Mumbai

I didn't know that Mumbai/Bombay is the second largest city in the world. If I had I wouldn't have been so surprised that it took over three hours to get from the outskirts into its center and a further hour to get to my accommodation. Mumbai is insanely big.

I stayed with the Salvation Army. No, things hadn't got so bad that I had needed the support of a charity. Rather it represented pretty much the only cheap accommodation in Mumbai. It also turned out to be a superb place to meet lots of old and new friends. It wasn't the Taj hotel, but it was next door!

If India is to project itself as a future world power then it needs to pin all of its hopes on Mumbai. Quite simply, stick it in continental Europe and it wouldn't look out of place. Rickshaws are banned in the south of the city, instead they are replaced by funky and even metered taxis!!! Garbage trucks exist as do wheelie bins and there is a distinct lack of cows and the mess they bring. I even saw a man walking a dog with a lead and a harness. Mumbai doesn't just feel continental it looks it too. Tall skyscrapers shape the skyline and people wander the streets in much more western attire. Speaking to people who's first stop in India was Mumbai it felt to them as manic and chaotic as any other arrival to India. Compared to the North however, for me, it felt like a home from home.

It was a city you just wandered around. There are so many beautifully crafted buildings that you just keep tripping over. The Gateway to India, the Taj Hotel, the University, the Victorian train station and the High Court were all incredibly impressive. Inside the High Court was also fascinating however we predictably found ourselves in the most boring courtroom in the world where the prosecutor openly admitted that he was quoting selectively from sentences. There was paper and bureaucracy everywhere. That part was typically Indian. From the different green areas you could admire all of these buildings whilst watching tons of overlapping cricket games. How they knew who was playing which game was mind boggling!



My enduring memory of Mumbai however will be courtesy of its central asset...Bollywood. It happened by chance. Jamie, who I had met in the dorm rooms had heard of an opportunity and knew they were on the search for others. I picked up the phone and rang. From the moment the man on the other end introduced himself as "my name is Sanjay and I...I am from Bollywood!" I knew it would be a memorable experience. After a chat, Mr Bollywod said he would send a car at 8am sharp to take us to the film set.

8am came and went. As it turns out the bus had arrived at 7:30. But Mr Bollywod needed his stars and sent a car with tinted windows and leather seats to pick us up. Inside was already seated Henry, an Aussie, who had also missed the bus. From here we were whisked away to a shopping center. Unsurprisingly it took ages having to navigate gridlocked traffic.

The set was TGI Friday's. I got dressed into a low cut top with more glitter on it than any man should ever be allowed to wear. I then had make up applied and gel was poured into my hair and stylised into an eccentric style. I was apparently trendy. We hung around for an hour laughing and speculating as to our role. Actors built like brickhouses and pristine actresses shared the same room as us. They all lived out of a mirror. Finally it was our time. We were guided into the diner and people were dispatched to tables. Food that was on the tables had been there for days. They showed golf rather than cricket on the TV's. Except for the Indian actor and actress, everything was Western. Despite the build-up it was not to be my time. In a crushing blow the director removed everyone sporting white shirts. Gutted five of us sat depressed in the communal area as the shoot took place. Resigned to missing out we got changed. We were pleased to be getting 500 rupees but disappointed not to have got a shot at the big time.

As it turned out we were only on that set because some of the other extras had walked out after a long shift and little food. Life as an extra can be cruel. In a change of fortunes we were to be paid not only for doing nothing on that set but we would also be heading further North where we would get a new opportunity with what we hoped would be a less cruel film set.

This film set was situated near the airport so it yet again required an agonising journey. The only high point was that it continued in the flash car. Eventually we arrived at a small building, hidden away in the suburbs. The resident dogs body explained that the general outline of the film was that we were filming the part of where the two lead characters were under arrest. The taller extras would play Spanish policemen. They got full uniforms, guns and had to have a full shave. Rather pleasingly myself and the German Jonus were also identified as having a good look for the shoot. It later turned out that it was a good look for a Spanish criminal. Yet again hair and make-up was done but this time in the producers coach and by a team of stylists. Like any Bollywood star, I had taken a knock, but there I was, rising from the ashes, ready to prove my white shirt haters wrong!

What actually emerged was a long time sat outside, chatting and playing cards. The set itself was a hive of activity. People sat looking through Bollywood hopefuls portfolios, security guards patrolled the perimeter and all numbers of people did all numbers of jobs. There were so many people that it was hard to comprehend what 90% of them were actually doing. The only consistent thing was a call for silence every 3 or so minutes as they did another take inside the building. By far the biggest highpoint of the set was having a personal chef and three buffets over the course of the day. I can't put into words just how good the food was. Unlike Hollywood extras, we were treated very well and were always first to and last from the buffet table.

It was some four hours after arriving on set that my big chance came. I was grabbed by one of the dogs bodies and pulled into a so called Spanish police station. But as soon as I was in I suffered yet more heartbreak. They didn't need me. I went and sat back outside with the others. Two minutes later I was back inside again. However again I was rejected. This time terribly confused at the lack of any sort of plan from the director I was bundled into a side office. Finally I was then dragged back onto set, this time to stay. I was given a detailed run down of my role. I had to stand and look at a piece of paper being held by a polieman in the back office as a camera pans in on the lead characters. To be honest, I played my role perfectly. It did take two attempts but that was because the lead actor forgot his lines. At the end everyone applauded, I took the applause with grace. They announced it was lunch. All the extras on set applauded.

Bursting from lunch we all slumped in chairs, underneath the relentless sun. At 4pm we were told our job was done and we could go home six hours early. We collected another 500 rupees from the set and took part in another grueling trip back. It would have been quicker to get to Cornwall from Bristol I recon. The highlight however was the entertaining traffic jam sellers who would attempt to thrust everything and anything through the windows of cars convinced you wanted it. But I just didn't feel like a half broken plastic Santa.

In celebration of our upcoming fame we settled down to a number of beers around Mumbai. Leopalds was a terrible disappointment and after another bar we made use of a local off license and sat down on the steps over looking the Gateway to India. It was a great day and a great city.

Merry Christmas!

I can't lie. It's going to be a tough one not being there for Christmas and New Year. But I suppose I'm just going to have to struggle on through it.



Have a good'un!

Udaipur

The lonely planet describes the journey from Bundi to Udaipur as for sadists and masochists only. I thought they were being melodramatic but as it turns out they were right. Over the course of ten hours, I was smashed into a thousand pieces. On arrival I was slowly re-built and admired the huge lake that I looked upon from my hotel rooftop. It always amazes me how in India, the cheapest places have the best location and views.

The sight from the rooftop overlooking the lake and the City palace, made the journey worthwhile, which is lucky because the rest of the place flattered to deceive. Walking around the lake was near impossible and the shops were personally uninspiring. That said it is a rather spectacular place to look upon, just limiting in what you can do.

My enduring memory of Udaipur will be of the walk I took on my first day. It was a failure in the sense that I struggled to get to the waters edge and at one point hit a dead end. Rather than re-trace my tracks I took a side road. Immediately I was set upon by as close to a rabid dog as I have encountered to date. I was saved from needing a rabies jab by a passing motorcyclist who chased it away with his bike. A minute later I passed a temporary homeless camp where the parents, in unison, pointed at me and what felt like a thousand children ran towards me. Each one begged for a different thing. It was like I was in a zombie film. Luckily I've learnt that you can out walk any type or age of beggar. They have no stamina. Finally I turned the corner to find myself starring down an elephant. It was wondering on its own down the center of the road and causing all sorts of havoc. It was one of those moments that showed me why India is such an exciting and interesting place to be. Good or bad, it's just so unpredictable.

Bundi

Eat your heart out and move aside Jodhpur. Bundi really is quite blue!

I arrived at 3am and sat in the bus station surrounded by homeless people sleeping. Occasionally one would wake up, squint their eyes, decide the site of a white guy sat reading a book at that hour was too unusual and fall back to sleep. It was silent. Who needs the desert?

Eventually I gained the strength to wonder the streets. I found the lake and sat watching another wonderful sunset. I looked around me and remembered a conversation I had had with a Canadian doctor in Jodhpur. He had explained the looks and expressions he had received when he went out jogging one morning. I agreed that personal fitness seemed unheard of in India. Well maybe that is the case in the rest of India but Bundi has obviously been visited by some form of sports guru. Everywhere I looked people were doing stretches! On the slide, the ghats, on steps and seats, all ages and both sexes were stretching. By far the strangest site was seeing an elderly lady, dressed modestly including a coat and head scarf, doing star jumpes. There were tons of people doing each stretch and exercise entirely wrong. I am happy not to be a doctor in Bundi. The shortness of the exercises (averaging around three minutes), the time in the morning (6am) along with the sheer numbers of people (50 or so in an hour!) made for a very disorientating start to the day.

I spent the first day hanging after two hour sleep. I drank chai, chatted to fellow travelers and marveled at Bundi's kite wars. We wondered if they made the kites themselves or were there really kite shops? The day was relaxing and uneventful. I slept undisturbed for fifteen hours!

