now I'm going to have that song in my head all day. Will see you there! ...
12 hours later we arrived in the Golden Temple city, noticing the prickly chill on our skins compared to the dry heat of Rajastan. We asked our cycle rickshaw-wallah to take us to the Golden Temple grounds, where we heard we could find free food and accomodation! Of course he tried to take us somewhere else- I would have been dissapointed in him if he hadn't- but we eventually arrived at the Gate. 6am, and the Temple was buzzing with colourful turbans and robes- complete contrast to Bikaner's lonely, sandy streets at that hour! It took us a while for the four of us to orientate, but we soon stumbled into the dorm-like room, where the 4 of us were shown by a Sikh wearing a peacock-blue turban to our 3 beds. The bedrooms may be a tad claustrophobic, but the bathrooms are probably the most immaculate I've seen in India- with HANDWASH and everything! Doesn't take much to please me these days...
With plenty of time to see the Temple, we decided to instead check out the free delicacies offered by the Temple. The whole process felt a little like school-lunches, except at double the pace! First, you collect your metal plate, bowl and spoon, then follow the crowds upstairs. You are then shown into a big school-hall type room, where another Sikh quickly guides you to your spot on one of the long, thin straw mats. Crossing your legs, you place your metal plate in front of you, and before you have time to blink, two types of curry and rice have been dolloped onto your plate. You see a man walking towards you fast with a large basket full of chappati- when you go to grab one, he barks 'Two hands!'. You cup your hands and he drops two chappati into your hands. There are about 200 people with you in the hall at any given time, all finished within 20 minutes. It's mind boggling trying to work out how many people are fed a day...Patrick estimated around 10,000. Mass catering to the extreme! Despite these huge numbers, the food quality is not compromised. The sweet rice pudding, with sultanas and coconut pieces in it, was one of the best things I've tasted in India. Likewise, the bean curries they've served up have been so flavourful!
Once you've finally finished, after your plate has been refilled several times, you take your plate to the washing-up team, who worked at an astounding pace. One team member grabbed your plate, passing it to another to dunk into water, who passed it to another to throw in the trolley. Except this all happened in a matter of seconds. Grab, dunk, throw, grab, dunk, throw. I need to learn a thing or two from these guys about efficiency! As we walked to the chai corner, we suddenly noticed many more production lines. There were groups of about 5 men or women, sitting in a circle, quickly peeling onions and garlic and piling it in front of them. Peel, pile, peel, pile, for god knows how many hours. All this effort, and they offer the food for free! Of course, donations are appreciated, but their kindness is still inspiring.
That evening, the four of us decided to visit the daily border-closing ceremony at the India/Pakistan border. It sounded truly bizarre- the kind of thing you would have to see to believe! We got a share-taxi to the border, where Pat and I got very cosy at the front with our driver, Pula, who must've been at least 80 years old. Poor guy had to shove my knees out of the way everytime he needed to change gear; he insisted it wasn't a problem though, as I was 'like his daughter'! After stopping at the Silver Temple, Pula pulled onto G.T. road- the long, straigth road that leads from Kolkata to the Pakistan border. Half an hour later, in which time I'd somehow acquired an Indian-flag visor, we arrived at the border- or so we thought. Pula dropped us off, and we walked with the crowds, only to join a crush of people 5 minutes later. We were so amused by the patrotic chants erupting beside us from a group of boisterous Indian boys that we almost failed to notice our fellow Westerners edging to the sides to flee the crowds. Quickly following them, we were allowed through straight away. Hearing that the ceremony had started, we ran through the (not hugely thorough) security checks, showed our passports, and settled down in the front of the stalls.
There's just one word for the ceremony, from the concept of stadium-esque stands for such a ceremony to the crazy feathered helmets that both troops wear. Strange. The ceremony in a nutshell- six Indian troops stand in a line, and I'm sure six Pakistani troops on the other side of the gate are doing the same. One of the Indian troops, in his funny red hat and golden army uniform, stomps and marches to the Pakistani gate dramatically, kicking his legs as possible. He meets one of the Pakistani troops, dressed in the same unform but in dark velvet green, and shakes his hand. As he marches back in the same over-the-top manner, the crowd goes truly wild, waving the Indian flag, following the 'Hindustan' chants of a loudspeaker voice. To think that the troops do this EVERY NIGHT! They even have a warm-up guy on the Indian side, looking more like a lost businessmen in a blue shirt, throwing his palms up in the air to encourage the crowd's cheers. The Pakistani flag being waved solemnly against an orange sunset was a truly striking image, and somehow took the pomposity out of it for a second, and gave it more poignancy and depth. Then, just like that, the gates were closed, and the whole shebang was over. Kids were trying to sell us DVDs on the way home; as hilarious as it was, I don't think I'd want to watch it again and again! We noticed the welcome sign into India on the walk back: 'India, the biggest democracy in the world, welcomes you.' Certainly not the first description that many travellers would think of, but a very interesting, positive way to view this flavourful country.
And so! The main reason we came to Amritsar- the Golden Temple itself! Pat and I walked around the perimeter at sunset yesterday; although there were many people walking with us, there was a peace in the air that is immediately lost when walking into Amritsar town. Some were bathing, some were bending down and praying to Guru-Nanak lookalikes in booths, others were just sitting by the lakeside, admiring the majestic Golden Temple and its rippling reflection in the water. I dragged myself out of bed this morning to witness the Temple at sunrise, to see the golden sun hit the Golden Temple for a truly piercing, magical effect. Upon entering the temple, I finally found the source of the continous chanting that reverberates around the lake (complete with computerised subtitles). Looking a little like the Sikh Elton John, a turbaned, long bearded man sat cross legged, chanting into a microphone and playing a keyboard, with about 20 bearded men muttering behind him, and a group of women sat opposite. The inside of the temple sparkled with the same golden hue as the outside, along with that rich peacock blue of many Sikh turbans.
We leave for Delhi tonight, the ultimate destination before Kathmandu- its the final countdown! Damn, now I'm going to have that song in my head all day. Will see you there! ...
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Full Power, 24 Hour, No Toilet, No Shower...
...No Woman, No Cry, No Chapatti, No Chai, No Hurry, No Worry, No Chicken, No Curry, Don't Worry, Be Happy! That phrase is ingrained into our brains after the last few days, thanks to a certain crazy camel driver called Sunny...
I guess I'd better start from the beginning. We both arrived in Jaisalmer on Sunday, expecting to stay just one night before moving onto Bikaner and our camel safari. Crazy doesn't even BEGIN to describe the madness that ensued when we got off the bus from Udaipur. There was even a police officer with beret and baton batting the crowds of touts away. Along with a fellow bus traveller, a Dutch guy called Art, we swatted them away as best we could, using our new favourite phrase, 'chello, chello!', with only a few stragglers running besides us as we marched towards our chosen hotel.
The three of us had chosen well- this hotel had a pool (albeit green and reeking of chlorine) and cheap prices (after the old 'we'll be back later' trick). Of course, we were under no illusions about the hotel manager's kindness- it was all in the hope that we'd book a camel safari with him. But at least he let us stay- in some places, they kick you out if you don't book with them. Harsh. Our presence did seem to cause a little controversy though- a group of Indian people were shouting angrily at us in Hindi. This controversy extended to the hotel manager when we decided to go on safari with someone else...
Ah, Sunny. I honestly don't know where to begin in describing him. I can start by saying he is possibly one of the craziest, funniest, chattiest people I've ever met- truly larger than life. If you've read 'Shantaram', he IS Prabaker. We should've known from the first meeting with him that we were in for some mental times out in the desert. Walking within Jaisalmer Fort, one of the only Rajastani forts that is still inhabited, we stopped for a moment when Sunny pounced on us, asking if we wanted a camel safari. When we said we were interested, he walked with us for ten minutes to a random rooftop, which we had to climb over the wall to get to. Hmmm. Anyway, we all had our crazy heads on and decided to trust him, agreeing to meet him early the next morning to begin our trip into the desert.
We were worried he wouldn't show up, but he was there with his jeep like he'd promised. So we drove for 10 minutes, when we suddenly caught a glimpse of our 7 new friends on the roadside. It was then time for introductions: Isra and Krishna, the other 2 camel drivers, Ali Baba, Michael Jackon, King-Kong and Laloo, the four camels, and Kaloo, the black labrador. We quickly chose our camels- I went for King Kong, the youngest of the crew, Patrick went for the slightly older but no less energetic Michael Jackson, and Art went for the oldest, and most rebellious, camel, Ali Baba. Mounting our steeds, we were hoisted into the air and led into the wild prickly Great Thar Desert...
There's something truly thrilling about seeing such vast scrubland on the back of a huge camel, even if riding it for a few hours makes your thighs hurt like hell! Although every day had a similar routine- riding through stony desert before reaching the beautiful, rippling sand dunes- each day had an undoubted highlight. On the first day, this would have to be the oasis we reached half way through the day. We were hot, just getting used to the camels, and desperately in need of cooling down. Then, out of nowhere, like a mirage, a pool of natural water appeared. One of the best swims EVER- so refreshing, so fresh, so needed! It was also worth it just to see Sunny flail his arms wildly as he ran into the water and fell in, belly-first!
