Kolkata, India

Howrah station in Kolkata reminds me of a dirty London Paddington, you could feel the Englishness as soon as stepping off the train. So this is it: the last stop in India. I'll spend a few days here, still travelling with Bryan, then he'll catch a flight back to the states while I head out to Vietnam. Out of the station we notice there's no tuk-tuk's, just classic Hindustan "Ambassador" taxi's. Agreeing a price and jumping in one seemed to annoy a policeman who repeatedly banged the roof with a stick and shouted as we zipped off. A couple of minutes later the cost of the journey came up in conversation (I forget why) with the driver deciding on a completely new inflated price for us to pay. We complain and in mid-traffic open the doors to exit - the driver hastily pulls over and we leave the taxi in the middle of a main road. Very VERY annoying. Turns out we'd jumped out of the taxi near to the entrance to the ferry, which could take us deliciously close to where we need to be, for the fraction of a cost of the taxi - bonus!

Although saving money in the taxi incident we splurged on a nice hotel called the Sapphire Suites, with an amazing shower to wash away the Indian colouring and fast wi-fi catch up with photo uploads. The shower was so good, with big drops of hot water and fragrant fresh soap! The dirt that came off is indescribable, leaving the water running brown to the drain. Drying myself on the pure white hotel towel seemed to take another dirt / tan layer from the skin. There's a link with dirt depth and tanning speed, I'm utterly convinced. I'd not really caught the sun on my arms for weeks, they were as brown as they could get, but after that shower they almost instantly burned. Bryan noticed the same effect. *Top tanning tip - wash regularly*

On a food mission we decide to hit a top rated Bengali restaurant east from the hotel. Thinking they would be quicker (and of course for the experience) we hopped on one of the old British city trams, dating back from 1902 - and they look like it. Trams are a great idea: move people around the city in your own lane, skimming past road traffic and having traffic light priority. But this is not quite how it works in India. Everyone and their dog can go into the tramway, whenever they like, meaning you don't go any faster that anything else on the road. I love old, quirky, pointless stuff like this though, and they're great to ride - after all, I'm not in a rush to go anywhere. At the Bengali restaurant there's a queue of locals and a security guard making sure no one jumps the queue. Inside there's three (maybe four) tables - that's it. Thinking we're going to queue for a while we start to walk off when we're called in. The restaurant is called Bhojohori Manna and has branches all over Kolkata. It gets its name from a famous Bengali song. We share a kind of taster menu with six or seven dishes, and they are all fabulous. I recommend!

some prawns

After food we start a mission to find Bryan a new charger (of which he'd dropped the old one) for his laptop. We ended up in a swish, empty Dell dealership which, strangely, didn't have anything useful. That's a mere side-story for the moment though as on the TV in the Dell shop an Indian news channel were showing extremely inaccurate computer renderings of an under-sea earthquake off the coast of Indonesia, which had apparently just happened while we were at lunch. The shop-keepers said there's rumours of possible six meter waves hitting Kolkata. The walk back to the hotel was mostly talk of tsunami's and how the hell high is six meters exactly??

We tried some paan from a roadside stall. All through India you see red spit up walls and on floors - at first it you imagine it to be blood. Paan is a crushed areca nut, chewing tobacco and some paste rolled in a betel leaf. It tastes unlike anything I've ever tasted, not bad, just odd. It's a stimulant. Your mouth fills with red saliva and forces you to spit. I was brought up with "spitting is wrong" so spitting in the street every five minutes I just couldn't do! I had to take it out and dispose of it. Besides the spitting, having red teeth / no teeth is never a good look!

That evening we continue the charger mission with a trip around the market. A commission based market guide latches onto us asking what we're looking for. We tell him we need electronics and off we zip - through the underwear section, sculptures, incense, tables, hats, trousers, then finally electronics, where there's nothing remotely resembling a charger. The man deserts us, and we're pointed to the second floor, and a curious electronic repair man bent over a dim-lit table. He intensely looks at the broken charger - maybe it can be fixed. Twenty minutes later, a cup of chai and five separate tools he breaks into the sealed unit, frowning while moving his circuit testing gadget over the board. After another ten minutes poking about it's decided that the charger cannot be fixed. Ah well, worth a try, and interesting to see him at work, surrounded by a million tools and circuit boards. I can't imagine this is something I'd ever see again in England. We then go and get drunk in a rooftop bar.

Next day we're hazy, and up late, just in time for the breakfast in the super-clean and very empty hotel restaurant. I'm convinced we're the only guests. An over-attentive waiter brings us local papers with Tsunami news plastered all over the front and images of people evacuating buildings around Kolkata. Gladly the earthquake turned out to be of the horizontal kind, causing minimal water displacement.

Kolkata's cute. It has huge sweeping boulevards, tree lined roads and massive green areas. It feels very different to most other Indian cities. On the way to the Victoria memorial we walked past some antique shops with old gramophones, music shops with classic CD's and vinyl and bookshops selling everything from Orwell to Mills & Boon. We walked through the parks, packed with hundreds of people playing all manner of sports, mainly cricket. The memorial's impressive, complete with an awful statue of Victoria, slumped on the throne. I'm not sure I've ever seen a Victoria statue that I liked.