The next day I visited the Palace. The building is strikingly sat, perilously on the side of the hill. Its design is such that Peter Jackson could easily have filmed Lord of the Rings here. Some people like pristine and lovingly refurbished buildings. This palace would not be for them. Decaying and unloved it sits much as when its last inhabitants left. You wonder from room to room marvelling at untouched history. Paintings, centuries old, crumbled before my eyes. Standing on one of the royal balconies I looked out on the sea of blue. I felt like a King. With no information boards, this was site seeing at its most primative. To me it was thrilling. From so little it was amazing how easily history can come alive.

I wondered down into the old town and got lost in a chorus of hellos and namastes. People were even friendlier here. I came across a kite shop. Or to be more precise kite street. For references sake it's next to jar and bowl street, just after duvet street. I love how in India one man (I crossed out person because clearly in India it would be a man) will come up with an idea and then every other shop will copy him and sell exactly the same thing. No more was this shown than in Jodhpur where four different stalls, along a main road, in a very poor area, sold inflatable animals, meant for swimming pools! The entrepreneurial brain is lacking for majority India. That said at night it makes navigation easy and is a clear reason why they don't bother with street names.

In the evening I met a couple of Londoners (one who was born and brought up in Edmonton!) who I had previously met on the road. This happens a lot as everyone broadly follows the same route. We went walking around the streets and came across the wedding party that had earlier awoken me from my slumber. The older than normal groom sat authoritatively upon his horse. There were two karts at the front and back of the procession. With large speakers that blasted out different types of music. In the middle was a spotlight shining on the crowd and two marching bands each one playing different tunes and battling to be heard against the speakers. Essentially it all boiled down to creating as much noise as possible. The women walked at the back. Hundreds of men danced madly in the middle. At various points we were grabbed and pulled into the near mosh pit, much to the delight of the crowd. Large fire works were lit sending the crowd running back for cover. Then the speakers and band would start again and so would the dancing. It was highly entertaining.



For my final day I wondered a few km to where Rudyard Kipling wrote part of Kim. By the small palace was a huge lake. Surrounded by hills it was beautiful and yet typically Indian. A large array of bird life lived in amongst the litter that sat around the inner parts of the lake. Any attempts to get to the waters edge were near impossible. It's a common problem with India that so many of it's charms are in no way accessible for tourism.

Jodhpur

Jodhpur was nice. Not my favourite Indian city so far but it came close. It lacked the excitement and variety of Varanasi but provided an enjoyable almost relaxing stop. A strange occurrence in an Indian city.

I think that its niceness came from its ability to be as inoffensive and unintrusive as it could possibly be. Rickshaws crawled past but said nothing. Shop oweners chatted about their goods without trying the hard sell. In the old part of the city you didn't continuously fear of being crushed or stampeded to death.

And with that niceness essentially came an uneventful stop. The fort dominated the horizon and was good to walk around but aren't they always? The old city was a manageable hive of activity but nothing extraordinary. The people were lovely and helpful. Despite my mundane write up it is a place that I have thoroughly enjoyed visiting and would recommend it as an essential stop in Rajasthan. Fundamentally it was so refreshing to find a place that is well...nice!



To leave Jodhpur I went to the bus station . It's always a hectic way to end your stay in a place as people scramble for tickets or seats. I navigated my way to ticket counter number one which incredibly only had one person in line. It was there that I cracked. I'm normally very tolerant when it comes to getting tickets and can hold my own when I need to but I just couldn't bothered with elbows out. Instead as a middle aged man decided to push past and shout over everyone to buy a ticket I promptly informed him of the queue he had somehow not noticed. Confused, I showed him where to stand and what to do. Encouragingly he followed and filed in behind me. Ten seconds later he repeatedly tapped me on the shoulder and showed me the outstretched palm demonstrating unfairness. He mumbled in self pity. Two other men had pushed past and were barking out demands for tickets. Understanding the need for consistency I showed them too how to queue and returned to my place in the line. After a minute or so I turned around to see others joining a perfectly formed queue. Everyone was smiling, thoroughly chuffed with our accomplishments.

Finally it was my turn at the counter. It was at that point that I remembered that getting to it was only half of the problem:

"I'd like to buy a ticket to Bundi please"
"Wrong counter"
"But this is the ticket counter for buses in Rajasthan!"
"Yes but not for Bundi, you need that counter" (waves hand in an obscure and unhelpful way)

I looked around at the scrummages forming at the other counters and decided to find my own way onto the bus.

When finally departing we drove past an army base. There was a roundabout outside. In its center was a downed Pakistani plane. The more I am in India the more confused I am of their relationship. The triumphalism of this site was a little scary.

BIkaner

"So your going hours out of your way, to a grubby city which even the guidebooks struggle to find many positives about, which has a fort, but you've seen enough of those to last a life time and all to go another hour outside to visit a temple and you've declared how fed up you are of continuously seeing amazing temples! What has gotten into you?"

It was a question that I had been asked a surprising number of times and one that I could only offer the weakest of defenses. I had even begun to doubt my own rationale. None the less I made the trip to Bikaner arriving at 4am in the morning and comforted myself with Chai and an assortment of street food. One such food was a chili rapped in batter and complemented with a variety of spices. That was a surprising shock in the morning when I bit into that.

As it turns out the guidebooks were correct. Bikaner is a big Indian city without any sights. The Fort was nice, especially the interior but I have seen plenty of better forts since arriving in India. Other than that it is the traditional dirt filled, over congested, incredibly noisy city. If it had one thing going for it, it would be the friendliness of the population. There was no hassle and a barrage of people wanting to greet and talk without any motivation other than to be nice. It felt like a city which tourism had passed by. Everything was in Hindi and the people stared like no other place has starred so far. At one point I had around ten people crowded around my computer screen as I tried to read Facebook.

So why Bikaner? Well come the second day I was excited. I joined with a Canadian couple and we hopped onto a local bus to a place called Deshnok. Here there is a temple that looks like any other temple. You take your shoes off, admire the outside and the superb architecture and finally walk inside. There you find pictures of deities, beautiful carvings, places for donations and hundreds of disease infested rats. Yes for some inescapable reason Deshnok has built a temple dedicated to rats.



Within the walls rats are considered sacred. People come to leave food donations and pray that one will run over their feet as apparently, it brings good luck. It is considered auspicious to eat the food after the rats have finished. A maze of tunnels and holes in the walls leave hundreds of rats free to pop out throughout the different buildings. There is plenty of screaming and laughter as the rats jump out and catch people by surprise. However the thing that is most incredible about the temple is that it is an important pilgrimage sight. For us it was a place of humor and intrigue, for many it is a place of religious importance and part of their spiritual lives. I wasn't sold on it but seeing rats in the kitchen area, climbing over each other and out of pots and pans to drink milk out of a bowl is just one of the many sights in that temple that I am not going to forget easily.



We left and ate at a street kitchen directly opposite. It was probably the first restaurant where you could be sure that there were no rats in the kitchen. This was based on the fact that they were so well looked after in the temple, even with the doors wide open, none seemed willing to leave.

Jaisalmer

Jaisalmer was a place of many firsts and some lasts. As a town it grows on you the more time you spend there. It's stand out feature is its fort which perches above the new town. Not only is it striking in its appearance but it is still inhabited by some 2000 people. Such is the sizable numbers that in a number of years it may no longer exist due to its walls crumbling away.

In some ways the fort disappointed. I imagined it to be a bustling hive of activity along its small streets. Instead it all felt very chilled and relaxed. Only the shop owners were visible, everyone else seemed to be on vacation. However when walking around you feel as if you are in a museum. The architecture was astounding. The carvings and patterns, mesmerizing. At its center stands seven Jain temples. I've never been in a Jain temple, neither was I entirely sure what a Jain was. On the way in there was a sign stating 'no women on a period allowed in'. That didn't disallow me which was lucky because the temples were incredible. The rock carvings were beyond anything I have ever seen in a temple. The outside had been impressive but the inside dazzled. I spent the rest of the day at a lake, surrounded by ancient ruins and more grand buildings steeped in history.

The other main reason that people come to Jaisalmer is to go on a camel safari. I've never been on a camel before, nor seen a desert so it was all a little exciting. So at 9am around 30km outside of Jaisalmer I stood in desert scrub awaiting the arrival of the camels. I was joined by Dom, there is no wind or rain in one of the driest deserts in the world, Feurado (we had previously met in Pushkar) and a Japanese guy who's name escapes me. The camels arrived and the scene was set. A ride into the desert in the blazing hot sun, to dreamy sand dunes, a night under the stars and a day ride back. We got on our camels. They were very tall. They were also all males. Mine was called Sonia! I felt sorry for it and changed his name to Barry. Dom's went from Rocket to Eric and the other camel from the cool Johnny Walker to Jessica. It was with little surprise that the camel would give our Japanese friend a few bumps along the way. All ready we rode out into an overcast sky, drizzling rain and strong winds.