The second day was memorable was slightly barbaric reasons- the day that Patrick and Art finally became men! On the previous night, we'd been having deep chats with Isra, about everything from his unhappy arranged marriage to life in the desert. Somehow, the latter led to talk about killing animals, with Isra teaching the boys the perfect way to kill a chicken or goat. With sudden resolve, the two of them decided, after much moral debating, that it was time to become real men, and to put these lessons into practice. The repercussion of this decision was Isra heading off the next morning. Taking them by their word, Isra headed to Jaisalmer the next morning, and came back mid-afternoon with two live chickens in a box. This was getting very real. It was soon to get very real- sooner than either Patrick or Art would've hoped for. When we were in the middle of the desert, one of the chickens fainted from heat exhaustion; Isra exclaimed that they needed to be killed right now to save their suffering. If you're easily grossed out, I'd skip to the next paragraph at this point!! Climbing down quickly from his camel, Art pulls out his Swiss army knife, holds the head of the unconscious chicken, and slices it off. A pretty painless death. But there is the matter of the other chicken, walking around and clucking happily- and this one is all for Pat. Shaking slightly, he holds the head down while Isra holds the body, and...well, you get the picture! Except because this one still had a little life left him before he died, made clear by the desperate 'brk BRK' that escaped with the final cut, headless chicken syndrome kicked in. If Isra hadn't held him down, the body of the poor little guy would've been running into the horizon. Creepy but compulsive viewing! Pat and Arthur then held their birds upside down as Isra and Sunny stripped them down...the birds that is! ha! And, just like that, we had our evening meal, with sorrow in our hearts and hunger in our stomachs! What a dinner it was! One chicken was barbecued in a makeshift sand BBQ, the other was fried in a curry with chappatti and rice. Delicious. (Sorry if that was a bit too gruesome for anybody! And if it wasn't gruesome enough for anybody, then I will send you the video of the post-mortem twitching...gross...)
Phew, it's exhausting just to relive that in writing! There were a few highlights on the third day...During the day, we stopped off in a gypsy village; these gypsies were travelling from Pakistan. As expected, the children came running up to us with the same demands- photo, chocolate, pen- but I didn't really mind. It was worth visiting to gain an insight into how these people live, with their homes little more than a few sticks in the ground covered with blankets. More than that though, it was worth it to hear an 85 year old Pakistani playing a puja- a sort of wooden recorder- and to dance with a gypsy girl that had the cheekiest, more adorable smile I've ever seen. She could move her hips so effortlessly- as could Art it seemed, who was pulled up to dance by the little dancer and consequently thrust his hips in a manic manner in time to a gypsy woman's warble! Pretty funny stuff.
All these individual highlights made the trip unforgettable, but it was sleeping on the sand dunes that made it one of the true highlights of India. The approach to those sand-dunes was spectacular everyday- rolling hills of clean, rippled sand. I've never seen so many colours at sunset- lilacs, pinks and orange at sunset, then a cobalt blue as refreshing as that first day oasis. The sunrises were just as mesmerizing; on the second day, I awoke to the silhouette of Michael Jackson against the jaffa-orange sky. Of course, what is colourful scenery without colourful characters? And we definitely had one of those in Sunny! That phrase at the start of the blog pretty much sums him up, in every way- both in meaning and long-windedness! The man did not know how to listen, but luckily he came out with the most outrageously crude things- complete with actions! Without going into too much detail (I think this blog entry has been gruesome enough as it is!), let's just say that the words 'donkey' and 'banana' were mentioned often in the same sentence....I certainly won't forget him in a hurry!
I can't finish this entry without giving special mention to Isra and Krishna, the quieter, but no less entertaining camel safari drivers. I felt a little sorry for Isra; as I mentioned before, he was newly- but unhappily- married to a girl he barely knew. This is of course the standard story for many young Indians, but hearing it from Isra's lips somehow made it more of a living reality. In the 3 months they had been together, he said they had only spent 3 hours together. Krishna could not speak English, but it was clear he could speak camel-language; he always had them wrapped around his little finger with his random clicks and 'ha' sounds, especially his favourite, Michael Jackson. Despite his lack of English, he was a jolly presence to have around the place, cooking amazing curries and always belly-laughing at Sunny's obscene gestures! Also the camels themselves had different personalities- Ali Baba was the grumpy old man that had trouble listening to Art's instructions, Michael Jackson was constantly hungry and passing wind, and King Kong never liked to sit down when he was told to. And I can't forget Kaloo, who acted as our guard dog, fighting other dogs off in the night but being as soppy as anything to us!
So our safari came to an end this morning, and we have just bid goodbye to our desert buddy, Art. We're still in Jaisalmer, but headed to Amritsar tonight, via Bikaner. It will be interesting to see the Sikh Golden Temple; we've been told it's quite the experience. One week today until we leave India! These seven weeks have gone bloody fast, that's for sure...
I guess I'd better start from the beginning. We both arrived in Jaisalmer on Sunday, expecting to stay just one night before moving onto Bikaner and our camel safari. Crazy doesn't even BEGIN to describe the madness that ensued when we got off the bus from Udaipur. There was even a police officer with beret and baton batting the crowds of touts away. Along with a fellow bus traveller, a Dutch guy called Art, we swatted them away as best we could, using our new favourite phrase, 'chello, chello!', with only a few stragglers running besides us as we marched towards our chosen hotel.
The three of us had chosen well- this hotel had a pool (albeit green and reeking of chlorine) and cheap prices (after the old 'we'll be back later' trick). Of course, we were under no illusions about the hotel manager's kindness- it was all in the hope that we'd book a camel safari with him. But at least he let us stay- in some places, they kick you out if you don't book with them. Harsh. Our presence did seem to cause a little controversy though- a group of Indian people were shouting angrily at us in Hindi. This controversy extended to the hotel manager when we decided to go on safari with someone else...
Ah, Sunny. I honestly don't know where to begin in describing him. I can start by saying he is possibly one of the craziest, funniest, chattiest people I've ever met- truly larger than life. If you've read 'Shantaram', he IS Prabaker. We should've known from the first meeting with him that we were in for some mental times out in the desert. Walking within Jaisalmer Fort, one of the only Rajastani forts that is still inhabited, we stopped for a moment when Sunny pounced on us, asking if we wanted a camel safari. When we said we were interested, he walked with us for ten minutes to a random rooftop, which we had to climb over the wall to get to. Hmmm. Anyway, we all had our crazy heads on and decided to trust him, agreeing to meet him early the next morning to begin our trip into the desert.
We were worried he wouldn't show up, but he was there with his jeep like he'd promised. So we drove for 10 minutes, when we suddenly caught a glimpse of our 7 new friends on the roadside. It was then time for introductions: Isra and Krishna, the other 2 camel drivers, Ali Baba, Michael Jackon, King-Kong and Laloo, the four camels, and Kaloo, the black labrador. We quickly chose our camels- I went for King Kong, the youngest of the crew, Patrick went for the slightly older but no less energetic Michael Jackson, and Art went for the oldest, and most rebellious, camel, Ali Baba. Mounting our steeds, we were hoisted into the air and led into the wild prickly Great Thar Desert...
There's something truly thrilling about seeing such vast scrubland on the back of a huge camel, even if riding it for a few hours makes your thighs hurt like hell! Although every day had a similar routine- riding through stony desert before reaching the beautiful, rippling sand dunes- each day had an undoubted highlight. On the first day, this would have to be the oasis we reached half way through the day. We were hot, just getting used to the camels, and desperately in need of cooling down. Then, out of nowhere, like a mirage, a pool of natural water appeared. One of the best swims EVER- so refreshing, so fresh, so needed! It was also worth it just to see Sunny flail his arms wildly as he ran into the water and fell in, belly-first!
The second day was memorable was slightly barbaric reasons- the day that Patrick and Art finally became men! On the previous night, we'd been having deep chats with Isra, about everything from his unhappy arranged marriage to life in the desert. Somehow, the latter led to talk about killing animals, with Isra teaching the boys the perfect way to kill a chicken or goat. With sudden resolve, the two of them decided, after much moral debating, that it was time to become real men, and to put these lessons into practice. The repercussion of this decision was Isra heading off the next morning. Taking them by their word, Isra headed to Jaisalmer the next morning, and came back mid-afternoon with two live chickens in a box. This was getting very real. It was soon to get very real- sooner than either Patrick or Art would've hoped for. When we were in the middle of the desert, one of the chickens fainted from heat exhaustion; Isra exclaimed that they needed to be killed right now to save their suffering. If you're easily grossed out, I'd skip to the next paragraph at this point!! Climbing down quickly from his camel, Art pulls out his Swiss army knife, holds the head of the unconscious chicken, and slices it off. A pretty painless death. But there is the matter of the other chicken, walking around and clucking happily- and this one is all for Pat. Shaking slightly, he holds the head down while Isra holds the body, and...well, you get the picture! Except because this one still had a little life left him before he died, made clear by the desperate 'brk BRK' that escaped with the final cut, headless chicken syndrome kicked in. If Isra hadn't held him down, the body of the poor little guy would've been running into the horizon. Creepy but compulsive viewing! Pat and Arthur then held their birds upside down as Isra and Sunny stripped them down...the birds that is! ha! And, just like that, we had our evening meal, with sorrow in our hearts and hunger in our stomachs! What a dinner it was! One chicken was barbecued in a makeshift sand BBQ, the other was fried in a curry with chappatti and rice. Delicious. (Sorry if that was a bit too gruesome for anybody! And if it wasn't gruesome enough for anybody, then I will send you the video of the post-mortem twitching...gross...)
Phew, it's exhausting just to relive that in writing! There were a few highlights on the third day...During the day, we stopped off in a gypsy village; these gypsies were travelling from Pakistan. As expected, the children came running up to us with the same demands- photo, chocolate, pen- but I didn't really mind. It was worth visiting to gain an insight into how these people live, with their homes little more than a few sticks in the ground covered with blankets. More than that though, it was worth it to hear an 85 year old Pakistani playing a puja- a sort of wooden recorder- and to dance with a gypsy girl that had the cheekiest, more adorable smile I've ever seen. She could move her hips so effortlessly- as could Art it seemed, who was pulled up to dance by the little dancer and consequently thrust his hips in a manic manner in time to a gypsy woman's warble! Pretty funny stuff.