 

Our last evening and we checked out of the hotel and said our goodbyes. Bryan will soon be back in Philadelphia living the dreams of home cooked food. I had to wait for a few hours before I could even consider going to the airport so I headed back up to the rooftop cafe and had a couple of beers and some food. At 9pm I spoke to a taxi driver and agreed 350 rupees to the airport. He kept looking at me in the mirror, then at some traffic lights turned around and said 500 rupees. I said that we'd agreed on 350 and that was all I was going to pay, but he kept saying 500 (and kept driving). I kept shaking my head and saying 350, all the way to the airport, and he kept saying 500. On arrival I gave him 350 and he loudly said something in Bengali. I left the cab and entered the airport. What is it with taxi drivers here??

Bodh Gaya, India

I must quickly show you this image from the railway station in Varanasi I took as we were about to catch the train. It kind of screams India!

Me and Bryan grabbed a second class train to Gaya. The train was heaving, meaning we didn't get a seat, and barely had room to stand in the corridor between carriages. The Indian personal space zone is almost non-existent, and you get used to having your head in armpits after a while. This was taken to the next level for Bryan on this train though, with a young Indian chap standing full frontal, with arms outstretched either side, faces not 5cm apart! The look on Bryans face was a picture, but unfortunately it was SO tight in the cabin that I couldn't get my camera out of my bag. After a compact and baking five hour journey we step off the train at Gaya.

Bodh Gaya is still an hour away on a local bus and it's midnight so we decide to stay here for the night. Walking around looking for somewhere to stay it seems an unwelcoming place, with expensive hotels - nothing in the backpackers budget. There's usually staring parties in India but I think we were the first westerners to ever decide to walk around here. We met a lost looking Spanish guy called Xavier, who decided to hook up with us. His English was so bad I have no idea how he survived in India. We eventually found a cheap room in an Indian hotel, possibly called Gautama (Bryan - can you confirm?) - which is Buddha's family name. We're led through corridors that looked like they were still under construction and into a room with two double beds and enough floor space to throw some blankets down. I had a nice and cool nights sleep.

Next day up and out early. Trying to get a bus was near impossible. As soon as one came hoards of people ran towards it and squeezed into every opening. People would throw their bags into the windows to claim a seat then barge through everyone to the front - while all this was happening the bus hadn't actually stopped! We decided against this carnage, and grabbed a tuk-tuk. Bodh Gaya is almost like a theme park. There are Buddhist temples from all countries here - Nepal, Sri Lanka, Thailand, China, Tibet, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Japan, Burma etc. and also a giant sitting Buddha. It's really good to see the different styles in such a short space of time as they're all quite different.

Buddha as depicted in the Japanese temple

 The Bodhi tree where Buddha sat and reached enlightenment is big, to the point of branches having to be being propped up in certain places. It's surrounded by a gold cage so you can't get close to the trunk. Right behind the tree is a huge Hindu temple which ruined the experience for me a little. It's still impressive but It seems rushed, the carvings aren't so good and in some places non-existent. Inside the temple is a large gold Buddha. It would've been much better leaving the grounds open, with the tree being viewed from all angles and distances, and keeping the historic sculptures and artefacts. Still, it's a calming place and we spent a good 30 minutes sitting around the tree, thinking, collecting leaves and avoiding the scorching hot slabs!

I love the chai in India, and the coffee isn't bad. Both are served in tiny cups and the caffeine kick is minimal. After complaining about this, and that I'm bored of cola, and hate red bull, Bryan turned me onto the wonders of mountain dew. All that caffeine in one delicious drink? (20mg more than cola) Surely that's not possible! I'd heard of it but assumed it was like sprite or 7up, and as it's not available in the UK had never had an opportunity to try it. I'm pretty hooked on it. I know this because they don't have it here in Vietnam (as the time of writing this blog entry) - and I miss it! Anyway... yea... awesome stuff. And while in India there was a special edition going around: Mountain Dew NEON! I think the difference is just the bottle but in the sunlight it looks awesome;

*heavenly noise plays*

Varanasi, India

Arrival from an overnight train from Rishikesh into a super-busy Varanasi station was a shock, to say the least. Incredibly sleepy and un-bothered to haggle I jumped in the first tuk-tuk and requested to be taken to Shanti hostel, the first cheap place recommended in the lonely planet. This is where the fun started. There are 2 other Shanti's in Varanasi due to the popularity of the original, and of course I had no idea where I was going. The tuk-tuk driver and his "friend" that suddenly appeared were obviously working on commission. On arrival I questioned exactly where on the map we were - the hostel owner sheepishly pointed to somewhere much further south that the LP Shanti. I would've stayed there - most of the time imitations are better (and cheaper) than the LP alternatives, but it just wasn't where I wanted to be: near the Manikarnika burning ghat. Waving goodbye to the imitation Shanti and the still-waiting hand-rubbing tuk-tuk drivers I decided to walk along the river on the vast ghats. Hawked for hotels, boat trips and all kinds of drugs en-route I arrived down a dirty alley to an unfriendly welcome at the "real" Shanti. I asked for the cheapest room they had and ended up in a 150 rupee concrete box, with no window and a prison-hard bed! This is fine, but I couldn't help think it was slightly overpriced. 

After a dire nights sleep from the heat I decide to check out and find somewhere new. On walking around the tight old city alleys I hear the Sur Sarita music school recommended to me by a chap I met on a ghat. I poke my head in and see a girl proficiently playing tabla, a man making tabla and another man making a sitar. All of this in an open sided room with the Manikanika burning ghat not 50m away. The girl (Scottish Angie) beckons me to sit so I go over and listen and chat for an hour. She'd been there for a few days, with one one-hour lesson a day and as much time as you want to sit there and practice! (she's still there now at the time of writing this). I meet the teacher and book my first lesson. From this point I spend a lot of my time here. Locals, cows, dogs and goats all pop in of pop their head around the door to say hi. The "beautiful man" (Angie's quote) from the stall on the ghat brings tiny pottery cups of delicious chai for us to drink and smash the cup once finished.  