I'm not going to lie to you, riding a camel was torture. I love them, I really do. Their expressions, their mood swings, their awkward movements but there is little joy to riding them. We were always relieved whenever we had a break and got to do some sightseeing. At one point we visited a local village. We were told to beware of the children. We saw no one but spent much time joking about what exactly we had to be careful of. Just how scary can a kid asking for a pen or a photo be? It turns out quite scary. The other part of our group (riding separately) were threatened with a rock unless they gave a young kid 10 rupees!

On arrival at the sand dunes I could not move. Dom after finally managing to sit down, sat transfixed looking at his legs shaking. When I was not laughing I was silently crying. After an hour sat on the verge of paralysis I fully appreciated my first ever desert. The sand dunes were something else. Sure sun would have been nice but the scenery shone on its own.

For the whole trip our every need was waited upon by our camel driver and his trusty companion. The food and chai that they cooked up was typical of Rajasthan, delicious! It was whilst enjoying a cup of Chai that the clouds began to break. There may have been no traditional sunset but the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the clouds painted the sky red in the most dramatic way that I think I have ever seen. Half way through the light show a man rode up on a camel with a bag full of fruit and a number of beers. I couldn't think of a better place to enjoy a nice cold, out of date beverage (or three).



Come the evening we sat around a campfire, listening to local songs, drinking and chatting to the other group, who safe from their rock throwing incident, had arrived and pitched on the next dune. Even with the fire you could not see much more than a foot away. It was pitch black. When no one was talking the silence was incredible. I don't think I've ever appreciated silence as much as I did on that day. From months of car horns, pumping stereos and the general loudness of the Indian population, total silence is a God send.

Eventually we went to bed under the clouds. I'm pretty sure that I've never slept out in the open before. It was great. At 11pm I awoke. The clouds had gone and some stars were in the sky. But most notable was the almost full moon. I've never appreciated just how much light a full moon reflects. I noticed Dom had awoken. He looked up, nodded towards the sky, put his thumb in the air and went back to sleep. He remembers none of it! When we awoke we were served breakfast whilst the sun broke through the last remaining clouds. Again it was beautiful.

Unanimously all deemed the pain on the camels worth it but few wanted back on. Around an hour into the second day I built up enough courage to go surfer style and sit sideways. It was a lot less secure, however it was also a lot more comfortable! On our arrival back I felt whacked. Every muscle hurt. It's hard work sitting on a camel all day.

Outside of my first live able fort, first Jain temple, first desert, first night out under the stars and first camel ride, Jaisalmer was also home to my first cow attack. After joking with Dom at how upset the cow looked and how its mascara had run it promptly decided to spear me with its horns. It was one depressed cow! I got off with a temporary red mark but it will be a long time before I go insulting a cow to its face again!

Pushkar - The Camel Fair 2010 Part Two

The day started the same as any other. I have one consistency in my life at the moment and that is having a good breakfast. In Pushkar this looked ominous what with them banning eggs and all! Luckily I had found one, an all you can eat affair and all for the sum of one pound. Full, close to sick, I staggered towards the main arena to see the first day events in the main arena.

It was whilst I was enjoying the delights of a dancing monkey show that two English girls approached. They explained that there would be a tourists vs locals football match starting at 10am and they were on the hunt for players as the team was short of a couple. I agreed to play and signed up with the Indian organiser. A quick check of the watch suggested only 15 minutes until kick off.

After getting acquainted with the mostly UK based team (there was also an Aussie, an American and a German, come Spaniard, come Caribbean guy), we were all quite relaxed. A bunch of youngsters hung around. We assumed it was them that we were playing. At one point a man sat with some of the kids and we could make out a formation and tactics scrawled on a piece of paper. We laughed. Just how seriously were they going to be for a friendly kick around between us and some kids?

An hour passed and there was no sign of anything happening. The stadium was filling up and the flag unveiling had just taken place. It was at this point that we were ushered towards the touchline. There we were presented with a (strangely for India) over-sized kit. We had numbers written with a ball point pen onto the shirt. We felt embarrassed. Our opposition did not have a kit.

And then from the corner of the stadium walked in a team of adults all in full kit, shin pads and boots. They looked a serious force. Some of our players were in bare feet. They shuddered. From this moment on things started to get strange. We had to participate in seven team photos, each with large groups of photographers and varying sizes of lenses. In typical Indian style all but one of these was taking in the most obscure, unphotogenic place that they could find. The stadium was heaving. We estimated somewhere around 1500 people. But despite team photos being completed and all kitted up it still was not time to play. It was clearly a game working to Indian time!

Hundreds of beautifully dressed women performed a dance on the pitch. That's our warm up act we joked. Then there were the camel races, surely the main event of a camel festival? It then dawned on us. We were the main event.

Police cleared the sand filled pitch and stood around the perimeter with clubs in hand. Spectators packed out the stands and the touchlines. Crowds gathered around where us and our opposition stood. A band started playing and opposing players started dancing.

We walked onto the pitch feeling a little star struck by all of the attention. It wasn't the end of it. We lined up around the center circle facing our opposition. There a camera panned across our faces. I felt like singing the national anthem. Over the tannoy the teams were read out. I missed my name because out of the corner of my eye, our captain (a semi-pro and a player we had pinned all of our hopes on) had been called to the front of our line to introduce what turned out to be Sports Minister. He walked along shaking hands and wishing every player good luck followed by numerous family members, security guards and the press. With the ball in the center circle and us all in position, there was still time for the Sports Minister to do a ceremonial kick off. In front of the hoards of reporters, he booted the ball clear over their heads much to the delight of the crowd.

The drumming continued, the crowd roared and they kicked off. The game started with a number of our team blinded by the sand that flew up every time that the ball was kicked. It would take a while to get used to playing on sand, especially one with a cement cricket pitch across the edge of our area! However we adapted quickly and took control. An attacking masterclass brought an early goal but it was swiftly disallowed as the linesman had adjudged us to be offside. It would not be the first time. In total I counted over twenty offside of which only a handful looked acceptable.

Fortunately our disappointment would not last long as a cross from the right alluded everyone allowing number 13, Rob UK to volley the ball with the outside of his boot into the top corner of the net. Bewildered and shocked all I could muster was an Alan Shearer esq celebration before being mobbed my fellow team members. It was a waste. Klingsmans dive, kart wheels, a camel related celebration, there were so many options but none were taken.

We soon doubled our lead and went into the break two nil up and dying in the heat. Huge numbers of people crowded around and watched as we drenched ourselves in water. I enjoyed the admiration, almost idolism of the youth who had decided that my goal somehow made me a world class player. It was fine by me for them to discard the rest of my performance.

After dominating the first half in the second half we capitulated. I found myself unable to run and to far away from the other touchline to organise a substitution. Our rock solid 4-4-2 was reduced to a 4-0-6 as we struggled to muscle any strength to defend. They scored a peach of a goal. A 40 yard looping shot that had us all applauding. More offsides fell our way and more chances theirs, but they took none of them.

Finally after what felt like hours, the final whistle sounded. Strangely many in the crowd celebrated. We later found out it was only the second time that the tourists had ever beaten the locals and that meant they expected a lot more money would be spent in Pushkar that night!

Our rewards were to be given trophies and certificated in front of the main stand. Another team photo followed, one that would appear in every Hindi newspaper. And then we were mobbed by tv crews and radio mikes. It was insane. Some of them were actually beaming out live. After what seemed like an age we returned to a cafe and celebrated with pizza and soft drinks. Of all the places to record a superb sporting achievement Pushkar is not the place. It has banned alcohol.

Over the course of the next few days I achieved an upgrade in my hotel room and received numerous congratulations from random people in the street. Some players were stopped and recognised from TV. It truly was an incredibly confusing and amusing few days.

Pushkar - The Camel Fair 2010 Part One

I must apologise in advance for this double header. Pushkar has been my longest stop to date. Nine whole days! It has also been one of the most spectacular, wonderfully wacky and memorable stops so far. To save insomnia I'll split the next blog entries into two. Part one will be about Pushkar and the festival that took place. Part two will be the very lucky opportunity I was given and over the course of the next few years will probably bore half the population with over inflated stories about it!

So here we go...

I arrived at my hostel on the back of a motorbike. My initial excitement was put on hold by the realisation that my first ride on a bike was on Indian roads, with an Indian driver, no safety equipment and a 55l backpack on my back. It passed without incident.

Twenty minutes later I was by the lake with a coconut and a colourful arrangement of flowers in my hand, taking part in a listen and repeat conversation with a priest of some sorts. The relative calmness and laid back atmosphere of Pushkar had bred complacency. Before I knew where I was I had been whisked to the waters edge and was taking part in an elaborate religious ceremony all in the name of the festival taking place. The 'priest' had clearly stated that I couldn't be so disrespectful to their festival could I? After a number of minutes of repeating everything he said I realised that he was not speaking Hindi but rather English in a thick Indian accent. What I had been repeating back to him were words not even slightly resembling English! None the less with a ribbon around my wrist and all sorts of petals and the coconut floating in the lake it seemed to be a success. Now for the good news. It turns out the whole ceremony was to wish good health, happiness and prosperity to family and friends. The bad news was that I only gave ten rupees (11p) donation which would barely have paid for half a coconut let alone everyone's happiness. The 'priest' assured me that everyone would be a lot happier with a larger donation. I left.