All these individual highlights made the trip unforgettable, but it was sleeping on the sand dunes that made it one of the true highlights of India. The approach to those sand-dunes was spectacular everyday- rolling hills of clean, rippled sand. I've never seen so many colours at sunset- lilacs, pinks and orange at sunset, then a cobalt blue as refreshing as that first day oasis. The sunrises were just as mesmerizing; on the second day, I awoke to the silhouette of Michael Jackson against the jaffa-orange sky. Of course, what is colourful scenery without colourful characters? And we definitely had one of those in Sunny! That phrase at the start of the blog pretty much sums him up, in every way- both in meaning and long-windedness! The man did not know how to listen, but luckily he came out with the most outrageously crude things- complete with actions! Without going into too much detail (I think this blog entry has been gruesome enough as it is!), let's just say that the words 'donkey' and 'banana' were mentioned often in the same sentence....I certainly won't forget him in a hurry!
I can't finish this entry without giving special mention to Isra and Krishna, the quieter, but no less entertaining camel safari drivers. I felt a little sorry for Isra; as I mentioned before, he was newly- but unhappily- married to a girl he barely knew. This is of course the standard story for many young Indians, but hearing it from Isra's lips somehow made it more of a living reality. In the 3 months they had been together, he said they had only spent 3 hours together. Krishna could not speak English, but it was clear he could speak camel-language; he always had them wrapped around his little finger with his random clicks and 'ha' sounds, especially his favourite, Michael Jackson. Despite his lack of English, he was a jolly presence to have around the place, cooking amazing curries and always belly-laughing at Sunny's obscene gestures! Also the camels themselves had different personalities- Ali Baba was the grumpy old man that had trouble listening to Art's instructions, Michael Jackson was constantly hungry and passing wind, and King Kong never liked to sit down when he was told to. And I can't forget Kaloo, who acted as our guard dog, fighting other dogs off in the night but being as soppy as anything to us!
So our safari came to an end this morning, and we have just bid goodbye to our desert buddy, Art. We're still in Jaisalmer, but headed to Amritsar tonight, via Bikaner. It will be interesting to see the Sikh Golden Temple; we've been told it's quite the experience. One week today until we leave India! These seven weeks have gone bloody fast, that's for sure...
We Danced, We Cooked, We Conquered...
I'm slowly catching up on our crazy travels so far...I'm in Jaisalmer at the moment, fresh from a camel safari- more on that in the next blog entry! First, I have to tell you about lovely Udaipur...
So, it was the usual story for early arrivals in cities. Stumble out of the station into the rickshaw of the least pushy driver, hoping that you will be taken to where you actually wanted to go, and not where the driver will get the most commission. The guy we chose was actually very good- he took us to our LP-recommended place, which ended up being too expensive and full. Although he then lead us to another hotel, it was actually one of the nicest we've seen- and only for 300 rupees! Bargain- we were sold! The rooftop view of the Lake Palace floating on Lake Pichola- the palace apparently used in the film 'Octopussy'- was the icing on the cake.
Our days have been busy with chock-a-block sightseeing, but it's been the nights that have proved the true highlights. On the first night, upon hearing that there was a Hindu festival happening over the next few days where Hindus just party all night, we ventured out into the streets to see this for ourselves. And what a sight! Hundreds of Hindus in an inner and outer circle that stretched the length of the road, facing each other and beating sticks with their partner, before moving on to the next person. Sounds confusing- and believe me, it was! Once we had watched this spectacle for a while, we headed back to the hotel, only to find a mini-version of this dance happening down an alleyway. When we went to investigate, a little Indian boy came up to me with sticks and asked if I wanted a go. Well, I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that, so I took them, practiced with him for a while, then enthusiastically joined the circle. I don't think the ladies were too enthusiastic about my presence- my co-ordination isn't fantastic- but they still patiently smiled and humoured me. It was much harder than it looks! I did one round then retreated shyly, aware that I'd made a pillock of myself but with the biggest grin on my face.
The next night was to be even better. We've been wanting to take an Indian cooking class for a while, and with our time in India slowly coming to a close, we decided to seize the day and do one here. So we headed down at 5.30pm to the cosy home of Shashi, a spirited Indian lady who pressed a felt bindi to my forehead and tied a bracelet around my wrist as soon as I sat down. We then got to hear her amazing entrepreneurial story. Her husband died when he was 32, leaving her in a very vulnerable position financially- she was unable to remarry, and at that time there were almost no working rights for widows. So she became a washerwoman, but had to keep it secret because her caste, Brahman, disapproved of such work. Her son then came up with the idea of her teaching Indian-style cooking to travellers. She was nervous at first with her limited English, but travellers kept coming to her classes and helping her in exchange for Hindi lessons. Eventually, Lonely Planet featured her cooking school, and the rest, as they say, is history. Now she doesn't have a moment to herself- she is a primary school teacher by day, and cooking teacher by night. Amazing story, amazing stamina, amazing lady.
She started by teaching us the art of 'masala chai', which was much simpler than I'd imagined. We then went on to learn pakora (fried dumplings usually eaten at breakfast), coriander and mango chutneys, aloo gobi (potato and cauliflower curry), and vegetable palau ("more veg, less rice, long slice!"). She was strict at times- 'You! Stir!'- but she was a great teacher.
It was then time to get physical! We got to make chappatti and paranthas (the fried version) ourselves, from rolling the dough (as ever, this was not my strong point!) to flipping it on the hot pan. We also made naan, although in Indian culture this is apparently more a bread for 'special occasions' such as weddings- same technique as chapatti but with white flour instead of wheat flour.
So, five hours after we had started, we had finally completed our feast! The full menu- naan stuffed with garlic cheese and fried tomatoes for starter (incredible), aloo gobi with vegetable palau, chappati and paranthas for main, and coconut parantha for dessert. What a meal! The size made it a struggle to finish, but the food itself, especially that starter and dessert, was some of the best we've had in India. And we'd helped to make it (sort of!)- who would've thought it?
This cooking class would have been worth every rupee in itself, but then Shansi brings out our little gifts- tiny elephants for the boys, and key-rings for the girls. After teaching us a few useful Hindi phrases (which I've embarrassingly forgotten), we were on our way, bursting at the seams with Indian culinary knowledge and delicious food!
Before I move on to our unforgettable Jaisalmer camel safari, one last moment to recall in Udaipur. On the way to catching the Jaisalmer bus, one guy shouted 'Dress! 2000 rupees!'. I kept walking away; he shouts almost immediately '1000 rupees'. Feeling inexplicably jubilant, I laughed and shouted back '50 at the most!' Then with the best comic timing ever, a random vendor next to us pops up and says '40 better!' Brilliant example that behind the hassle and pressure, India has a joyful, playful side. Now, onto Jaisalmer and the Great Thar Desert!...
So, it was the usual story for early arrivals in cities. Stumble out of the station into the rickshaw of the least pushy driver, hoping that you will be taken to where you actually wanted to go, and not where the driver will get the most commission. The guy we chose was actually very good- he took us to our LP-recommended place, which ended up being too expensive and full. Although he then lead us to another hotel, it was actually one of the nicest we've seen- and only for 300 rupees! Bargain- we were sold! The rooftop view of the Lake Palace floating on Lake Pichola- the palace apparently used in the film 'Octopussy'- was the icing on the cake.
Our days have been busy with chock-a-block sightseeing, but it's been the nights that have proved the true highlights. On the first night, upon hearing that there was a Hindu festival happening over the next few days where Hindus just party all night, we ventured out into the streets to see this for ourselves. And what a sight! Hundreds of Hindus in an inner and outer circle that stretched the length of the road, facing each other and beating sticks with their partner, before moving on to the next person. Sounds confusing- and believe me, it was! Once we had watched this spectacle for a while, we headed back to the hotel, only to find a mini-version of this dance happening down an alleyway. When we went to investigate, a little Indian boy came up to me with sticks and asked if I wanted a go. Well, I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that, so I took them, practiced with him for a while, then enthusiastically joined the circle. I don't think the ladies were too enthusiastic about my presence- my co-ordination isn't fantastic- but they still patiently smiled and humoured me. It was much harder than it looks! I did one round then retreated shyly, aware that I'd made a pillock of myself but with the biggest grin on my face.
The next night was to be even better. We've been wanting to take an Indian cooking class for a while, and with our time in India slowly coming to a close, we decided to seize the day and do one here. So we headed down at 5.30pm to the cosy home of Shashi, a spirited Indian lady who pressed a felt bindi to my forehead and tied a bracelet around my wrist as soon as I sat down. We then got to hear her amazing entrepreneurial story. Her husband died when he was 32, leaving her in a very vulnerable position financially- she was unable to remarry, and at that time there were almost no working rights for widows. So she became a washerwoman, but had to keep it secret because her caste, Brahman, disapproved of such work. Her son then came up with the idea of her teaching Indian-style cooking to travellers. She was nervous at first with her limited English, but travellers kept coming to her classes and helping her in exchange for Hindi lessons. Eventually, Lonely Planet featured her cooking school, and the rest, as they say, is history. Now she doesn't have a moment to herself- she is a primary school teacher by day, and cooking teacher by night. Amazing story, amazing stamina, amazing lady.
She started by teaching us the art of 'masala chai', which was much simpler than I'd imagined. We then went on to learn pakora (fried dumplings usually eaten at breakfast), coriander and mango chutneys, aloo gobi (potato and cauliflower curry), and vegetable palau ("more veg, less rice, long slice!"). She was strict at times- 'You! Stir!'- but she was a great teacher.
It was then time to get physical! We got to make chappatti and paranthas (the fried version) ourselves, from rolling the dough (as ever, this was not my strong point!) to flipping it on the hot pan. We also made naan, although in Indian culture this is apparently more a bread for 'special occasions' such as weddings- same technique as chapatti but with white flour instead of wheat flour.
So, five hours after we had started, we had finally completed our feast! The full menu- naan stuffed with garlic cheese and fried tomatoes for starter (incredible), aloo gobi with vegetable palau, chappati and paranthas for main, and coconut parantha for dessert. What a meal! The size made it a struggle to finish, but the food itself, especially that starter and dessert, was some of the best we've had in India. And we'd helped to make it (sort of!)- who would've thought it?