 

As it's so open it's incredibly hard to concentrate on learning tabla. Being next to the burning ghat for hours every day you really get a feel for this place and something gets inside you, compelling you to stay, just one more day. When I first saw the burning ghat I sat for ages, feeling slightly ill from the overpowering smells and sights - my very first time I saw a leg poking out from the blazing pile of wood, and couldn't help but stare at it in morbid fascination. Wandering around the maze of back streets in the old town you're passed regularly by male family members quickly carrying their sparkly robed dead to the pyre on bamboo stretchers while chanting "Rama nama satya hai". Surrounded by death at first seems too much, but then you read more about the rituals and religious thought processes with the families (and animals) involved and you start to understand. Krishna said "worn-out garments are shed by the body: worn-out bodies are shed by the dweller within. New bodies are donned by the dweller". It's incredibly complex and far too much to write about on this diary. You can read more about Hindu cremation ceremonies here.

Manikanika ghat under a full moon

My tabla learning was seriously hindered (Hindu-ed) by everything that was happening around me, I could concentrate more when in the private room upstairs but even then (with a better view of the ghat) I found myself staring out of the window. I loved playing the tabla and have always been interested in percussion instruments and seeing them made by matriculate craftsmen right in front of me prompted me to buy some. (the top-end copper ones if you must know!) Maybe I'll be able to concentrate (and therefore play) more in London - if the neighbours don't kill me.

Panna Lal (expert tabla maker) and my tabla!

As I have nowhere to stay Angie recommended her hostel to me, the Sunrise, just down from the Manikanika ghat. What a great place! The staff are so friendly and welcoming, and the food is fantastic. On their door it says "Our guest house is poor but our heart is big for you". They have a 150 rupee room for me, suspecting the worst I go for a look. I'm led down the side of the building towards the river, and up a tiny staircase. The manager opens a door to the smallest room I've ever seen. It's perched high up, almost over the river, with two windows (chicken wire) and a bed... that's it! I love it! Such charm, and what a view, wow! I put my bag down with a smile and the manager smiles back "good room!" I settled in here nicely.

 

Varinasi is an extra mind-bending place just when you thought you'd seen it all in India. I met people who hated it and didn't understand the fuss or notion behind it but I absolutely fell in love with it, and the people. Anyone going to India has to have this on their to-do list, but when you're there you don't have to do anything - you'll simply absorb it. 

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram

With the black clouds gathering in the mountains and distant rumbles of thunder I head to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi ashram, where the Beatles spent time in 1969. Now derelict and overgrown by the forest out of town it's quite hard to find. The gate is locked but an old man with a gammy leg appears and lets you in for 50 rupees. I have no idea if this is official or not! The ashram is huge, and spread over a great area. You have no idea on walking in how much there is to see. Up the entrance slope you pass many domes that you might sit quietly inside, with great views back over the valley. At the top is what I guess was the main reception and village square, complete with fountain and postbox. Further back you encounter dining rooms, workshops and a great hall, complete with stage. Did the Beatles gig here?

Further back still towards the hills are the accommodation blocks - two huge structures, both slightly different architectural styles, buried in massive trees with what must be 50 small rooms in each. The storm is getting worse, the atmosphere is looming, the wind is clacking shutters and swirling leaves, it starts to rain but just occasional giant drops. Inside the blocks is dark and eerie! Several times I jumped around expecting to see another tourist standing there! Graffiti is daubed all over the walls, mostly nonsense tagging but plenty of lyrics and quotes from the famous four.

On the roof of the accommodation blocks are more curious domes. The view down to the grounds around, the mountains and the setting sun over the Ganges is incredible. The wind gusts extremely hard and rapidly clattering sound like gunshots.

 

This is not a fruitless amble though a time machine though, I have a mission. That is to detach a tiny part of the ashram, to post back to England, for my Beatles loving family. What though? Searching around debris in the various buildings I found a nut and piece of sink from a kitchen. I tried to get a bolt from an old door but had nothing to prise it off with. Walking out of the spooky accommodation blocks and further up the hill I came across what seemed like a temple, with small concrete shrine in the middle. Very dark and quiet, the wind noise and storm outside fades into the background. The temple is covered in pebbles, on the walls and ceiling. I decide one of thee pebbles would be a perfect memento so set about getting one out of the wall using good old foot power!

Pebble in hand I head back as it's getting dark. On my way back I can hear music. There's a chap standing on top of one of the domes, belting out Beatles numbers! I sit and listen for a while then chat to him when he finishes. Turns out he's from Bristol, and loves the Beatles! (no shit!)

The next day I dunked the stone in the Ganges, for extra power and stored it, ready to post :)

Rishikesh, India

Arrived off a freezing cold 13 hour, two tier AC2 sleeper train into Haridwar. Immediately teamed up with a half Spanish half Uruguayan chewing tobacco addict and hopped on the local bus to Rishikesh for a pleasant hour-long jaunt up into the foothills of the Himalayas. Rishikesh is almost split into three parts: the backpacker haven on the west side of the river up the hill, the main town over the southern footbridge and "tourist town" further north on the east side of the river. This caused a little confusion on arrival. The backpacker haven is cheaper and quieter but an annoying walk to get to the town and the northern tourist town is, well, just tourists. We opted for the main town which seemed a nice mix of everything - and the Beatles ashram is close. Vehicles aren't allowed into the town, apart from motorbikes, bloody motorbikes, they're even allowed on the PEDESTRIAN bridge across the Ganges. Why is this so? Somebody stop them!