Scenically Pushkar is beautiful. A large lake sits in the middle, where people come to bathe daily. Come the full moon over one million will wash themselves in the water. Incredible for such a tiny place. The town that surrounds the lake is very touristy however it is steeped in history. There are no modern buildings here. Hundreds of temples create an incredible view when overlooking the city from rooftop cafes, or wondering around the small streets. Towering, imposing hills surround the town giving the feeling of almost total isolation.



In the days that I arrived, Pushkar literally tripped in size. On the far side of town two very different areas developed. There was the cattle grounds and closer to the town the festival area. How both of them coexisted and worked together was continuously complexing but both of their existences made Pushkar a place of continuous entertainment and joy.

I visited the cattle grounds and camel area on the first day expecting little. I tagged along with Raymond, a guy from Belgium who was leaving the following day. Both of us expected to see camels but not be lost in a sea of them. But that was exactly what happened. Hundreds of nomads with their colourful turbans and fantastic facial hair had brought with them thousands of camels to sell and trade. It was a confusing sight not least that there was such a demand in India for that many camels on a yearly basis. Walking amongst them left both of us astounded. Camels really are bizarre creatures. Whether a creationist or an evolutionist neither can surely explain how we arrived a a camel!



The following days I loved losing myself amongst them. Sitting and watching their mood swings as their owners fought to control them. The sight itself was made even more spectacular by the scenery. Dessert scrub and surrounding hills for as far as you could see. I wondering out into it on one day. After a few minutes I was alone listening to the Jurassic Park sound effects CD (also known as camel noises). I was joined by a friendly Indian guy who had traipsed out after me just to find out where I was going. I told him I didn't know, he looked confused and went back amongst the camels. I love some Indians thirst to know exactly where every tourist is going.

Nature was everywhere. I followed snake tracks in the sand until I found large snake skins and decided that I no longer wanted to discover the snakes. All sorts of birds and animals made all sorts of calls. I came across wild deer and camel herders marching vast numbers of camels to and from the festival. It was beautiful. After a while I saw a group of goats, four camels and a man waving an axe at me. I had been reading Stephen King. I headed back. Turned out he just wanted to show off the camels he owned. He spoke little English and seeing that I did not have two hundred pounds on me nor a wife to trade one for, I left him alone.

Whilst the camels (there were also hundreds of horses and cattle too) created an unforgettable scene, the events in the fair were equally memorable. Hundreds of temporary shops selling items from the elaborate and expensive textiles to the cheap and ridiculous plastic gadgets (note to Caroline, the present I bought for William may or may not have come from this category). Sellers auditioned for the apprentice as they attempted to sell the impossible. Their continuous error was miscalculating the market though. It was hilarious watching one man try and convince a seventy year old American tourist that he really did want a yellow toy car aimed at a two year old. The American was not so sure. To the Indian he was in living in denial and needed awakening.

One of the great things about Rajasthan is the bright and flamboyant colours. Along the roads leading to the festival women wearing incredible outfits would rush in groups to tourists and demand to shake their hands. Before the unsuspecting tourist realised they had a flower drawn on their hands and were being asked for money. Even before getting anywhere near the main arena, there was way to much entertainment to enjoy!

The festival program was as if someone had drawn it up especially for me. Almost all notion of culture had gone out the window. It had been replaced by who can dress up a camel the best, who has the best moustache and who can tie a turban the quickest competitions. Various sports took place including wrestling, Kabbadi and some sort of cricket meets Jenga game. Women raced against each other with pots of water on their heads, Snake charmers huddled in corners. I say snake charmers, but their act seemed to mostly involve either demanding money when showing the cobra or throwing it at someone and then asking for money. Whatever it involved little charming. There was also the quite superb magician who presented his act in Hindi. Maybe it was the language barrier but his act made no sense. He would hide a coin in his left hand make lots of magical gestures and then the coin would still be in his left hand. Everyone would clap. Any tourists watching would stand bemused and confused.

There were all sorts of dancing acts. Girls on tightropes, toddlers and their fathers, camels and horses. All were great. The best though was dancing monkeys. Now I need no lectures in animal rights, I know it is wrong and cruel but I would challenge anyone not to crack up when they see a monkey in a flowery dress doing a dance resembling Saturday Night Fever. The other monkey performed various jumps and tricks including a James Bond pose with a gun. They seemed to have an incredible ability to respond to their owners instructors. A number of times during an act (yes I went numerous numbers of times and to various different dancing monkey groups!) the monkey would shake its head at the commands and instead decide to either attack the owner, crowd of one another. It was cruel, horrible but at the same time funny and enlightening! If only their was a way that monkeys could learn to dance and entertain without a chain around their necks.

You might think to yourself that that would be more than enough but that was not all. Amongst all the fantastically dangerous Victorian rides there was a wall of death. Seriously mind boggling, two cars and one motorbike managed to ride up an essentially vertical slope. The drivers hung out of doors, stood on seats and took money from the crowd. We were watching Gods amongst men. With no safety equipment, and no windows removed from the cars, I was glad that they remembered to always lock the car doors after use. A lot can go wrong in a sealed arena.

My lasting moments in Pushkar before I caught the bus out was seeing hot air balloons being released into the sunset. However the beauty but most of all calmness as you looked up into the sky was soon changed when you looked at where they were taking off from. Unlike in the UK where you would have to stand a distance away from the balloon as it was being filled with air, in India there was no such perimeter. Instead hundreds of Indians, many seeing a hot air balloon for the first time, pulled at the balloons, tried to get inside of them and even walked over the top. Three guys looking fresh out of Oxbridge were in charge of one such balloon. I was in stitches watching them as they tried desperately to explain to the large Indian crowd the cost of the balloon and the fact that they didn't want it falling out of the sky. It fell on deaf ears.

Jaipur

I didn't like Jaipur. The city was large, polluted and over populated. Largely the Indian people I met there were not nice. Years of tourist groups passing by had taught them bad lessons on how to deal with visitors to their city. I saw two sights. The Jantar Mantar was pretty quirky and strangely compelling. Seeing so many wacky devices to tell the time and measure altitude made for one of the few hours spent well. I will admit though I desperately needed you there Dan to help me make sense of how each device worked. The Indian translated signs just didn't help much. The main site, the Hawal Mahal had some nice views but they were over Jaipur so that was a let down! After that I pretty much hid away, I really couldn't be bothered with the city.

Just before my extensive sightseeing I did bump into one local who became my guide. He was a lovely chap up until the point that I became suspicious as to his answers to a few of my questions. Firstly he hesitated momentarily on his subject of study and then said Art. But no one in India studies anything over than engineering, business or computer science (although many never get to touch a computer). Secondly for a man who had a mother as a doctor and a father as a lawyer he seemed to be known by every rickshaw driver. Eventually and much to his dismay, we were friends after all, I bid him farewell. A number of hours later a different guy approached me and used exactly the same starter question. My response sent him running away and me smiling. Maybe I should seek out employment in a detective agency because I had successfully revealed two gem scammers in one day! But the fact was I was incredibly impressed with them. They were so smooth, so sincere and masters at disguising themselves as genuinely nice people. It was easy to see why thousands of people lose thousands of pounds every year to these people.

If there was one redeeming factor to Jaipur it was the food. I had my best thali. I almost had to sit on my plate to stop them serving me more food when I was full. They seemed to enjoy feeding the only tourist until he exploded or had a fire in his mouth. I also had my best curry. It was cooked to perfection with all the loving care and attention you would expect from one man and his cooker in a backstreet restaurant. And then lastly my best lassi. Simply amazing.

Unsurprisingly the bus to Pushkar was tourist heavy. Everyone was unanimous in their dislike of Jaipur. Which whilst pleasing in that I was persuaded that the sights that I had missed was a wise choice, it was also a little bit sad. It would have been nice for one person on that bus to have enjoyed their stay. Half an hour later on the journey, Suzzanne, a Liverpublian noticed the address on a street sign. She turned around and expressed in horror that we were still in Jaipur. Lock the doors, turn off the lights, no one make a sound! It was one of those places.

Agra

It was the morning after the night before when my train pulled into Agra. Looking out a thick fog hung over the city. It didn't leave until late afternoon and in tune with the film 'the fog', I expected something quite gruesome to emerge. But at first it seemed that Agra had repented and was now on course for redemption! I couldn't help but ask myself, this nice side of Agra cannot last can it?

As a city Agra was a typical Indian affair, dirty, noisy and congested. However the locals that I met there made up for it. There was the rickshaw driver who seemed to be achieving the impossible by funding his childrens successful education. The group of males interested in politics not least the incident in Amritsar where British soldiers opened fire on Indian protesters. And the various small time restaurant owners one of which would greet you like a long lost family member even if just passing by. It was a pleasure. But the one thing that made Agra so special was that little known building that I first saw emerge from behind the fog whilst sat in my rooftop restaurant. The Taj Mahal looked incredible.