This cooking class would have been worth every rupee in itself, but then Shansi brings out our little gifts- tiny elephants for the boys, and key-rings for the girls. After teaching us a few useful Hindi phrases (which I've embarrassingly forgotten), we were on our way, bursting at the seams with Indian culinary knowledge and delicious food!
Before I move on to our unforgettable Jaisalmer camel safari, one last moment to recall in Udaipur. On the way to catching the Jaisalmer bus, one guy shouted 'Dress! 2000 rupees!'. I kept walking away; he shouts almost immediately '1000 rupees'. Feeling inexplicably jubilant, I laughed and shouted back '50 at the most!' Then with the best comic timing ever, a random vendor next to us pops up and says '40 better!' Brilliant example that behind the hassle and pressure, India has a joyful, playful side. Now, onto Jaisalmer and the Great Thar Desert!...
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Million Dollar Notes and Diesel Throats...
So, a little bit later than originally planned, we were off to Bundi, along with Jules, on an unreserved ticket. The way these work is that you get on the train and basically try your luck in any carriage that has room. Not wanting to spend a huge amount for an hour-long journey to Kota, we slunk into the 'Sleeper' section and took seats next to some kind-looking Indians. They turned out to be very friendly, especially the head of the family. After the inevitable inquisition into our own lives, he explained that they had a farm in Amritsar, and was heading to Mumbai for business. I didn't envy them that journey- 24 hours at LEAST! He helped us our in a big way- the ticket inspector came around and asked us to pay an extra 900 rupees! Cheeky git, hoping to take Westerners for a ride! Our new friend was livid, telling him to "chello, chello" so we didn't have to pay a penny! Just as we were chatting about corrupt officials, he suddenly leans forward, looks left and right in a confidential manner, and murmurs to Jules suspiciously Ýou were in finance- Í need some advice about something'.
Wondering if we'd accidently sat next to gangsters, we listened to his predicament. Apparently, his friend gave him a 'million dollar note' to 'take care of', i.e. to convert into Indian rupees on the sly without the taxman finding out. This all sounded a little unbelievable...until he actually produced the note. We all stared at it open-mouthed, amazed that this note was in front of us, along with a "certificate of authenticity'". Sadly informing our new friend that we did not have 25 million rupees to hand, he put it away, leaving countless questions lingering in the air. Before we could ask them, he bought us all a chai- and I know I've said this in every blog entry, but this was ACTUALLY one of the best I've had!
Before we knew it, we'd arrived in Kota, where we were going to catch the bus to Bundi. So we said goodbye to our new Godfather friend, and the opportunity to ever see a million dollar note again....
Leaving a crowd of disappointed rickshaw-wallahs behind us, we quickly headed to the bus station- and then just as quickly on the Bundi bus itself, as it was leaving just as we were arriving. A sea of faces greeted us as we hauled ourselves onto the small bus, and no empty seats- except the ones in the bus "cockpit" next to the driver. Faced with a choice between shaky legs from standing the whole way and diesel fumes from the cockpit seats, we of course chose the latter, covering our noses and mouths for the whole journey. Despite the continual fear of our bags melting and passing out, it was actually an interesting insight into the front of a local bus- like the way the gear-stick throbbed ominously like a ticking bomb when it was in neutral- and how some of the dials seemed to be missing. Probably not the best idea if we plan to take a bus again, but never mind...some things are better left unknown...
Anyway, we eventually arrived in Bundi- alive- where we had the first pleasant journey of the day into the truly picturesque village, surrounded by green hills and winding around a serene lake. We only got to spend a few hours there before we had to catch the train to Udaipur. However, we spent these wisely, sipping beers by the lakeside with Jules and Viswas, an Indian guy we'd met back in Sawai Madhopur. In our infinite wisdom, we'd chosen another stupid-o-clock train- 2am- so the three of us- Viswas decided to come too- caught a rickshaw at 10pm and waited in the station for 4 hours, with all the bugs to keep us company. Fun times. Eventually the train rocked up, and we were on the way to Udaipur, apparently India's most 'romantic' city...
Wondering if we'd accidently sat next to gangsters, we listened to his predicament. Apparently, his friend gave him a 'million dollar note' to 'take care of', i.e. to convert into Indian rupees on the sly without the taxman finding out. This all sounded a little unbelievable...until he actually produced the note. We all stared at it open-mouthed, amazed that this note was in front of us, along with a "certificate of authenticity'". Sadly informing our new friend that we did not have 25 million rupees to hand, he put it away, leaving countless questions lingering in the air. Before we could ask them, he bought us all a chai- and I know I've said this in every blog entry, but this was ACTUALLY one of the best I've had!
Before we knew it, we'd arrived in Kota, where we were going to catch the bus to Bundi. So we said goodbye to our new Godfather friend, and the opportunity to ever see a million dollar note again....
Leaving a crowd of disappointed rickshaw-wallahs behind us, we quickly headed to the bus station- and then just as quickly on the Bundi bus itself, as it was leaving just as we were arriving. A sea of faces greeted us as we hauled ourselves onto the small bus, and no empty seats- except the ones in the bus "cockpit" next to the driver. Faced with a choice between shaky legs from standing the whole way and diesel fumes from the cockpit seats, we of course chose the latter, covering our noses and mouths for the whole journey. Despite the continual fear of our bags melting and passing out, it was actually an interesting insight into the front of a local bus- like the way the gear-stick throbbed ominously like a ticking bomb when it was in neutral- and how some of the dials seemed to be missing. Probably not the best idea if we plan to take a bus again, but never mind...some things are better left unknown...
Anyway, we eventually arrived in Bundi- alive- where we had the first pleasant journey of the day into the truly picturesque village, surrounded by green hills and winding around a serene lake. We only got to spend a few hours there before we had to catch the train to Udaipur. However, we spent these wisely, sipping beers by the lakeside with Jules and Viswas, an Indian guy we'd met back in Sawai Madhopur. In our infinite wisdom, we'd chosen another stupid-o-clock train- 2am- so the three of us- Viswas decided to come too- caught a rickshaw at 10pm and waited in the station for 4 hours, with all the bugs to keep us company. Fun times. Eventually the train rocked up, and we were on the way to Udaipur, apparently India's most 'romantic' city...
Peacocks and Tigers and Deer, Oh My!
Continuing our quest of sampling every class on the Indian railway, we were in the lowest class- 'second sitting'- for our short journey to Sawai Madhopur. Maybe it's because we'd been used to cramped local buses over the last couple of days, but it was actually quite an enjoyable journey- very airy, enough leg-and-bum room, and startling arid desert scenery to gaze at through the window. You could definitely tell we were in the desert- I've never been more constantly parched in my life!
So with the help of our fellow passengers, we figured out where to get off and headed to the rickshaws. Rickshaw-wallahs are very variable, but the guy we chose was one of the gems. He asked us if we were married- like I said before, we get that a lot- and when we said 'no', he said 'maybe next year, you come back married.' Comic pause. 'Maybe next year, you come back with three members!' Cue hearty laugh showing off paan-stained Indian teeth.
Arriving at our hotel, we were made to wait about an hour for the manager to show up. This actually worked in our favour; when he eventually rolled up on his scooter, he felt so bad for making us wait that he let us haggle him down to 150 rupees a night! Score! This of course meant more money for beer, so we spent the rest of the day up on the rooftop, enjoying a beverage or two and enjoying the sunset.
The next day was TIGER DAY! Our safari was in the afternoon, so we chilled in the morning and prayed to the tiger god that he would thrust some beasts into our path. Up on the rooftop, we got chatting to some travellers- Benjy, an American bird-watching guide, and Jules, an English fella- who decided to join us last minute on our afternoon safari. So at 1.30 all four of us traipsed down the the tourist centre, with the other two trying to get in any jeep that had space. We were shown to our guide, hopped in our 6 person jeep, and we were off, all fingers and toes crossed that we'd see one of the 38 tigers Ranthambore had to offer.
The park itself is actually beautiful- a few colourful woodpeckers and kingfishers dotted around, as well as baby crocs by the river and peacocks crossing the dirt tracks. We often passed two types of deer peacefully grazing, the big samba deer and the more elegant spotted deer, or 'tiger chocolate' as the guide fondly called the latter! As beautiful as they were, you could feel the desperation for a tiger to come and pounce on one of them- how amazing, if slightly barbaric, would that be? Suddenly, just as everyone was beginning to lose hope, we'd hear a kind of 'caw-caw' sound, apparently from a deer who had spotted a tiger. 'Alarm-call!' the guide would say excitedly, and the jeep would bomb along the road towards the sound. This was one of two ways the guides detected the tigers- the other was by fresh footprints. Then it was time to play the waiting game. So we'd wait...and wait...and wait some more, along with other jeeps, willing with all of our power for a tiger to rear his head from the grassy bushes. After about 5 minutes our guide would admit defeat, and say 'chello' to the jeep driver ('go' in Hindi).
Unfortunately, this was the story of our first safari trip. Only two vehicles saw a tiger that day- of course, Benjy and Jules, the guys we'd met at our hotel, were in one of those jeeps, lucky sods. So, instead of seeing our own tiger, we had to make do with seeing their photos when we got back. With those two guys celebrating their tiger victory, and us comiserating our failure, it was always bound to turn into a fairly drunken night, with more travellers joining the party through the night.
Sadly, our day was about to get a bit more unlucky. We were actually bound for Bundi that night, at the ungodly hour of 1am. I'd been feeling a little achey all day- however, as the evening progressed, I gradually began to feel worse worse until I felt feverish with stomach aches. There was no way I could travel with the way I was feeling, so we made the rash decision to stay another day...and then another...
Although we missed out on spending time in Bundi, this didn't turn out to be such a bad thing- it just meant we had enough time to go on ANOTHER safari! Second time lucky, maybe? So along with a Dutch couple we'd me, we headed down at 5am to try and squeeze onto any jeep that was available. It wasn't looking hopeful- until suddenly two sets of spaces appeared on two different jeeps. Happy for another chance to see a tiger, we jumped in and headed towards Ranthambore once more.