The bridge over to the east side

Checked into the Usha guest house for 200 rupees a night. Not in the lonely planet and set right at the back of Rishikesh it's quite peaceful. The staff (and dog) are very friendly and the the people that are here seem to be long-stayers. My room is nice and bright but also baking hot. As it's on the top floor at the end there's no passing traffic so I move the mattress outside and sleep in the nice cool air. A German girl in the next room also decides to do the same when she spots me.

Balcony sleeping

With the Ganges flowing right through the middle Rishikesh is a holy town. There are Babas, cows and monkeys everywhere. Monster relaxation is the main reason people come here. There's lots of tourists wandering about in post-meditation/yoga trances, wearing the popular travellers uniform of Ali-Baba pants and colourful tops!

I spend my time relaxing, inhaling the fresh mountain air with my tobacco chewing friend and a German girl. We take pictures, eat delicious dosa and paddle in the Ganges - it's relatively clean this far up! I spent an amazing afternoon at the Beatles ashram. I developed a taste for chai from a particular street vendor, run by a 9 year old called "lucky". He would mix and pour the fantastic chai for me and I would sit with him while he played the really shitty game (copter) on the really shitty phone I'd bought to travel with. 

Lucky

I ended up spending more time here than anticipated, mainly because of a complete balls-up in some planning. I'd booked a train to leave a day earlier than I wanted to, and only realised the mistake on the day that I wanted to leave! With that money down the toilet I went online and looked for the next train, the day after. I was on a waiting list of 7 people, which is a bit of a risk, but I booked it. The trains are so busy in India that people book them if they think they might need them, then cancel, hence the waiting lists are normally fine under a certain number (I've been successful on a 10 person waiting list before). Next day came, I ran checks via SMS and it went down to 6, then 5, then 4. I packed my stuff, got a tuk-tuk to the bus station, then a 1 hour bus to Haridwar and checked the SMS again... waitlist 4 still. I hung about in Haridwar for a while checking the SMS every hour or so, but I didn't budge from 4! The train leaving time came and still waitlist 4. I was going nowhere tonight! I was going to stay in Haridwar but couldn't find a room at a good price so did the bus, tuk-tuk, walk back to the guest house in Rishikesh. I then booked the train for the next day which was a waitlist of 2, which worked out fine :)

Amritsar, India

Punjab: home of tandoori chicken. Ahh yea! Rudely woken up at 5am we're ushered off. The four of us bleary-eyed are immediately surrounded by eager tuk-tuk drivers, do these guys ever sleep? Fighting our way out and trying to work out where we are from the lonely planet map we head off down the road to the "tourist lodge hotel". We wake up the night person, who agreed that it's fine for me and Bryan to sit in a room for two hours until the manager came in, which we did. The room hadn't been cleaned from the previous people, we sat around reading then got changed, into exactly the same clothes.

Twins

After some discussion we decided not to take a room for that evening, and head straight out after sightseeing. When the manager arrived he wanted to charge us the FULL amount for the room which we'd only sat in until he'd arrived. We eventually agreed on paying half the amount stating our annoyance at the night-staff who said it was fine for us to relax for an hour. 

We went to see the amazing golden Sikh temple - very very beautiful. We hit this temple on a Sunday and it was SO busy. There were people everywhere. To get into the temple (which is in the middle of a lake) we squeezed into a bottleneck with thousands of Sikhs for 2 hours! The prayer is maintained 24/7 from within the temple where there's almost a full band, and some holy men. Out the back we "drink" some holy water then head back to the mainland past the still queueing hoards. 

Golden temple

After a quick stop in cafe coffee day (India's premier western style coffee house) tandoori chicken enters the hunger arena. A policeman highly recommended the Hotel Anand, a very quick tuk-tuk drive away. A soul less dark air-conditioned place but the chicken was absolutely fantastic, with a garlic naan and beer on the side. 

After some investigation we realise we're not going to be able to get a train/bus out of Amritsar today so we get tickets for tomorrow. We also realise that we're going to have to go back to the hotel and tell them that we are now staying - which was fine. We ended up in a dormitory to ourselves, however we weren't able to get him to knock off what we'd paid for the room earlier. Nil points for customer service.

There's a hilarious India/Pakistan border closing ceremony every day around 5pm. On either side there are huge seating arrays, thousands of people, massive sound systems and even a cheerleader man to whip the crowds up into a frenzy! It's like being at a football match. Once the dancing and cheering is over the border guards come out and march to and from the border - someone likened it to the Ministry of Silly Walks. The Indian and Pakistani border guards taunt each other with fighting stances, the flags are lowered and the border closed. Quite a spectacle!

Indian guard kicking self in the head

Trying to get a bus back a tuk-tuk already full with 6 people stopped and gestured us to get in. Bryan sat next to the driver and me and an Irish guy we'd met jump in the back for the 30km journey to Amritsar. Everyone on the road was in party mode: cheering, waving, honking and generally driving dangerously! People on bikes, tuk-tuk's and cars would come so close we could put our feet on their front bumper and swap drinks. The funniest thing was overtaking Mimi and Steve who'd decided a cycle-rickshaw would be a good mode of transport to travel 30km!?!?