The first day I spent exploring the local bazaars and slumping myself in-front of the box. I had not watched TV for two months. I hadn't missed it. But when it was there the pull was to great. Starting with Magicians Greatest Secrets 4 I was captivated. Later the Simpsons, plus ample amounts of Premiership football almost had me hugging it.

The following day I was up early and at the gates of the Taj eager and excited. I had checked with the helpful Indian police sat around working hard at the gate where I bought my ticket. They assured me you bought it inside the gates. 5 or so minutes later the gate keeper arrived. "Have you got a ticket?" he asked. A 30 minute walk later left me a long way back in the queue. I abandoned my visit and slumped in a cafe. I felt like a kid throwing a strop because they are not first in the line. (I wonder who that reminds me of!)

Instead of the Taj I went to Agra Fort, which was awesome. Unlike the Red Fort, which is impressive from the outside but a big let down inside, Agra's is the complete package. I spent hours just wondering around and enjoying being taken back in time. With time to spare I planned an out of the way excursion to the other side of the river, which according to the Lonely Planet offered unbeatable views of the Taj. This sounded to good to be true!

Forty five minutes and a bit of barbed wire later I was stood on a beach like wasteland with the Taj right in-front of me. No one else was to be seen. With sunset a couple of hours away I walked as far along as I could aiming to be in a place where I could get a classic Taj picture. That decision was one that would push Agra to far. In a matter of minutes Agra decided to let down her disguise and reveal herself.

From behind the trees walked a policeman. He explained in no uncertain terms that I was trespassing on government/military land and would be required to accompany him to the station. To give evidence of the severity of my crime he pointed to the barbed wire and the guard towers. I thought they might be beach huts! Quickly I put my Hazelbury lessons into practice and rattled off as many excuses as I could. I didn't quite manage 'it wasn't me' but I came close. The excuses meant little but the 'it doesn't need to come to this does it?' line raised an eyebrow and a smile from the policeman. It was in that moment when I realised the line that I had crossed. The advice given by a couple in Mcleod Ganj echoed in my mind:

"Once you enter the process of bribing a police officer you can't back out."

But I didn't know how to bribe a police officer. It just isn't very British. Fortunately in the policeman's ramblings he kept repeating a figure. Ignoring the advice given I tried to offer him less. This was met with a look that only meant one thing and it was not that we were cool. I retracted and paid the dizzy heights of five pounds. With that his mood changed. He took my photo with the Taj and after further negotiations allowed me to stay as long as he could not see me.

I sat looking at the Taj feeling a little aggrieved but pleased to be allowed to stay. And then my five little saviors arrived. From a distance they waved me across to join them. I squinted my eyes. Where they really carrying what I thought they were? A gift from god himself...a football! As an eagle hovered above and the sun set behind us we played a strange version of football directly in-front of the Taj Mahal. It is a moment that I will never forget not least my domination of the midfield!

After the events of the previous day I expected the Taj to be a relative disappointment. But being the second person through the gates I had the Taj all to myself. I raced around admiring every possible angle before the crowds arrived. I don't get very excited about buildings, I'm much more fascinated by nature's creations however the Taj left me speechless and now wordless. Since the moment I left the gates I have talked with many visitors to Agra. Almost have been left incapable of putting into words what makes it so incredibly special.

So from the eventful stop in Agra I made my way to the gateway to India's most popular state, Rajastan. Also the last stop in the Golden Triangle, Jaipur was my next destination.

Varanasi

The trip to Varanasi was long and arduous and nearly did not happen at all. The approaching Diwali had taken the train system to breaking point. With no trains available to anywhere in the country all I could do is put myself on the waiting list and hope. As the day finally arrived I had gone from number 19 to 5 but no further. Chancing my luck I jumped into a shared rickshaw to Haridwar where the train would be leaving. There I sat with a group of people volunteering at a local orphanage. They all expressed an unwillingness to travel to Varanasi, especially independently but for me this was one of my most anticipated stops.

Two hours before the train left the website confirmed my seat. Relieved at not having to alter my plans and stay in Haridwar, I boarded the train tentatively, not entirely sure of my seat, carriage or even if I was allowed onto the train. As it went I was correct in my assumptions and the journey was very smooth. My berth buddies were especially friendly. One of them spent hours showing me photos and pictures on his phone and telling me his family history. At times there was to much detail however my listening skills were rewarded by receiving a helping of their food which was delicious.

The Lonely Planet describes Varansi as "one of the most blindingly colourful, unrelentingly chaotic and the most unapologetically indiscreet places on earth". Arriving at night the later two were all to obvious. The horns were back in mass, the volume of traffic decided which side of the road they traveled and not street markings, sheer congestion caused huge pileups. I lost count of the amount of times different vehicles crashed into my cycle rickshaw. It seems to be an accepted way of breaking! After hearing various arrival stories I opted to walk along the Ghats to my hostel rather than chance the maze of the old city. It was a genius plan and worked perfectly but at times the hassle was almost unbearable. At one point a guy followed me for twenty or so minutes. If it wasn't for the hilarity of his attempts to stay out of my eye sight it would have been quite unnerving. Nearing my hostel however I decided he would not be stealing any commission and politely informed him that I would call the police if I saw him again.

"I see, I see, no problem, I go."

Was his rather wonderful response. Eventually I arrived and enjoyed a well deserved sleep.



Varanasi is one of those places where the guide book goes out the window. There are so many sights to be seen but they are to be sought out and found along the ghats or in the winding and disorientating backstreets of the old city. Being in Varanasi was never boring. A key reason for this was the sheer variety of the ghats. There are ghats for boating, religious ceremonies, washing clothes, drying clothes, buffalo bathing, fire displays, fishing and my least favorite, the lets try and fleece every last dollar out of every tourist who stops by. But no matter when you arrive at a ghat you are guaranteed to see something different happening. Varanasi is built upon the spontaneity of everyday life.



The most well known ghats are the two burning ones. Unlike in Nepal where you are sat a 'safe' distance away, in Varanasi your face might as well be in the fire itself. Pauline, an Irish girl who was visiting for one day, commented that it was at these ghats when you realised just how far from home you really are. How right she was, the whole process so alien to myself is so central to so many Indians. No more is this shown then in the buildings that overlook the burning ghats where elderly and ill people pay money to watch over where they hope in a few days time they will be burned. From the peace and quiet reflection of life and death as a body burns alone, to sometimes having Hindu Pop pumping out and the 'untouchables' playing out of tune instruments as loud as they could. From seeing a boy place a fire cracker under one of the fires and run away to watching for half an hour, three men attempt to scrape a burning corpse off of the floor and back onto the fire as the family sat and watched, unmoved. It was utterly fascinating and a tad disturbing.

Whilst walking the ghats and narrow streets is interesting enough, on three occasions I took to the river Ganges. Seeing the sunset was beautiful however sunrise and the burning red son was stunning. On the third occasion I visited the other side of the Ganges. I had to take a boat because they had not finished building the post monsoon bridge. I know this because I got three quaters of the way across to find a drop off. Some kind builders however told me to wait as they put another five or so rotting wooden beams in place. They then proceeded to give me a guided tour to the real dead end of the bridge. It was a real eye opener into the world of the Indian construction industry! When I arrived on the other side I got to go for a little dip into the Ganges, praying that I would not be stepping on any dead bodies. On dry land however it was clear why it is considered a no go zone. There were tons of vulchers which was cool because I have never been up close to one before however the attempted to blank out of my mind the reason that they are there in such numbers!



Everything in Varansi is multiplied many times over. The traffic, pollution, levels of humanity, size of cows/buffalo, litter, caste system, spirituality, to name a few. I was sad to leave it as it stands as the only city I can think of when I woke up every morning excited to get out and explore. Unfortunately however my trip was cut short early due to the only train I could get being during Diwali. I say unfortunately however in some ways I was happy because the fireworks and fire crackers were dangerously out of control in the lead up to Diwali. I dread to think what it would have been like to be there during it.

In a token gesture I thought that I would travel sleeper class. Unsurprisingly until the morning it mostly consisted of a handful of fellow tourists, which provided a good laugh but not the full sleeper class experience. By the time the train had pulled into Agra it was full of all sorts of food sellers, blaring music and a group of family acrobats performing for pennies.

Rishikesh

I arrived in Rishikesh in the only bad mood so far. Ten hours to Dehradun followed by a change and another hour and a half to Rishikesh left me exhausted. My mood was further heightened by the only rickshaw driver left working at 10pm at night deciding to take me to the hotel of his choice rather than the area I asked him for. I didn't arrive at my hostel until 11pm.

The first few days helped me to recover. Leisurely breakfasts overlooking the Ganges and secluded beaches of a quality that I did not expect passed the time. Compared to Shimla where everyone there was Indian, here it was heaving with every nationality imaginable (although still mostly Israeli!) allowing plenty of opportunities to meet both old and new travelers.