Our guide the second time was so much better than our first. We were taking a different route to before, and this second one had a lot more wildlife that the guide was generally more knowledgable about. Of course, it was the same deal as before- alarm call...quick-drive...wait...wait...disappointment. And it nearly turned into the same story ending too, as our allocated safari time was up and we headed back to the park entrance.
BUT THEN! Just as were about to turn onto the direct entrance path, we saw the gateman pointing excitedly in the opposite direction. Our guide turned to us with sparkly eyes- 'A tiger has just been spotted on the road up here!' Hearts racing, jeep racing, we reached the alleged apot where the 4-year old tiger called T17 (original) was roaming. So we waited, but this time with more hope. Jeeps kept giving up and leaving, but our guide stayed strong, determined to catch a glimpse...Then, out of nowhere, a swish of a tail behind a tree! It was hard to see because of the bushes, but we continued to wait, knowing she couldn't stay behing there forever...and FINALLY! We were rewarded! Patrick saw her lift her head before me- I just managed to see an orange-and-black striped body walking away from us through the bushes. It wasn't close enough for a picture, it wasn't particularly clear. But it was a TIGER! And that's all that mattered! We waited at the end of the road to see if she'd pop out of the bushes, but unfortunately she was distracted by a nearby samba deer. No matter! WE FINALLY SAW A TIGER! Happy, happy days!
Jubilant in our victory, we went back to our hotel and got ready for our afternoon train to Bundi- the first time we were going to try to get on a train with an unreserved ticket! More on that VERY interesting journey very soon!...
So with the help of our fellow passengers, we figured out where to get off and headed to the rickshaws. Rickshaw-wallahs are very variable, but the guy we chose was one of the gems. He asked us if we were married- like I said before, we get that a lot- and when we said 'no', he said 'maybe next year, you come back married.' Comic pause. 'Maybe next year, you come back with three members!' Cue hearty laugh showing off paan-stained Indian teeth.
Arriving at our hotel, we were made to wait about an hour for the manager to show up. This actually worked in our favour; when he eventually rolled up on his scooter, he felt so bad for making us wait that he let us haggle him down to 150 rupees a night! Score! This of course meant more money for beer, so we spent the rest of the day up on the rooftop, enjoying a beverage or two and enjoying the sunset.
The next day was TIGER DAY! Our safari was in the afternoon, so we chilled in the morning and prayed to the tiger god that he would thrust some beasts into our path. Up on the rooftop, we got chatting to some travellers- Benjy, an American bird-watching guide, and Jules, an English fella- who decided to join us last minute on our afternoon safari. So at 1.30 all four of us traipsed down the the tourist centre, with the other two trying to get in any jeep that had space. We were shown to our guide, hopped in our 6 person jeep, and we were off, all fingers and toes crossed that we'd see one of the 38 tigers Ranthambore had to offer.
The park itself is actually beautiful- a few colourful woodpeckers and kingfishers dotted around, as well as baby crocs by the river and peacocks crossing the dirt tracks. We often passed two types of deer peacefully grazing, the big samba deer and the more elegant spotted deer, or 'tiger chocolate' as the guide fondly called the latter! As beautiful as they were, you could feel the desperation for a tiger to come and pounce on one of them- how amazing, if slightly barbaric, would that be? Suddenly, just as everyone was beginning to lose hope, we'd hear a kind of 'caw-caw' sound, apparently from a deer who had spotted a tiger. 'Alarm-call!' the guide would say excitedly, and the jeep would bomb along the road towards the sound. This was one of two ways the guides detected the tigers- the other was by fresh footprints. Then it was time to play the waiting game. So we'd wait...and wait...and wait some more, along with other jeeps, willing with all of our power for a tiger to rear his head from the grassy bushes. After about 5 minutes our guide would admit defeat, and say 'chello' to the jeep driver ('go' in Hindi).
Unfortunately, this was the story of our first safari trip. Only two vehicles saw a tiger that day- of course, Benjy and Jules, the guys we'd met at our hotel, were in one of those jeeps, lucky sods. So, instead of seeing our own tiger, we had to make do with seeing their photos when we got back. With those two guys celebrating their tiger victory, and us comiserating our failure, it was always bound to turn into a fairly drunken night, with more travellers joining the party through the night.
Sadly, our day was about to get a bit more unlucky. We were actually bound for Bundi that night, at the ungodly hour of 1am. I'd been feeling a little achey all day- however, as the evening progressed, I gradually began to feel worse worse until I felt feverish with stomach aches. There was no way I could travel with the way I was feeling, so we made the rash decision to stay another day...and then another...
Although we missed out on spending time in Bundi, this didn't turn out to be such a bad thing- it just meant we had enough time to go on ANOTHER safari! Second time lucky, maybe? So along with a Dutch couple we'd me, we headed down at 5am to try and squeeze onto any jeep that was available. It wasn't looking hopeful- until suddenly two sets of spaces appeared on two different jeeps. Happy for another chance to see a tiger, we jumped in and headed towards Ranthambore once more.
Our guide the second time was so much better than our first. We were taking a different route to before, and this second one had a lot more wildlife that the guide was generally more knowledgable about. Of course, it was the same deal as before- alarm call...quick-drive...wait...wait...disappointment. And it nearly turned into the same story ending too, as our allocated safari time was up and we headed back to the park entrance.
BUT THEN! Just as were about to turn onto the direct entrance path, we saw the gateman pointing excitedly in the opposite direction. Our guide turned to us with sparkly eyes- 'A tiger has just been spotted on the road up here!' Hearts racing, jeep racing, we reached the alleged apot where the 4-year old tiger called T17 (original) was roaming. So we waited, but this time with more hope. Jeeps kept giving up and leaving, but our guide stayed strong, determined to catch a glimpse...Then, out of nowhere, a swish of a tail behind a tree! It was hard to see because of the bushes, but we continued to wait, knowing she couldn't stay behing there forever...and FINALLY! We were rewarded! Patrick saw her lift her head before me- I just managed to see an orange-and-black striped body walking away from us through the bushes. It wasn't close enough for a picture, it wasn't particularly clear. But it was a TIGER! And that's all that mattered! We waited at the end of the road to see if she'd pop out of the bushes, but unfortunately she was distracted by a nearby samba deer. No matter! WE FINALLY SAW A TIGER! Happy, happy days!
Jubilant in our victory, we went back to our hotel and got ready for our afternoon train to Bundi- the first time we were going to try to get on a train with an unreserved ticket! More on that VERY interesting journey very soon!...
'Look! Pregnant frog!'
As soon as we walked into our hotel in Fathepur Skihri, we were made as welcome as if we'd been long-lost relatives. I think we might have been the only ones there, with the atention they were giving us! The food was delicious too- fried aubergine with rice, finished off with a crumbly yellow biscuit exclusive to Fathepur known as khataie.
The next morning, we headed towards the ancient city, the capital during the reign of 16th century Mughal emperor Akbar. As we wandered into the mosque, it took approximately 3 seconds to be approached by a guy in a baseball cap claiming to be a government guide and 'wanting no money'. Our previous experience told us to be very sceptical, but he followed us around and told us facts anyway. Some were actually quite interesting- for example, there was a white-marble, mini Taj Mahal building in the mosque courtyard that housed the 'Holy Man', and Muslims would tie red and yellow pieces of string near the tomb as representations of wishes, that apparently had 99% chance of coming true.
Just when we were starting to think 'maybe this guy is genuine! maybe he's actually doing a selfless act!'...the tour conveniently ended at his brother's souvenir stall. The little elephant ornaments were exquisite- latticed with two other elephants inside, Russian doll style- and I would've been tempted, if they hadn't been so forceful about it. When they saw that we weren't buying into the elephants, the brother suddenly thrust an ornament in front of my face- the final trump card. 'Look!' he said with a desperate urgency, 'Pregnant frog!'. That just about did it for me. Shaking with a fit of giggles, we quickly stood up and strode away, with the guide trying every trick in the book to get us to buy his bloody elephant. He even resorted to mild racism, saying that if 'I had an English boyfriend, he would've bought me the elephant straight away!' Actually laughing out loud now, we quickened our step and got the hell out of there.
Needing a bit of peace after that experience, we walked the opposite way to all the other tourists. Out of nowhere, we found ourselves in leafy surroundings, delapitated ruins dotted around us with distant rolling hills that looked like they'd been plucked from the English countryside. We sat on the crumbling walls on an abaoned fort for a while, taking in this rare sensation of silence in India. It was so quiet, you could actually hear the birds singing! Of course, it wouldn't have been right if we hadn't had at least ONE beggar child- but even he was quite amusing with his demands. 'Chocolate? Coin? Shampoo? Boom-boom?' I presume the latter was meant to be 'bon-bon'- at least I hope so! You never know with these kids.
Deciding it was time to crack on with our busy North Indian schedule, we bid farewell to Fathepur Sikhri and its pregnant ornaments, and became huge hypocrits by picking one up as a souvenir from another place! It was time to head to Jaipur on a six-hour local bus- always good fun, especially with a group of three jolly Indian men in front of you. Nothing much to report about Jaipur- got there at 9pm, couldn't find our hotel, went somewhere else instead that was a bit grotty, and left early the next morning for Sawai Madhopur, the home of Ranthambore National Park, allegedly the best place in Rajastan to see TIGERS! RAAA! However, as you'll see from the next entry, it was not the luckiest place for us...
The next morning, we headed towards the ancient city, the capital during the reign of 16th century Mughal emperor Akbar. As we wandered into the mosque, it took approximately 3 seconds to be approached by a guy in a baseball cap claiming to be a government guide and 'wanting no money'. Our previous experience told us to be very sceptical, but he followed us around and told us facts anyway. Some were actually quite interesting- for example, there was a white-marble, mini Taj Mahal building in the mosque courtyard that housed the 'Holy Man', and Muslims would tie red and yellow pieces of string near the tomb as representations of wishes, that apparently had 99% chance of coming true.