 

The next day was spent lazing about in the hotel garden drinking beer and discussing quantum mechanics, waiting for our respective overnight modes of transport. This is where me and Bryan parted company (for now)

You can see all of the photo's here

Bikaner, India

With Greta gone I'm now travelling alone, well, for a few hours at least. I meet Bryan on the bus - a very well travelled American. He has a hostel booked in Bikaner so I jump in a tuk-tuk with him. The hostel is full except for one "room". He leads me up to the rooftop where a great view of the city and a bed awaits. He says I can have it for 100 rupees. Why not - I slept under the stars last night. I accept the roof, insert ear plugs to dull the traffic noise and have a great nights sleep!

rooftop bedroom

There's not much to see in Bikaner itself, it's mainly used as a transport hub by tourists, so for us it will take us to Amritsar later that evening. The hostel manager did however tell us that it's a great place to shop for fabrics, especially wool, as it has the biggest wool factory in the world (I haven't confirmed this with Google so please correct me if wrong). Needless to say I didn't shop for fabrics but instead decided to go to the rat temple 30km away.

The temple is extremely busy being a weekend so we queue to get in. The rats contain the souls of dead worshippers and are sacred. They are offered milk and corn by the worshippers. If a rat is killed it has to be replaced with a golden rat - I don't recall seeing any golden rats though! A white rat is especially lucky. There are holes in the walls at ground level which they enter/exit the temple for food. I thought there would be hundreds swarming about but there wasn't so many. There was maybe twenty in a group around the giant milk bowls at one point. Considering there's (too much) food for them they looked in pretty shabby condition, I've seen healthier looking rats in sewers.

Rattus Rattus

Waiting at the train station to get back to Bikaner we pulled quite a crowd. Normally there's a small staring party but this was literally twenty people, gathered close around us, not saying a word but occasionally trying to take sneaky pictures. On the train was the same, with people curiously studying from afar. Nearing Bikaner a child had a trouser accident, which ended up all over the floor when the mother took the trousers off, making getting down from our 3 tier bunk treacherous!

That evening, with nothing else available, me and Bryan book a romantic double bed sleeper bus to Amritsar.

Pushkar, India

The day train heading west from Jaipur to Pushkar takes you into dryer and dustier landscapes. Camels appear in the fields and the heat noticeably rises. We get a side seat by the window and in the berth opposite are possibly the friendliest family i've met so far - photographs and smiles are exchanged for most of the journey!

Surrounded by a swarm of determined tuk-tuk drivers we leave the train station and walk up the road in the sweltering heat to the bus station. On the way there are some bulls munching a tiny patch of rare green grass in what looks like a school field. The gate is slightly open so we go to take some pictures, when a bull raises its head in what looks like a gurn and rapidly starts moving towards us. I try and close the gate but didn't get there in time so turn and run. Greta is already running to the amusement of the locals! After a minute I stop and look around - the bull has stopped in the road, traffic flowing around it, doing the head thing again - strange!

The bus is so busy. We sweatily push our way on with rucksacks and get to the back. Standing room only for this 40 minute journey up the hill. At the top, thankfully, everyone gets off the bus and we're in a super-dusty bus stand / market area. There are the usual crowds of people, cows and dogs but now also the odd working camel walking past. We set off in search of a guest house.  

We end up staying at the Mayur guest house for 200 rupees a night. Lovely little place with spacious rooms, en-suite, and cute little courtyard out front and run by a lovely family, who's house (and private temple) is attached. This could be one of my favourite guest houses so far. 

Pushkar is a holy city so there's no meat (not even eggs) or alcohol allowed (although some places do sell it under the counter). The lake is the centre surrounded by Ghats (steps) where people can get to the water, and the town is built up all around this and surrounded by dusty hills. It's very pretty, and spiritually "touristic" with modern and classic hippies roaming the main street in Ali Babar trousers - you can get espresso's and pizza here no problems! 

One day we saw a dog arched over, limping, slightly drooling from the mouth and blood coming from its rear, it looked at us with such a heartbreaking face as the locals dash around it like it doesn't even exist. Not wanting to touch it we try and find a vet: someone that can maybe put the dog out of its misery. This is not possible. Even if there was a vet we're told that culture wouldn't allow them to kill something - nature has to take its course. The next day we see the dog again and it's still alive but lying in the road, eyes closed, in the full heat of the sun. it's so frustrating to see this and not being able to do anything. The next day the dog is dead, and has been covered up by someone, who will then move it. It was only later that day that I found a leaflet for a UK animal charity working in India called TOLFA - who care for sick and injured animals.

We're here over Indian new year and there's a festival or procession happening every morning, noon and night! There's just too many to list and I forget which is which as this was over a week ago and they all melt into one colourful array. People dressed as Shiva sit on thrones in the town square watching fire breathers, and spinners. Free food is offered to thousands of people celebrating on the streets. Holy water is collected from the lake and taken through the streets on ornate carts with trumpeters and drummers alerting of its presence. Holy men bless people as they are transported through the streets on carts while extremely random sounding (LOUD) organ recordings play. One ghat is decorated and huge collections of musicians sing and play while people (and occasional cows) flock to the water. I've never seen anything quite like it.