As the self nominated home of Yoga, on one day I put myself into the beginners class in and Ashram to see what all the fuss is about. There were only four who dared to arise at the unearthly hour of 7am. Despite being essentially a dip your toes in the water class (hoping that you might sign up for the intensive class) the instructor did not seem intent on providing an easy introduction. After ten minutes I was experiencing far to much pain to call it enjoyable. With such a small class it allowed for plenty of individual teaching. I say teaching, more like tutting and correcting rather than praise and encouragement. I did receive a thumbs up at the end for my interpretation of the 'lotus' position after he had damned everything else. Fortunately he wasn't looking when I exited it in the most unnaturally awkward and painful way possible. At one point the sustained and serious focus of the class was broken as he taught us the 'crow' walk. This involved walking on tiptoes, crouched down and hugging your knees. After a minute or so I had to retire in a fit of giggles as he continuously repeated:

"Let's do the crow walk" "Everyone is doing the crow walk"

Such was the tone of his voice, the repetition and comedy of movement that it was easy to see where Fielding and Barratt could of got their inspiration for the Mighty Boosh. Consulting Mark and Sean (who know far more about yoga than I ever knew existed) on the 'crow' walk was met with blank expressions. From that one session I can understand the appeal of Yoga but it just doesn't hold enough of a competitive edge to keep me interested in the long term, I don't think.

Outside of Yoga and Meditation, Rishikesh is also home to the old Beatles ashram which is often seen as the inspiration behind some of their most revolutionary albums. Hidden away, up a mud track, we were guided by a lively and friendly Sadhu who had adopted us. Well I say Sadhu, but he wasn't. He hadn't quite made the grade and instead seemed to be living the life of an almost Sadhu. What he actually would be classed as I am not to sure. I don't normally like taking guides but this guy was a total character plus it was simply necessary as the ashram had long been abandoned.

The first task was getting in through the metal gates, where a no entry sign hung. A little bribe to the guard (it might as well have been a ticket booth) however enticed him to unlock the gates and enter the very ashram that he was in charge of stopping people from entering. It was a very strange place to visit. In the West this would be considered a building of cultural importance. It would have been preserved, possibly even reopened and filled with every piece of Beatles memorabilia possible. In India it had been left to rot. Desloute and overgrown it is essentially an accident waiting to happen. It did however make for a fun hour visiting different buildings, climbing up crumbling stair cases and clambering over broken roofs. It can only be a matter of time before what is left collapses. Whilst not overly enlightening nor picturesque it was entertaining.

Rishikesh ended the leg of the quieter section of my North Indian journey. Next I would make the long journey to the chaotic Varanasi. It would only take twenty hours and fifty stops on the train.

Shimla

I took my seat. This is much nicer I thought. A semi-deluxe bus! It even had a head rest! Sat to the right of me was a frail elderly lady. She won't be a problem, this is going to work out just fine.

My new friend however turned out to be a little over bearing with her demands. From the start it was clear that she was disappointed with my lack of Hindi but that didn't stop all types of request flowing. For the whole trip I got to play a version of charades as I tried to work out exactly what she wanted. I never got it right. Bag up, but not in the right place, bag down, but no, she only wanted a drink, window open, no it's to cold and so it went on. That is not forgetting the classic what's the time? But she neither understood it verbally nor could she read a digital watch. In her eyes I had failed.

Eventually the bus pulled into Shimla at a slightly more sociable time of 5:30am. I grabbed my bags and legged it out of the station and away from any more request and the inevitable welcoming committee. I'm getting quite good at that! One massive advantage to arriving in a city in the early morning is that you get to see the sunrise and with it the city wake up. It was beautiful.



I was less than enthusiastic about going to Shimla. It was an obvious stop on the way but I had got it into my head that I would not like it. As it turns out I loved it. There wasn't a lot of attractions but it was great just to watch. In total there seemed to be no more than 3 westerners there. Everyone else was either a local or an Indian tourist visiting the old British hill station. It reminded me of Weston Super Mare or Southend. Sure it didn't have a beach but everyone was doing classic tourist activities such as riding donkeys, eating ice cream and posing for family photos. Everyone had a smile on their face. At one point I came across five middle aged Indians in what resembled private school blazers. They chatted next to a Victorian greenhouse whilst they played a game of croquet. They played wrongly, it clearly wasn't old Etonian rules but i doubt you could find a more classic English scene anywhere in the UK.



As Manali had been ruled by dogs, Shimla was by Monkeys. The critters were everywhere but as annoying as they are, destroying things, throwing objects at you etc I still can't get past the "oh it's a monkey how cool!" So a proper monkey temple got me excited. I just hoped there would be more monkeys than ducks.

Not only did I get to see monkeys, the Himachal tourist board had turned it into a fitness competition with very specific timings on how long it should take you according to your age. What a great idea in the full heat of the day! Half way up the hill I noticed that every Indian family carried a large wooden stick. At the top I understood why. The monkeys were everywhere! People were having their glasses stolen and shop keepers were running all over the place as the monkeys helped themselves. Quickly I armed myself with a water bottle from my bag. I don't think I will ever enter another religious site carrying a weapon with full intention to use it.



With nothing obvious to steal they largely kept off of me and I began to wonder about the temple. As it's dedicated to Hanuma and people shower the monkeys with 'holy' food then shouldn't they be more tolerated rather than being chased around with sticks? At times even these pests did not seem to be the most primitive beings up there.

I found a great little seat at the top and watched a family of monkeys playing and relaxing. I make no apology for the amount of photos in the picture album (link to the right).

Shimla was great for two day but feeling like I had got as much enjoyment out of the holiday town as I would get I made my way to Rishikesh. It seemed only fitting as I took my seat, to plug into the Beatles discography, to play me through the twelve odd hours journey.

Manali

The overnight bus ride to Manali was torture. It's to the continuous puzzlement of every traveler I have talked to on the road why exactly it always seems like the 'right' option. Sure you save a few pennies plus you don't have to pay for accommodation but the pain that is involved barely makes it worth it.

Taking my seat on the 'ordinary' government bus compounded these thoughts. The seats had next to no padding leaving pretty much a metal bar to sit on. Directly in front of the seat was another metal bar to help you hang on when the bus takes the corners at reckless speed. It also provided a target for my head to plummet towards every time that the bus broke sharply. There was no head rest leaving a fragile window as the only place to rest. Behind me sat a Tibetan woman, who under the influence of something, went through a familiar routine. Fall asleep, wake up, open the window into my shoulder and head, fall asleep, get woken up because her head is out of the window, close the window and so on for 10 hours.

After no sleep I joked with the other Western inmate on the bus, who had reached his destination at the time of 2:30am. He turned and said 'this is not good'. One hour later I was uttering the same words. As I stumbled off of the bus, three touts approached. The tone in my voice must have informed them that it was too early in the morning for this and they hobbled back towards the shadows.

As I wondered down the main street in a sleepless daze there was not another person around. There were dogs though. Packs ten strong controlled the streets at this hour. It was not a pleasant place to be as rival packs fought for territory and I happened to find myself in the middle of it.

Fortunately I had been told to stay around 3km outside of Manali at either Vashisht or Old Manali. I liked the sound of the name of the first place and so started the climb out of Manali and away from the essentially wild dogs. As soon as I crossed the bridge and away from the lights, the entire area was pitch black. Looking up the whole sky was filled with every star imaginable. Shooting stars lit up the sky. I could just about make out the outlines of the mountains, it was spectacular. I sat for maybe an hour in awe at the sight before me. Finally the cold started to bite and I carried on up the road. Whilst the packs of dogs stayed in Manali all sorts of other animals passed me on the way up as I staggered aimlessly hoping not to fall into the river that I could hear, just not see, beside me. On two occasions I found myself no more than one meter away from a wandering donkey. Due to the dark, it was always the donkey that reacted first letting out a tremendous noise, followed by the stamping of its hooves that sent me jumping ten feet into the air in shock. Luckily shining my ipod on full brightness into their eyes seemed to send them galloping away.

On my arrival in Vashisht I was greeted by a man in his boxer shorts and tooth brush in mouth. He said "milk tea?" I had never had a better offer at 5am in the morning. And what a kind man he was. Not only did he open the cafe four hours early for me, he even woke his wife up to make me breakfast. It was not a problem he assured me.



When the sun rose, 'Manali' was as beautiful as I had imagined. With a river flowing through the middle and mountains in abundance it was a great place to sit and wither away a few days. The first day I largely spent sleeping and enjoying the grand views. On the second I went back to the center of Manali taking in its limited sights. On the third day I planned another of those improvised walks into the mountains. Then just at the point that I was scaling an exposed but rewarding path the thunder came, then the lightening and finally the rain. It was torrential. I was drenched. After two hours in the rain I made it back to bus station and promptly booked my early morning ticket out. Manali was no fun in the rain.

After a few hours of warming myself up I heard that the rain had stopped. Peering out of the windows though it had been replaced by a terrific snow storm. This just wasn't India. However saying that it was beautiful watching the peaks and indeed Vashisht get covered in a blanket of snow.