Just when we were starting to think 'maybe this guy is genuine! maybe he's actually doing a selfless act!'...the tour conveniently ended at his brother's souvenir stall. The little elephant ornaments were exquisite- latticed with two other elephants inside, Russian doll style- and I would've been tempted, if they hadn't been so forceful about it. When they saw that we weren't buying into the elephants, the brother suddenly thrust an ornament in front of my face- the final trump card. 'Look!' he said with a desperate urgency, 'Pregnant frog!'. That just about did it for me. Shaking with a fit of giggles, we quickly stood up and strode away, with the guide trying every trick in the book to get us to buy his bloody elephant. He even resorted to mild racism, saying that if 'I had an English boyfriend, he would've bought me the elephant straight away!' Actually laughing out loud now, we quickened our step and got the hell out of there.
Needing a bit of peace after that experience, we walked the opposite way to all the other tourists. Out of nowhere, we found ourselves in leafy surroundings, delapitated ruins dotted around us with distant rolling hills that looked like they'd been plucked from the English countryside. We sat on the crumbling walls on an abaoned fort for a while, taking in this rare sensation of silence in India. It was so quiet, you could actually hear the birds singing! Of course, it wouldn't have been right if we hadn't had at least ONE beggar child- but even he was quite amusing with his demands. 'Chocolate? Coin? Shampoo? Boom-boom?' I presume the latter was meant to be 'bon-bon'- at least I hope so! You never know with these kids.
Deciding it was time to crack on with our busy North Indian schedule, we bid farewell to Fathepur Sikhri and its pregnant ornaments, and became huge hypocrits by picking one up as a souvenir from another place! It was time to head to Jaipur on a six-hour local bus- always good fun, especially with a group of three jolly Indian men in front of you. Nothing much to report about Jaipur- got there at 9pm, couldn't find our hotel, went somewhere else instead that was a bit grotty, and left early the next morning for Sawai Madhopur, the home of Ranthambore National Park, allegedly the best place in Rajastan to see TIGERS! RAAA! However, as you'll see from the next entry, it was not the luckiest place for us...
Thursday, 14 October 2010
Agra-cadabra!
Five minutes after arriving into Agra, and the Taj Mahal had already made its mighty presence known- a siholette against a pinky-orange dawn, viewed from our rattling rickshaw.
It can be quite daunting in a way, visiting such an iconic building, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. You feel compelled to be wowed by it like the generations before you, otherwise question your own appreciation of beauty. Almost all the Agra hotels had Taj views from their rooftop cafes, but our one was one of the best- it almost looked like you could reach out and pick it up! Seeing it in this approachable way made me like it straight away, and excited about seeing it the next day at sunrise.
Deciding to take it easy the day we got there, we went on the net, where we got a sharp reminder that the Taj is closed on Friday- the day we'd chosen to arrive! We found out later that it used to be free on Fridays, but then all the tourists obviously went on this day, losing money for the government. So we took the short walk towards the Taj, cursing ourselves that we nearly missed out altogether!
They're certainly not shy about overcharging foreigners in India- I think Gregory David Roberts had it right in 'Shantaram' when he described Indians as the 'most honest crooks in the world'. 750 rupees for foreigners, compared to 10 rupees for Indians! Scandalous!
After denying a few potential guides, we finally got our glimpse of the Taj in all its symmetrical, sparkling white glory. Or should I say the two Taj's- one soaring majestically to the sky, the other at our feet, upside down in the water. If only Shah Jahan's wife, Mumtaz Mahal, had been alive to see this amazing tribute paid to her by her husband. We walked closer through the immaculate green gardens, when the fountains suddenly came to life, and that second Taj Mahal in the water was lost.
Now up close and personal with the Taj, we wandered on in and saw the tombs of the former Mughal emperor and his wife. Very ornate and beautiful, with mother of pearl weaved into the marble, but it is still the outside of the Taj that is truly impressive. We sat for a while, chilling out, taking in the Taj and trying to avoid being pounced on for pictures by a gang of white-clothed Indian teenagers prowling around.
It was getting close to sunset, so we headed on down to find a good spot. Despite a 'gardener' showing us good photo opportunities then wanting monet for it, we managed to find a relaxing spot to watch the sun slide down between one of the turrets and the main dome building.
Finishing off our sunset view on a rooftop cafe, we spied a procession, complete with ornately painted elephants and papier-mached floats, passing through the streets below us. A bizarre, yet fun end to the day.
Despite what you're lead to believe, Agra isn't all about the Taj- Agra Fort is also a pretty impressive sight. The red sandstone palaces, as well as the distant view of the Taj over the river, were spectacular. However, we probably enjoyed the walk up to the Fort just as much. Recommended by Mr LP (Lonely Planet), as we've come to call him, we walked along the river through a small village of burning ghats. Along the road, we saw a group of men almost unnervingly quiet, and wondered what we were interrupting. We then saw the dead body draped in flower garlands on the side of the road waiting to be burned on the flaming stacks of sticks in the ghats. Very humbling experience.
It was then time for another bone-rattling local bus ride to Fatehpur Sikhri, complete with peeling paint and half ripped out chairs, as well as child beggars and staring men. More on our experiences in this ancient fortified city very soon...
It can be quite daunting in a way, visiting such an iconic building, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. You feel compelled to be wowed by it like the generations before you, otherwise question your own appreciation of beauty. Almost all the Agra hotels had Taj views from their rooftop cafes, but our one was one of the best- it almost looked like you could reach out and pick it up! Seeing it in this approachable way made me like it straight away, and excited about seeing it the next day at sunrise.
Deciding to take it easy the day we got there, we went on the net, where we got a sharp reminder that the Taj is closed on Friday- the day we'd chosen to arrive! We found out later that it used to be free on Fridays, but then all the tourists obviously went on this day, losing money for the government. So we took the short walk towards the Taj, cursing ourselves that we nearly missed out altogether!
They're certainly not shy about overcharging foreigners in India- I think Gregory David Roberts had it right in 'Shantaram' when he described Indians as the 'most honest crooks in the world'. 750 rupees for foreigners, compared to 10 rupees for Indians! Scandalous!
After denying a few potential guides, we finally got our glimpse of the Taj in all its symmetrical, sparkling white glory. Or should I say the two Taj's- one soaring majestically to the sky, the other at our feet, upside down in the water. If only Shah Jahan's wife, Mumtaz Mahal, had been alive to see this amazing tribute paid to her by her husband. We walked closer through the immaculate green gardens, when the fountains suddenly came to life, and that second Taj Mahal in the water was lost.
Now up close and personal with the Taj, we wandered on in and saw the tombs of the former Mughal emperor and his wife. Very ornate and beautiful, with mother of pearl weaved into the marble, but it is still the outside of the Taj that is truly impressive. We sat for a while, chilling out, taking in the Taj and trying to avoid being pounced on for pictures by a gang of white-clothed Indian teenagers prowling around.
It was getting close to sunset, so we headed on down to find a good spot. Despite a 'gardener' showing us good photo opportunities then wanting monet for it, we managed to find a relaxing spot to watch the sun slide down between one of the turrets and the main dome building.
Finishing off our sunset view on a rooftop cafe, we spied a procession, complete with ornately painted elephants and papier-mached floats, passing through the streets below us. A bizarre, yet fun end to the day.
Despite what you're lead to believe, Agra isn't all about the Taj- Agra Fort is also a pretty impressive sight. The red sandstone palaces, as well as the distant view of the Taj over the river, were spectacular. However, we probably enjoyed the walk up to the Fort just as much. Recommended by Mr LP (Lonely Planet), as we've come to call him, we walked along the river through a small village of burning ghats. Along the road, we saw a group of men almost unnervingly quiet, and wondered what we were interrupting. We then saw the dead body draped in flower garlands on the side of the road waiting to be burned on the flaming stacks of sticks in the ghats. Very humbling experience.
It was then time for another bone-rattling local bus ride to Fatehpur Sikhri, complete with peeling paint and half ripped out chairs, as well as child beggars and staring men. More on our experiences in this ancient fortified city very soon...
Sorry for the delay!...
...I've been feeling a little poorly in the last week (stomach issues- ahem!). Since I last wrote, we've been to Agra, Fatehpur Sikri, Jaipur, Ranthambore National Park, and now we're in Udaipur- guess I have a lot to catch up on! Will write about them all very soon...
Friday, 8 October 2010
Photos update...
Have made the last few Bodhgaya photos a little smaller now! Sorry about that, not sure why they came up so big!
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Yet another poem...
...this one about the different types of Buddhist worship I witnessed in Bodhgaya.
Into Light
Alone
he sits,
dressed in white,
away from the shade
of His Bodhi tree,
finding his own Enlightenment,
own way to see.
Together, they ride
from the Bodhi tree
And follow the path
To eternity,
A rainbow chain
soon broken free
as they cluster together
yet chant alone,
packed in so tight
that their colours turn
into light.
He sits beside them,
dressed in white.
Into Light
Alone
he sits,
dressed in white,
away from the shade
of His Bodhi tree,
finding his own Enlightenment,
own way to see.
Together, they ride
from the Bodhi tree
And follow the path
To eternity,
A rainbow chain
soon broken free
as they cluster together
yet chant alone,
packed in so tight
that their colours turn
into light.
He sits beside them,
dressed in white.
Boating in Holy Rivers, Fire Ceremonies...and Fat Cows
From what we'd read about Varanasi, we'd gathered that it would be jam-packed with tourists, touts and rickshaws. And we were right...but the last two weren't nearly as bad as we imagined!...
Arriving in Varanasi feeling weak and tired after our hellish train ride, we quickly found a rickshaw, and told him where we wanted to go. Of course, in India, nothing is ever that easy- another guy jumped in the front and tried to convince us to visit his guest house instead. 'Just one look?' Despite us politely but firmly saying NO, the driver took us there anyway. We decided to look, but because we were feeling the irritability that one hours sleep gives you, we rejected it almost immediately. In hindsight, this was a mistake- we didn't know how disorientating the cobbled, narrow streets would be. Finally, after asking many street vendors who spoke limited English, we found our original destination- only to discover the first place we were taken to was probably better. Oh well, such is life.