Over breakfast one morning I got talking to a Spanish American lady with an identical twin and a huge interest in photography. They live in Pushkar for months at a time and know some interesting people. We go to an "invitation only" antique shop buried off the side of a temple - you would never find it unless taken. The shop is tiny but tall. Shelves full of Indian antiques and rarities pile high to the ceiling, years of dust cementing things together preventing collapse. Tobacco tins, paintings, cameras, cards, syringes, jars and instruments - more things than anyone could ever look at! The old smiling Indian owner enters the room and offers chai and smokes with a gruff voice then sits cross-legged. We chat for a while, I buy a cool old Indian tobacco tin from the 50's for a gift and we say goodbye. It was quite surreal, like being on a film set.

There are various temples around Pushkar, and some out on the surrounding hills. All reachable within 1 hour and with some great views back down to the town.

Loaded with items from the fabulous falafel shop me and Greta head to the overnight sleeper bus pick up area on our way deeper into the desert.

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Jaipur, India

Up at 4am for the 5:10am train. Me, Ahn Jong and Greta said goodbye to Alex who was going to Varanase. Another journey in the sleeper carriage with the locals and Indian tourists. The terrain becoming noticably different now heading further west into dryer, desert zone. Arrived at 9am into pretty much a dust cloud. You could feel it in your lungs when breathing! A little messing about with guest houses and finding one for the right price. Me and Ahn Jong opted to share a double and Greta had a single. Greta decided to stay and sleep for a while, feeling sick from Delhi still, so me and Ahn Jong donned masks and headed out to the pink city. The pollution, dust, heat and tiredness from an early start was so overwhelming after 2 hours of walking about we decided to bail back to the guesthouse and get some sleep.

Later Ahn Jong decided to leave Jaipur, leaving me with a double room to myself - thanks buddy! He'd already been there a few years before and wanted to go somewhere new - he's been a great travel companion the past few days and I hope to go and see him in Seoul sometime.

Next day me and Greta head out with a French couple (Xavier and Lau) we'd met the night before. Squashing into a tuk-tuk we zoom off into the pink city, which is actually orange. We decided to head to Pushkar tomorrow morning first thing so we need to cram EVERYTHING into today. We see everything there is to see in the pink city (the observatory is particularly fascinating) and at 4pm jump on a local bus to the epic Amber fort, which is yellow.

Being almost the only foreigners we're pretty much the main attraction in the fort, more than the fort itself it seemed sometimes! I lose track of how many photo's there were taken with/of us. Huge families have individual pictures, big group shots, small group shots, men only shots, women only shots, children shots. I can now imagine how tiring it must be to be a celebrity, and never want to be one!

Exhausted from our new-found fame we leave and jump on a bus back to the pink city. On the bus we meet some (fluent) Italian speaking Indians (wearing designer shoes) who see this opportunity to practice their Italian, basically talking AT Greta for an hour.

Agra, India

Me and Ahn Jong grabbed the 10:10am train from Delhi to Agra. Avoiding AC class and travelling sleeper class with the locals is much more fun, but as it turns out we're placed in a booth with 2 other westerners. I wonder if this is done purposely or completely random? There was an Italian girl called Greta who'd just arrived into India and was experiencing her first "Delhi belly" and a Brazillian man called Alex, who loved to write. We spent the rest of the journey doing the now-standard traveller story swaps and decided to find a hostel together when we arrived in Agra.

The trip to Agra was literally just to see the Taj Mahal. So when we arrived and found a good hostel we dashed out to catch the sunset. Agra itself is dry, warm and smelly! It's a quick 10 minute jostle with trinket sellers from the hostel to the south gate. Walking through the gate with the Taj opening in front of you is a surreal experience. I'm not sure if i've ever had a shiver down the spine on seeing architecture before, it is truly, truly magnificent, eye-poppingly beautiful and absolutely enormous! (inside is a bit of an anti-climax). There wasn't as many people as i'd expected, you could just about get a space on the famous picture taking spot! We watched the sunset from 305 different angles then bailed when a billion mosquitos decended at dusk. I would love to see it at sunrise but we booked a 5am train to Jaipur as part of this quick-stop.

We all grabbed some dinner in a social little cafe called Jonies then went to bed. In my dream that night I was at the Taj Mahal went around the back only to find that it was a cardboard cutout, like a film set. As soon as they saw me police were blowing their whistles and running after me.

Delhi, India

We pull into the bazaar street, where the Namaskar hotel is located, at around 1am. It seems more like Mogadishu than India at this time. Litter is blowing across the road, deserted market carts, dogs barking and people lurking in the side alleys. 

 The hotel has an echo, there's no soft furnishings here! There are metal doors to the rooms and grilles to the floors below. With the functional pink rooms it's like a boutique prison. I like it.

 I settle down to sleep when there's a power cut and a generator that could possibly be the size of the starship enterprise cranks up in (what feels like) the next room. Earplugs IN.

Next day walking out of the alley from the hotel the bazaar is completely different. People everywhere, motorbikes, tuk-tuk's, cows. Yeah! I missed India! Within 5 minutes of walking down the road i'm offered a peacock feather, a whip and a "very good price" USB stick.

This area is the backpacker hangout. There are cafe's, shops and rooftop restaurants selling anything you could want. Legs powered with chai and samosa I stroll north to the red fort. Talking to someone on the street they tell me the red fort is closed today, open again in the evening. Change of plan: I jump in a tuk-tuk and head down to Connaught place, a large mall-like shopping area, from where I can walk down to the President's house and India gate. The tuk-tuk driver asks me if i have a map (I don't) and says we can drop by the official tourist office to grab one, which I agree too. We end up at an unofficial travel agents, where two beaming men jump out to welcome me. Realising what just happened I defend against the organised tour onslaught and walk out with just a map, much to the disappointment of the commisioned tuk-tuk driver. 