The following morning I awoke to find that not only had most of the snow gone but so had the bus! I now had another reason why night buses seem a better idea than morning ones. It was a blessing in disguise though. Admiring the snowy peaks were a great way to spend a morning whilst chatting to fellow travelers and drying clothes in a roof top cafe.



In the afternoon I nearly managed to miss my bus again this time getting lost when trying to find my way back from the 'must see' waterfall that I had been advised to see by a local. I should probably have known better not to have spent so much time admiring the stunning light show as the sun went down. Further over the previous couple of breakfasts I had been devouring a cartoon book by one of the writers of Sesame Street. He documented every day of his year long travel in 1990 with a drawing and some explanation. One such sketch was of the woods around Manali and how easy it is to get lost. I should have paid more attention. As seems to be the way so far I got a lucky break and found my way out after an hour or so of searching through what had taken me five minutes to walk through on the way up. I quickly ran back picked up my backpack and got to the bus just in time. Perfect preparation for another night bus, this time to Shimla.

Mcleod Ganj

I knew that I would like Mcleod Ganj from the moment I stepped off of the bus. I remember thinking to myself oh here we go as I noticed two rickshaw drivers parked directly outside the bus, but not one batted an eye lid. In fact it took quite a lot of convincing to get one of them to take us up to Bhagsu where we would be staying. He seemed much more interested in going to bed.

But it was not just the rickshaw drivers who were relaxed, the whole area was. Admittedly it is not a very Indian place considering that it is home to the Tibetan government in exile but it was all very refreshing.

The chilled atmosphere seemed to rub off on me. For the first few days I largely spent playing cards, reading books and drinking a lot of milk tea and coffee. The downside to staying in a superb guest house with a great communal outdoors area is that it is sometimes hard to find an incentive to do anything active! But in many ways it provided a much needed time to relax and enjoy a slower pace to life.

The principle reason to visit Mcleod Ganj is because it is home to the Dali Lama. Although he himself was off giving talks in America I visited his residency a couple of times. The first time there was, what I understood to be, a major speaker talking to a gathering of monks and a large assembled audience. He seemed to have the audience in the palm of his hand as laughter filled the complex. Other than gathering that they were mostly jokes about yoga my Tibetan let me down.

On the second visit the complex was much quieter allowing me to roam freely throughout the temple and monks 'barracks'. On leaving a number of the monks had gathered for their daily 'discussions'. In pairs one would sit and listen, whilst the other, who was far more animated, argued their points. Normally debating can be noisy but this was a little over the top as every time they wanted to seal a point they either stamped their feet or slapped their hands. The crescendo of noise echoed around the surrounding buildings. On my way out I noticed a couple of westerners giving it a go. For some reason it just didn't look quite the same.

One of the many highlights to Mcleod Ganj was far off the lonely planets radar. Directly outside our guest house stood a tiny temple. It had first aroused interest from the continuous bell ringing and singing that would make its way through into the room at 7am. The exterior of it reminded us of something from Alice in Wonderland. Little did we know that the inside would be just as eccentric. With psychedelic Buddhist statues on the interior walls and model snakes crawling from the ceiling it was quite a sight. The real treat though was going through a snakes mouth and into a cave the winded it's way up, past more statues and masks, until you reached the top of the temple, which looked out over the valley. Both Mark and I were taken aback by the whole design of the place. It was a religious playground, not least illustrated by the smiles of the children running back and forth through the cave. I am seriously starting to doubt that I will ever visit a better temple!

On a couple of days the lure of the snowy peaks that showed themselves on clear days was a little to much. It seems to be a developing habit of mine that when I see mountains I want to climb them! The first attempt largely failed however I did end up at a picturesque waterfall with glacier pools a plenty. Several hours with a book, in the sun, was time well spent! The second attempt was better, in that I got higher, but the clouds came in and ruined any good views, which was disappointing.

Something that I really wanted from Mcleod Ganj was an opportunity to listen to Tibetan Monks share their experiences. Fortunately I got the chance on my final day when I took part in a conversation class. This is something that is run by voluntary groups and you essentially turn up, are given a group to work with and discuss a pre-arranged topic. The main aim of the sessions is to help the locals with their English. The theme for the day was:

What would you change in the world?
What is bad in the world?

I joined in with a group of teenagers and supported them along with a New Yorker. The kids language was basic but it was a joy working with them. At times I almost felt like a teacher again! At the end of the session all the groups had to speak three sentences in answer to the questions. There were the obvious answers from the older groups. STOP WARS, Poverty more charity etc and then my group stood up. The first sentence they spoke was poignant:

1) There should be no evenings only daytime.

This brought a round of applause from the classroom. Ah the group are selecting the good ones from our discussions or so I thought. The second proved to be quite controversial:

2) Everyone should be allowed to wear different types of clothes

A protest against robes! The elder monks seemed not so impressed by this change to the world. Why couldn't they just stick to the obvious answers I thought rather than our meaningless chatter. Oh well there is always time for the third:

3) You should not thrown stones at ducks

Too true! The mind of young Tibetan monks, truly they are in touch with the key issues in the world today.

The session was good fun but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little disappointed at not getting to speak in more detail than simple hello's to some of older monks. Luckily though that time came when walking out of the guest house and towards the bus station. I was greeted by a monk keen on a bit of company. It was fascinating listening to him as he talked about making the journey over the Himalayas on foot to reach Mcleod Ganj. They walked every day and most nights, some for up to three months, in nothing more than their robes. It put my efforts to shame. The exchange was truly a superb experience.

After half an hour or so we parted company and I clambered onto the Government bus which would take me overnight to Manali. It seemed like a good idea at the time but looking back on it now I am not so sure.

Delhi - Amritsar

Delhi wasn't just about the Commonwealth Games. After getting over and around the well publicised hassle that Delhi seems to have in abundance, I found it to have some great places to visit. The humayun tomb, with its Taj Mahal esq design, the Red Fort, which was spectacular from the outside and the Jama Masjid, India's largest Mosque, and boy was it huge, were all impressive. After five days I was quite chuffed with myself considering the general consensus from people was that 1-2 days is the average stay due to the heat and the fact that everyone seems to be out to rip you off. However although I liked it more than I expected I would be lying if I said that I wasn't delighted to be booked on a train ready to leave for Amritsar.

On the eve of departure Delhi did have one last parting gift for me...a rickshaw driver declared that he needed double the fare because the road was closed to the train station and he would need to take a long diversion. Oh how I had wanted to hear a line like that. Laughing I left him and went to the next rickshaw driver, who promptly apologised and drove off. The third let me hop in and away we drove until we met lots of road closed signs due to the cycling event. Fortunately and after considerable negotiations I finally got him to abide by the meter hence meaning no double fares! The story did remind me that actually some crazy stories from rickshaw drivers and touts in Delhi can actually turn out to be true!

The train journey to Amritsar was painless and I arrived in Sikhism most holy site the following morning. The greatest part that I understood of Sikhism is its inclusiveness. No more is this shown then by how they have built a tourist dorm next to all the pilgrims dorms and within the Golden Temple complex itself. Not only did this provide a great place to meet people and hang out, it also meant that every morning, when exciting the dorm, the Golden Temple stood infront of you, only 20 or so meters away. Oh and it was also free to stay there (donations were encouraged)!

To get to the waters edge though you had to dress modestly, clean your feet and cover your hair. I just about managed the first two rules however the later one was a struggle, not least in negotiating the outer rim of the temple trying to find the man with the free head scarfs. Eventually after much panicking from some of the pilgrims I found the man. My punishment for such a crime, getting to wear a nice bright pink bandana. Sikhs seem renowned for their bright turbans and head wear but this was taking the mick.



The temple itself is absolutely spectacular, especially at night. Sat at nine in the evening by the waters edge, listening to the monks chanting was a beautiful experience. But whilst its grandness is its selling point, the pilgrims themselves were what made the place so special. I lost count of the amount of times that I was stopped and talked to. At one point two guys who worked in the temple and were on their free time, took me to a special vantage point to see the holy book get taken out of the temple to be 'put to sleep'. It was fascinating listening to them explaining the importance of the ceremony and also the basics behind being a Sikh.



Another feature of the Golden Temple is the communal dining room. Here volunteers feed between 60 and 80,000 people a day. Class, religion and nationality is totally irrelevant. The food whilst basic was good, especially the sweet rice and rice pudding. On one day, I and a group of other people from the dorm volunteered by rolling Chapattis which were then cooked and sent upstairs for eating. After an hour I went up to eat and noticed the man next to me looking strangely at his plate. On closer inspection there sat a very odd sized, thinly rolled Chapatti. Amused by it being one of ours I apologised to him. He saw the funny side and seemed very impressed that we had spent time volunteering.