It's funny how the places you expect not to enjoy, are often the ones you enjoy the most. Breakfast on a rooftop cafe overlooking the holy ghats of the Ganges (or Ganga, as Indians call it), and water buffaloes wallowing in the water, helped us to chill out and regroup. Varanasi itself has heaps of character and charm down its winding alleyways, so narrow that if a particularly fat cow was standing there (and there were quite a few), that nobody could get past. Seeing cows slowly amble down busy streets still makes me laugh- no matter how much auto-rickshaws beep them and swerve wildly around them, nothing will startle or speed up those cows.
One of the major Varanasi highlights was the 'ganga aarti' at Dadadwebmedth Ghat- or 'river worship ceremony'. As one man chanted in Hindi to the beat of a drum, four orange men stood in a square, whilst slowly turning and waving around fire torches. Despite almost choking on the smoke clouds blowing into our faces, I was transfixed by this holy ceremony- and even lit a 'lotus flower', a candle-lit paper flower that you set onto the Ganges for good luck. I almost felt like I could have been in the Varanasi of 50 years ago- until I saw an Indian man proudly wearing selling brightly coloured flashing horns and glowsticks, like we were at a pop concert.
The other highlight was the boat ride at dawn down the Ganges. We were woken up by the boatman at 5am ('cos we just love those early mornings), and taken through the eerily silent streets to a rowing boat at one of the smaller ghats. It was still dark when we set off, although many buildings were already coming to life along the river, their lights relecting on the still Ganges beautifully. The only voice we could hear was that of our very informative boatman, telling us the history of each ghat we passed and their temples. Gradually, the sky's dark indigo turned into a lilac-blue, and we passed the most interesting ghat of all- the burning ghat. This was the place where Hindus, after carrying them down the streets draped in flower garlands, cremate dead bodies. If bitten by a cobra, the body is covered in leaves and set along the river, and if pregnant or a baby, attached to bricks to sink to the riverbed. Our boatman knew a lot about the process, his father having been cremated in this way. As well as dozens of Indians washing themselves in the holy (but filthy!) river, we also saw several lines of men performing a religious ceremony, cupping water over and over in prayer for their dead loved ones. Just when we thought we'd seen the best of the sunrise, a shocking pink run rose out of the baby blue-grey clouds, its light gently dappled on the water. A truly stunning sight, especially on such a peaceful river. After reaching Assi Ghat- the last one out of the 20 we'd passed- and enjoying a cup of chai in a clay pot (I know I say this every time, but this was ACTUALLY one of the best I've had), we head back to our hotel. Pat even had a chance to row for a little bit- unlike the journey there, the current was going the same way as the boat!
So, all in all, we actually really enjoyed Varanasi, and was sad we'd decided to spent so little time there. No matter- for our next stop was Agra, and a domed shape white building you just might have heard of....
Arriving in Varanasi feeling weak and tired after our hellish train ride, we quickly found a rickshaw, and told him where we wanted to go. Of course, in India, nothing is ever that easy- another guy jumped in the front and tried to convince us to visit his guest house instead. 'Just one look?' Despite us politely but firmly saying NO, the driver took us there anyway. We decided to look, but because we were feeling the irritability that one hours sleep gives you, we rejected it almost immediately. In hindsight, this was a mistake- we didn't know how disorientating the cobbled, narrow streets would be. Finally, after asking many street vendors who spoke limited English, we found our original destination- only to discover the first place we were taken to was probably better. Oh well, such is life.
It's funny how the places you expect not to enjoy, are often the ones you enjoy the most. Breakfast on a rooftop cafe overlooking the holy ghats of the Ganges (or Ganga, as Indians call it), and water buffaloes wallowing in the water, helped us to chill out and regroup. Varanasi itself has heaps of character and charm down its winding alleyways, so narrow that if a particularly fat cow was standing there (and there were quite a few), that nobody could get past. Seeing cows slowly amble down busy streets still makes me laugh- no matter how much auto-rickshaws beep them and swerve wildly around them, nothing will startle or speed up those cows.
One of the major Varanasi highlights was the 'ganga aarti' at Dadadwebmedth Ghat- or 'river worship ceremony'. As one man chanted in Hindi to the beat of a drum, four orange men stood in a square, whilst slowly turning and waving around fire torches. Despite almost choking on the smoke clouds blowing into our faces, I was transfixed by this holy ceremony- and even lit a 'lotus flower', a candle-lit paper flower that you set onto the Ganges for good luck. I almost felt like I could have been in the Varanasi of 50 years ago- until I saw an Indian man proudly wearing selling brightly coloured flashing horns and glowsticks, like we were at a pop concert.
The other highlight was the boat ride at dawn down the Ganges. We were woken up by the boatman at 5am ('cos we just love those early mornings), and taken through the eerily silent streets to a rowing boat at one of the smaller ghats. It was still dark when we set off, although many buildings were already coming to life along the river, their lights relecting on the still Ganges beautifully. The only voice we could hear was that of our very informative boatman, telling us the history of each ghat we passed and their temples. Gradually, the sky's dark indigo turned into a lilac-blue, and we passed the most interesting ghat of all- the burning ghat. This was the place where Hindus, after carrying them down the streets draped in flower garlands, cremate dead bodies. If bitten by a cobra, the body is covered in leaves and set along the river, and if pregnant or a baby, attached to bricks to sink to the riverbed. Our boatman knew a lot about the process, his father having been cremated in this way. As well as dozens of Indians washing themselves in the holy (but filthy!) river, we also saw several lines of men performing a religious ceremony, cupping water over and over in prayer for their dead loved ones. Just when we thought we'd seen the best of the sunrise, a shocking pink run rose out of the baby blue-grey clouds, its light gently dappled on the water. A truly stunning sight, especially on such a peaceful river. After reaching Assi Ghat- the last one out of the 20 we'd passed- and enjoying a cup of chai in a clay pot (I know I say this every time, but this was ACTUALLY one of the best I've had), we head back to our hotel. Pat even had a chance to row for a little bit- unlike the journey there, the current was going the same way as the boat!
So, all in all, we actually really enjoyed Varanasi, and was sad we'd decided to spent so little time there. No matter- for our next stop was Agra, and a domed shape white building you just might have heard of....
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
Stuck Between Carriages...
Our train journey from Gaya to Varanasi was never going to be the most pleasant- 3.15am is not any kind of time to be functioning, let alone figuring out trains. Little did we know what kind of journey it would turn out to be...
Let me put our situation into context. There were no platform announcements at Gaya Junction, so we were running around like headless chickens every time we saw a train come in. By the time our train decided to roll in, 20 minutes late, we (well I) could barely see straight. Now, these trains are loooong- and they give you about 5 minutes to find your carriage. We looked desperately for third class AC. I thought it was left, Pat thought it was right. For some reason, we decided to follow my sense of direction. ALWAYS AN ERROR! Reaching the end of the train and realising it must be at the other end, we quickly ran the other way. We were nearly there- suddenly, the train starts to slowly chug out of the station. Panicking, we quickly jump onto the moving train into 'Sleeper' class, thinking we could maybe get into 3AC that way. No such luck.
So, until the next stop an hour away, we were stuck between carriages next to the toilets. Not a happy place to be at 4am, or indeed any time, with people stepping over you and your backpack to brush their teeth. As soon as the train stopped, we rushed out into the dark, and ran like loonies towards 3AC. This would have been perfect, except the doors only opened from the inside! GENIUS! Nobody was getting out at this place in the middle of nowhere, so as the train began to chug along again, we ran to get back onto the 'Sleeper' carriage. On the upside, we got chatting to a very nice Nepalese tobacco vendor, who told us about Neapli's vs. Indian's wages- and accepted that we were pretty much screwed.
Stopping at desolate after desolate stop, in the end we admitted defeat and tried to find a bed in the carriage. Eventually an Indian leaving the train took pity on us lingering in the corridors, and said we could share his seat.
With one hour's sleep at the max under our belts, we were pretty exhausted when we arrived into Varanasi- and definitely not in the mood to be hassled by rickshaw drivers. More on that, and the surprisingly relaxed few days that followed in Varanasi, to follow...
Let me put our situation into context. There were no platform announcements at Gaya Junction, so we were running around like headless chickens every time we saw a train come in. By the time our train decided to roll in, 20 minutes late, we (well I) could barely see straight. Now, these trains are loooong- and they give you about 5 minutes to find your carriage. We looked desperately for third class AC. I thought it was left, Pat thought it was right. For some reason, we decided to follow my sense of direction. ALWAYS AN ERROR! Reaching the end of the train and realising it must be at the other end, we quickly ran the other way. We were nearly there- suddenly, the train starts to slowly chug out of the station. Panicking, we quickly jump onto the moving train into 'Sleeper' class, thinking we could maybe get into 3AC that way. No such luck.
So, until the next stop an hour away, we were stuck between carriages next to the toilets. Not a happy place to be at 4am, or indeed any time, with people stepping over you and your backpack to brush their teeth. As soon as the train stopped, we rushed out into the dark, and ran like loonies towards 3AC. This would have been perfect, except the doors only opened from the inside! GENIUS! Nobody was getting out at this place in the middle of nowhere, so as the train began to chug along again, we ran to get back onto the 'Sleeper' carriage. On the upside, we got chatting to a very nice Nepalese tobacco vendor, who told us about Neapli's vs. Indian's wages- and accepted that we were pretty much screwed.
Stopping at desolate after desolate stop, in the end we admitted defeat and tried to find a bed in the carriage. Eventually an Indian leaving the train took pity on us lingering in the corridors, and said we could share his seat.