Walking down to and past India gate I head towards Humayan's tomb. On the way I notice a western girl surrounded by Indian men, she seems a little overwhelmed so I ask if she's ok. She's fine but needs to find somewhere to change money as it's her first day in India. We find a bank on my newly aquired map and I head over with her. Her name's Julia, an Italian heading east later that evening to study oil and herb therapy. We spend the rest of the day strolling around the tomb, which is stunning, and the presidents house then grab the shiny new metro back to New Delhi station. 

What happens next still hasn't quite sunk in. Me and Julia grab some falafel at a random restaurant back on Bazaar street, we sit down when over my shoulder I hear "Stu". I turn around and see someone whom i haven't seen in 16 years! I said something expletive and we man hugged and WTF'd for a while then all sat together and had some food. Turns out him and his girlfriend are staying in that hotel. We spend the next hour jabbering in some broken Brummie language, I feel sorry for Julia who had to sit through it all! Later she had to get her train so we said goodbye and me, Will and Sam moved up to the bar for more catching up. 

The next morning I find myself sandwiched between 3 Danish girls and 4 Dutch girls. I mount up and follow the guide into the depths of Delhi. This 6am cycle tour takes us through all of the back streets and lesser visited sights, then main sights before the main bulk of traffic starts. The four Dutch are air hostesses for KLM and arrived in Delhi 2 hours before, then fly home later that evening. Tough life! (http://www.delhibycycle.com)

8am next day and I meet Ahn Jong, the South Korean architect I met on a bus in Sri Lanka, who just flew into Delhi. He's travelling on a official government passport so has no visa, and is having massive issues getting a hotel and trains to accept him. We eventually get a train booked to Agra in a few days and he decides to hang back and try and speak to the Korean embassy about hotel issues while I meet Will and Sam. We do the Red fort (I wasn't so impressed) then walk over to the spice market which someone recommended to me. If you go to Delhi you HAVE TO go here. It's an assault on all sense, especially the respiritory system!

I have a confession: we went to McDonalds. What can I say, we were craving western dirt food! C'mon, after a month of curries we're allowed one right? The chicken Maharaja burger, which contained odd coloured chicken patties, was quite bad (how I wished for a big mac) but the fries were NOM NOM!

The rest of that day and the next day were spent walking the tight maze of back streets. No tourists, touts or people trying to sell you anything, just families, local eateries, men chatting next to mini temples, dogs and kids running about. So nice and friendly. Delhi then became my favourite Indian city so far.

That evening, lying in bed, happy from meeting old friends and seeing new places, I suddenly had an absolute sinking feeling: where was my blue mini-rucksack? This was my secondary bag, the first being my camera bag. Realising my kindle was in it wasn't so bad (i can replace that) but then it dawned on me that my travel mascot was in there. I later realised that my sunglasses and a small wooden cat, that i'd bought as a gift for someone, was also in there.

After some odd dreams about Monsta I woke up and decided to make a massive search effort. I delayed my train journey to Agra one day and made some "missing" posters (yes I realise this sounds crazy) then put them up along the bazaar street and all around the hotel where the restaurant was, complete with a reward! The hotel staff were immediately busy and turned the place upside down. I'm pretty sure it wasn't staff or a local that took the bag, it had to be a foreigner. I've since been sending the kindle text documents to see if anyone responds. I've had nothing back yet, and i'm pretty sure I won't see my little buddy again :(

Lost bag in Hari Piorko hotel, Delhi

This is a plea in case someone has picked the bag up and is searching on the internet (a long shot I know)

I left a bag in the Hari Piorko hotel rooftop restaurant on the 16th March. It's a small blue bag and contains a kindle and two sentimental items: a small soft toy (mascot) and a small wooden cat- this is all

I've been to the hotel several times and searched the store room and have some "missing" posters up - the manager said the staff would hand it in - so it can only be a tourist, there for a meal who found the bag and didn't hand it in, for whatever reason.

I don't care about the kindle, but the other two items I dearly want back. Any information please email me on stubishop74@gmail.com or call me on my India sim - +91 9899197437

I'm willing to pay a reward. This is my travel mascot;

Pondicherry, India

Arriving into the usual India chaos I headed east, across the open sewer, where I knew "French town" was. I had no guest house booked but had notes on a few places from the internet and guide books. After getting the "full" response from 7 places a realised it was Friday, and Pondicherry is a favourite seaside resort of Chennai. Balls! Still getting "FULL FULL FULL" it was now getting late. Every "full" would lead me to a slightly more upmarket place.

Eventually I found Hotel De L'Orient. I later read about it in the Lonely planet, this is what they said;
 "This is as grand as it gets in Puducherry: a restored colonial mansion with rooms that appeal to your inner pith-helmeted aristocrat. Should you need a sense of columned regal importance, the hush of breezy verandas and the scurrying service of men in clean white uniforms, this is the place to book"
Arriving so late I was able to bargain their last "suite" down to a mere £40. 10 times more than I had been paying but i need these little luxurious punctuations in my travels (I told myself). They mentioned wearing a suit to dinner and I explained that I only had a sweaty t-shirt and shorts (i'd put my shirt and trousers in laundry) and all was fine. Dinner was lovely: garlic prawns to start, masala fish main and a cheeseboard for dessert! Man oh man, i miss good cheese. What i'd give for some thick cut cheese on toast right now. Dinner finished, i sat there on my own, watching the rich French couples dine and listening to crooning guitar man playing "lady in red" with a thick Indian accent. I decided to head back to the room and play about with long exposures.