Outside of the temple, Amritsar also has another big trick up its sleeve. On the first evening, I joined an Israeli guy to the Indian, Pakistan border to witness the closing of the border ceremony. It was a truly hilarious and incredible site. There must have been around 3-4,000 Indians crammed into the stands surrounding the gate. On the other side the Pakistan crowd was out in good numbers too. What followed was a Monty Python sketch as both sides tried to out do each other in a highly choreographed event. For example, the crowd, aided by cheerleaders and flag bearers attempted to out sing each other, the soldiers, on microphones, attempted to out shout each other and for a good half an hour soldiers took it in turns to out goose step, and adjust their hats better than the other side. It was utterly bizarre but made for fascinating viewing.



In many ways I could have stayed in Amritsar for many more days but instead choose to join two guys who were heading further north. So after an eventful couple of days I decided to play Russian roulette with the local bus system and take a ten odd hour journey up to Mcleod Ganj, the official residence of the Dali Lama.

Delhi 2010

The Commonwealth Games, in India, was a disaster waiting to happen. That was the general view of people I spoke to when in Nepal and they had justification in saying it. With bridges collapsing, ceilings falling in and an apparent lack of enthusiasm from the host population, it wasn't looking great. However after going to three different venues over three days, I think that as of the time of writing it has been a success. Considering all of the problems that led up to it it was a thoroughly 'organised' and enjoyable event.

I went to see Athletics on the first day. Watching the 100 meters live has always been an ambition of mine and whilst it may not have had the under 10 seconds sprinters it was still incredibly impressive to see how quick they actually go. Yesterday it was the turn of boxing. Saw the middleweights and super-heavyweights fight it out. By far the most entertaining bouts were with the Indian fighters as the crowd in the stadium went absolutely crazy. This morning I finished off my games binge by watching our Mens and Womens hockey teams win and also the Australians narrowly edge out the Pakistani's.

For all the enjoyment I and others I spoke to had, we all shared big issues with the intelligence of the organisation of getting into the stadiums. The organisation committee has essentially handed over the running of the games to the Indian police. From my limited experience of them they are about as unhelpful and unintelligent as you can get. As a result the games itself is well organised, just lacking in common sense. Hence it was no surprise to see a 42 odd list of restricted items. This included cameras, any sort of bag, Ipod headphones (the Ipod is fine to take in) and any coins in your wallet! I even got interrogated for several minutes over some paper in my pocket I had brought for a blocked nose! A lot of people have had to make difficult decisions whether to leave things in a left property box or not enter the stadium. This procedure of searching and confiscating everything followed me to every stadium although I did get some revenge on the second day by striking (accidentally) one of the policemen in the face, much to his partners (and mine) amusement. He wasn't so happy and demanded to see the coins in my pocket, that I didn't have.

I also found the rigid structure to getting into the stadiums utterly unbelievable. At one point, after walking aimlessly around a perimeter wall attempting to find gate 6 and access to the stadium, I was stopped 10 meters away from it. There was nothing but a clear path. However the armed police decided I couldn't get to it that way and instead had to cross two bridges (there was no water!). I then decided to attempt to cross another way, again clear road but then as quick as a flash more armed police! It took a further 45 minutes and for no reason at all. I suppose in hindsight the farcicle nature to some of the decisions were actually quite amusing however at the time and when in a rush to get to your seat they are nothing short of bewildering.

But saying all that when inside the stadiums everyone, including myself was having a great time. The Indian crowd, when it's their own boys and girls, or it's the Pakistan team or even England and Wales sure do get behind them, which added to the occasion.

Kathmandu

What first was mad soon became pretty off putting. My first experience of an Asian city did not leave me with much hope. The monsoon had created a depressing feel to the place. Worst of all however was arriving at the end of a two week garbage strike. It quite literally was everywhere. The smell was horrendous and at times you had no choice but to walk straight through it. The thought of heading to the mountains had never felt so good.

"Is this the same city?" I exclaimed on my return. The pavements were now relatively clear, dust had replaced water and there was no longer a need to hold your nose in fear of vomiting. Instead there stood a vibrant and hectic city which proved to be very hard to leave.

In terms of traditional sightseeing I feel that it lacks maybe the highlights of similar sized cities. This may however have been due to the superb guest house I stayed at, where once sat in the garden it was nearly impossible to leave due to the amount of people to talk to. I did however manage to get out and about a fair bit, whether it was fighting off the monkeys at Swayambhunath, getting blessed by Buddhist monks at Boudha, enjoying the well hidden ex-pats farmers market, or watching an hour long cremation service at Pashupatinath. My favourite place however was sat on numerous times inthe sunshine chatting and watching the world go by in Dubar Square. Bliss.

In the end it was hard leaving Kathmandu but with the guys and girls I had met over the week departing for various treks and my India visa running down, it seemed the right time to strike off on my own and head to Delhi.

Part Two: Namche to Gokyo followed by a huge diversion to Everest base camp

Fortunately for us the organised groups made their way up towards Everest Base camp. We however diverted off towards the village of Gokyo. Set at 4800 meters it is home to six sacred lakes as well as what everyone we spoke to before hand described as the best panoramic view of the Himalayas available.

The increased altitude slowed what had otherwise been an impressive pace. In total from Namche to Gokyo it is a seven hour climb. In reality it took us four days due to the need to acclimatise properly. On arrival to Gokyo the air felt noticeably thinner and the head veered towards a headache. However as we settled into the lodge we met up with a variety of fellow independent travelers who persuaded us to make an attempt on Gokyo Ri the following morning. So at 4:30am, with the head torch on, we navigated across a large bog by the side of the third lake and up 600m to 5400m. For Ian the altitude took its hold and he had to turn back. Luckily I seemed to feel stronger the higher I climbed and make the top in under two hours. The reward for the early morning excursion? Blanket cloud and freezing temperatures. The mood was only slightly lifted by an impromptu performance by the two Japanese 'underground' musicians who decided only their own songs could help the clouds to clear. It was a bizarre moment.

We spent the rest of the day getting over our disappointment by holding skimming stone contests on the sacred lakes. The fifth lake stands at 5000 meters. A good two hours away from Gokyo it was probably the most isolated that you could ever feel. Stood still there was not a sound that could be heard.

The following day followed a similar pattern with both high and low points. The good news was that we met and indeed led a new party of independent trekkers up Gokyo Ri. We awoke to the sounds of dripping water outside the window. Frustrated and annoyed by the rain we poked our heads outside to call the trip off to find that it was not rain but melting snow. With a light dusting on the ground and stars in the sky we walked as quickly as possible through increasing depths of snow, creating new paths up the mountain. This time the views were breathtaking. I was third up to the top. Standing on a boulder, I span 360 degrees. I was entirely surrounded by snow topped peaks. For the next hour I relaxed taking in the utterly spectacular views in front of me. A good half an hour of this was taken with debating which one was Everest. At first it was the small one in the distance, then it was the one to the right of Nuptse. It turned out it was the tallest one, right in front of us. So close in fact that you felt like you could reach out and touch it.

Triumphant, we reluctantly made our way down as the clouds moved in. After a good breakfast our trekking party of two became three as Brian, an American, entrepreneur, impending novelist and blogger joined us. The Cho La Pass is well known for being challenging so we were delighted to be in each others company. For the rest of the day all we had to do was follow a path over a glacier for two hours.

The problem? Our map and the latest edition of the lonely planet was out of date. The well trodden path that we followed soon led to a 20ft drop off into a huge lake. Not to be discouraged we spent three to four hours attempting to plot our own path over the glacier. Three quarters of the way across we realised our attempts were hopeless. We were greeted by a huge lake that showed no possibility of getting across. With sand cracking beneath our feet and the sounds of the glacier moving all of the time we agreed it was time to make a quick retreat.

There was an alternative. A small bridge further back down the route would allow us to navigate around the glacier. The next problem. The monsoon. The heavy rain that had fallen prior to our arrival had washed the bridge away. We were stuck with either a retreat to Gokyo and to hope to hire a guide for the following day. Or alternatively to attempt a mammoth day looping back round and as far up the Everest path that we could.

With acclimatisation no longer an issue we raced around and made fantastic progress. In two days we made it to Gorak Shep and collapsed in a heap. At 5100 odd meters it is said that very few people sleep well there. I had no such problem. From there we did another early morning ascent up to Kala Pathar (Everest's Gokyo Ri) where we saw more incredible views from the top. Most pleasing was completing the ascent in under an hour, overtaking the couple of groups that were half way up it when we started, including one Australian group much to their frustrations.

We then did the unusual act of going to Everest Base Camp in the same day. A lot of people run EBC down saying it's not interesting, you don't get a view of Everest etc. However I found it fascinating. Again we had to navigate over a glacier, but this time it was successful. There were three expedition parties waiting to go. It was great watching the Czech group prepare and just sit, drinking a cup of tea thanks to a kind Aussie we met and viewing the Khumbu ice fall in all its glory.

From then on we sprinted back down as quickly as we could back to Jiri. Again it was a painful experience but highly rewarding. Encouraged by the discussions of chocolate and beer we came down in great time and rode the gauntlet of the bus system back to Kathmandu. There we ate cheese burgers, snickers bars, various biscuits with peanut butter in them and lastly a few Everest beers.

It was an amazing experience and one that I would recommend to everyone.