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.