With one hour's sleep at the max under our belts, we were pretty exhausted when we arrived into Varanasi- and definitely not in the mood to be hassled by rickshaw drivers. More on that, and the surprisingly relaxed few days that followed in Varanasi, to follow...
Sunday, 3 October 2010
The Bodhi Tree Plus Momos Minus Students= True Inner Peace!
In my last entry, I wrote of Bodhgaya's colourfulness and spirituality. After three days, I'd still stand by that, but would maybe debate the 'peaceful' part, and add that Bodhgaya's youth have far too much time on their hands...
The day we got into Bodhgaya happened to be a day off for the town's university students. Consequently, as we wandered through town at ridiculous-o-clock in the morning, we became an extra-curricular project for four animated boys. They seemed very sweet, so we let them sweep us through the town and recommend monasteries to stay in; we were grateful not to have to think too hard. We even sat down for a chai with them, and chatted a while. But then the real reason for their helpfulness became apparent- they wanted to take us to the cave temples on a motorbike. Of course, this is a very nice gesture, and ordinarily we could have jumped at the chance. The only thing was, the main guy, Sudhir, was a tad annoying and very pushy! 'You go to sleep, then I'll come and meet you with my motorbike, yes? Take you to the cave temples?' We were soon to find out that every student in town wanted to take us to these temples. Another thing about Sudhir- I was wound up that the whole time he COMPLETELY ignored me; he spoke the entire time to Pat- 'I want your hair, brother!'- and grunting whenever I spoke. Our friendship was never meant to be...We were almost tempted by the offer of a boy who had a Canadian sticker on the back of his phone- he was much more humble and a lot less annoying- but in the end we decided to venture to these caves by ourselves.
For a place that the students were insisting was a 'must-see', the auto-rickshaw driver we asked to take us to the caves took a while to understand where we wanted to go. He eventually understood though, and off we went along the bumpy road, the only rickshaw passing through small, farming mud-hut villages and sparkling green fields, rolling on to the mountains. We eventually stopped at a random hill, with our driver (who bless him, had limited English) pointing upwards. Hoping he'd brought us to the right place, we began the surprisingly steep walk up. I wanted to stop several times to admire the sweeping views, but a beggar boy followed us the whole way up, saying 'hello' 50 million times- he was a nuisance, but I admire his perseverance!
As we reached the top, we were surrounded by a swarm of Buddhist monks in white robes. Before we knew what was going on, we were ushered into a hole in the cave, where we were confronted by a big gold Buddha. It was like a sweat-box in there, so I quickly headed out- not without being guilt-tripped out of 100 Rupees first, dammit! As I came out, a bald Tibetan man, set apart from the rest in his white t-shirt and shorts, took a picture as I came out of the hole, and was wetting himself laughing at the result. He had a kind face though, so we took a few pics with him before we followed a sea of white robes down the hill again. When we reached the bottom, we saw our rickshaw driver in a deep sleep, mouth wide open, sprawled out in the backseat of the rickshaw and listening to loud hectic Hindi music. By the time we'd shaken him awake, we'd acquired a procession of colourful beggars behind us, and then around the rickshaw, constantly saying 'hello? brother? hello? sister?' Despite just waking up, our driver's reflexes were quick and we were soon bumping along the road again- this time accompanied by loud Hindi music!
It hasn't been all chaos though. Our visit to the Mahabodhi Temple reminded us of the real reason why we had come to Bodhgaya- to see the Bodhi tree, where Buddha was first enlightened, and thus Buddhism was born. The name 'Bodhgaya' is short for 'Buddha-gaya'- 'the holy city of Buddha'. Sadly, the tree is no longer there, but its descendant is in the same spot, and still has colourful Buddhists flocking around it and chanting quietly. Although inside the temple was a cluster of Buddhists praying to the golden Buddha statue, I think it was outside, in the beautiful gardens, that you really got a sense of the essence of Buddhism. In a few spots, sign-posted as places where Buddha once walked or meditated, you saw Buddhists cross-legged on the grass, alone, heads bowed as they chanted to themselves. In other spots, there was a huge group together, mostly in yellow robes, lighting candles and swaying. It certainly made you walk a little slower, take in your surroundings a little more- yet at the same time more self-aware, with no other tourists around. The outside of the temple was stunning- very similar to the Hampi style.
As I mentioned before, we stayed in the grounds of a monastery. It was certainly a different experience- not necessarily for the rooms themselves, but the sea of maroon/yellow, or sometimes orange robes, that you would see flocking out of the temples at sunset, as though personifying the dusky sky. Probably our most surreal experience with monks has been at the Tibetan Om Cafe, where a group of Tibetan monks sat and watched WWF wrestling as we sat and ate our momos!
That's the last thing I'll talk about before I wrap up- MOMOS! Tibetan dumplings, and one of the best discoveries of the trip- especially spinach and cheese!
Right, that's all for now. We head for Varanasi tonight on the train, at the unhealthy hour of 3.15am- fun fun fun! Varanasi should complement Bodhgaya nicely- along with the latter, it is one of the four significant Buddhist pilgrimage sites in India, for the reason that Buddha gave his first sermon there. We're certainly getting to know a lot about Buddhism- who knows, maybe we'll be donning the maroon and yellow robes in a week's time! See you in Varanasi, where hopefully we'll try our first meditation session! Altogether now- OM....
The day we got into Bodhgaya happened to be a day off for the town's university students. Consequently, as we wandered through town at ridiculous-o-clock in the morning, we became an extra-curricular project for four animated boys. They seemed very sweet, so we let them sweep us through the town and recommend monasteries to stay in; we were grateful not to have to think too hard. We even sat down for a chai with them, and chatted a while. But then the real reason for their helpfulness became apparent- they wanted to take us to the cave temples on a motorbike. Of course, this is a very nice gesture, and ordinarily we could have jumped at the chance. The only thing was, the main guy, Sudhir, was a tad annoying and very pushy! 'You go to sleep, then I'll come and meet you with my motorbike, yes? Take you to the cave temples?' We were soon to find out that every student in town wanted to take us to these temples. Another thing about Sudhir- I was wound up that the whole time he COMPLETELY ignored me; he spoke the entire time to Pat- 'I want your hair, brother!'- and grunting whenever I spoke. Our friendship was never meant to be...We were almost tempted by the offer of a boy who had a Canadian sticker on the back of his phone- he was much more humble and a lot less annoying- but in the end we decided to venture to these caves by ourselves.
For a place that the students were insisting was a 'must-see', the auto-rickshaw driver we asked to take us to the caves took a while to understand where we wanted to go. He eventually understood though, and off we went along the bumpy road, the only rickshaw passing through small, farming mud-hut villages and sparkling green fields, rolling on to the mountains. We eventually stopped at a random hill, with our driver (who bless him, had limited English) pointing upwards. Hoping he'd brought us to the right place, we began the surprisingly steep walk up. I wanted to stop several times to admire the sweeping views, but a beggar boy followed us the whole way up, saying 'hello' 50 million times- he was a nuisance, but I admire his perseverance!
As we reached the top, we were surrounded by a swarm of Buddhist monks in white robes. Before we knew what was going on, we were ushered into a hole in the cave, where we were confronted by a big gold Buddha. It was like a sweat-box in there, so I quickly headed out- not without being guilt-tripped out of 100 Rupees first, dammit! As I came out, a bald Tibetan man, set apart from the rest in his white t-shirt and shorts, took a picture as I came out of the hole, and was wetting himself laughing at the result. He had a kind face though, so we took a few pics with him before we followed a sea of white robes down the hill again. When we reached the bottom, we saw our rickshaw driver in a deep sleep, mouth wide open, sprawled out in the backseat of the rickshaw and listening to loud hectic Hindi music. By the time we'd shaken him awake, we'd acquired a procession of colourful beggars behind us, and then around the rickshaw, constantly saying 'hello? brother? hello? sister?' Despite just waking up, our driver's reflexes were quick and we were soon bumping along the road again- this time accompanied by loud Hindi music!
It hasn't been all chaos though. Our visit to the Mahabodhi Temple reminded us of the real reason why we had come to Bodhgaya- to see the Bodhi tree, where Buddha was first enlightened, and thus Buddhism was born. The name 'Bodhgaya' is short for 'Buddha-gaya'- 'the holy city of Buddha'. Sadly, the tree is no longer there, but its descendant is in the same spot, and still has colourful Buddhists flocking around it and chanting quietly. Although inside the temple was a cluster of Buddhists praying to the golden Buddha statue, I think it was outside, in the beautiful gardens, that you really got a sense of the essence of Buddhism. In a few spots, sign-posted as places where Buddha once walked or meditated, you saw Buddhists cross-legged on the grass, alone, heads bowed as they chanted to themselves. In other spots, there was a huge group together, mostly in yellow robes, lighting candles and swaying. It certainly made you walk a little slower, take in your surroundings a little more- yet at the same time more self-aware, with no other tourists around. The outside of the temple was stunning- very similar to the Hampi style.
As I mentioned before, we stayed in the grounds of a monastery. It was certainly a different experience- not necessarily for the rooms themselves, but the sea of maroon/yellow, or sometimes orange robes, that you would see flocking out of the temples at sunset, as though personifying the dusky sky. Probably our most surreal experience with monks has been at the Tibetan Om Cafe, where a group of Tibetan monks sat and watched WWF wrestling as we sat and ate our momos!
That's the last thing I'll talk about before I wrap up- MOMOS! Tibetan dumplings, and one of the best discoveries of the trip- especially spinach and cheese!
Right, that's all for now. We head for Varanasi tonight on the train, at the unhealthy hour of 3.15am- fun fun fun! Varanasi should complement Bodhgaya nicely- along with the latter, it is one of the four significant Buddhist pilgrimage sites in India, for the reason that Buddha gave his first sermon there. We're certainly getting to know a lot about Buddhism- who knows, maybe we'll be donning the maroon and yellow robes in a week's time! See you in Varanasi, where hopefully we'll try our first meditation session! Altogether now- OM....
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