The room, sorry, appartment was enormous. Basically four rooms. The bed area for sleeping, a desk area for writing things, a washroom for cleaning and a entrance hall with TV for accepting guests, should I have had any. All the furniture was intricate original or restored period furniture. To say it was overkill would be an understatement. Monsta had his own bed! I sat there thinking about why people would want this, i mean, sure it was lovely but at the end of the day surely you just need a bed and a bathroom? No?

Stole all the soap and wash items, had a delicious breakfast and checked out. Back on the streets where I literally bumped into a Canadian chap searching for a room, so we searched together. What we found is a world away from the hotel De l'Orient. Twin room for £2 a night. Ridiculous. Popped our bags in and decided on beer. Just checking out of the room next to us was a Kiwi girl and an American girl who we spent the afternoon drinking with. The drinking hole we chose, women didn't usually frequent so Sara and Kate, were celebrities. Everyone had their photo taken with us including a geeky Indian man in a t-shirt with "I like big jugs" emblazened across the front. Class.

French town Pondicherry is nice, but done in a day. The new town is the same as anywhere else in India. Next day me and Liam hired a moped and headed up the coast for a swim. Found a beautiful but scorching beach, no shade anywhere. Could only stay the morning for a swim then back and hid from the sunshine, only venturing out for some street food past dark.

Next day hoppped on a bus to the dreaded Chennai. Grabbed a dirt cheap room there next to the station and hopped on a train first thing in the morning. Next stop Sri Lanka!

Chennai

From getting off the bus at 7am i hated Chennai. A huge throbbing dirty traffic-roaring dusty polluted smelly monster metropolis. With no-one that actually wants to help you, unless there's money involved.

The lonely planet try and fluff it up but essentially there's no reason to come here apart from transit to other places, as it's well connected. 

A tuk-tuk driver takes me to an internet cafe and i wait for 2 hours for it to open. He keeps coming back past and speaking, trying to get me to go up into the central area to find an internet cafe that's open, and hoping to charge me 300 rupees for the pleasure. I decline 9 times before the non-talkative lady opens the "internet cafe" (room with 5 computers in it). I scurry in and try and find out where on earth the coach dumped me! Miles from anywhere. 

My reason for coming to Chennai is to get a visa for Sri Lanka. After finding out where the consulate is i flag a tuk-tuk and give him the address, and landmark! He seems to know where it is and after agreeing on 150 rupees (it's a long way and rush hour of course) we zip off. It takes ages. I start to realise that he has NO idea where he's going. Asking people along the way seems to get him no-where. Eventually, after speaking to some police, he stops and says "here" and rudely ushers me out. I say "where??" and he points to a big building then ushers me out again. I get out, annoyed at his vagueness and rudeness and head over to the building, which turns out to be the American embassy. Tuk-tuk drivers just went even lower down my Christmas card list. 

 To cut a long blog short, i walked for nearly an hour with my backpack in searing heat, asking people where the Sri Lanka consulate was. Eventually, down some hidden back roads, i located it. The tuk-tuk driver was miles away. 

 The rest of the day is spent waiting for the visa, which was successful (woop!) so i get ripped off by another tuk-tuk driver and head to the bus station, to find a hotel nearby. At this point i'm dripping with sweat, exhausted from not eating much and so infuriated with tuk-tuk drivers. I think Chennai broke me! 

I find a nice calm hotel and stay in the room, with a long shower, a chicken and olive pizza and a film. Bliss.

Madurai to Chennai

Today in Madurai is all about getting to Chennai. Trying to get on a train last minute in India is near impossible. There are taktal (emergency) tickets for tourists but you should give them 24hours warning before attempting. I was pushing my luck with 8 hours notice. However, the station supervisor (at the time) was very sympathetic. I purchased a ticket and became number 1 in the waiting queue. Go back at 5pm and all should be fine.
Shocked, i left the station and headed for some food and a look at the HUGE temple here. Annoyed by touts everywhere around it. "come see the temple from high!" they say, and would try and lead you into their shop, which is 5 stories high and probably did have a great view from the top. Brushing all of these aside, and ever-persistent tuk-tuk drivers became a chore, and i sat back at the station in a quiet corner. Ahhh! 5pm came and i headed back to the supervisors office, there was now a different man on duty, who flat refused me on taktal.

Plan B was a flight. I called the airport and they quoted me 180 pounds for a last minute flight to Chennai. Whatever happened to cheap last second flights??

Plan C was the dreaded coach. Only dreaded from my last experience. At the coach station i scouted around for a single bed sleeper. They're mostly doubles, meaning if you're travelling alone you share with a complete stranger (they're extremely cosy) or nothing. You can't have a double for yourself, even if you pay for it. I eventually found a company that had a single bed coach spare, for a great price. I snapped it up and waited 3 hours for it to show up. I sat in one of  the very dingy (no women allowed) holes at the side of the bus station and had a beer, while all the time being observed by groups of Indian men.

The bus arrived. Very cosy little bed! Fell asleep instantly. I was woken up very loudly in Chennai, in the middle of nowhere and ushered off the bus. Looking around me there were sewers, motorways and dust. Great.  

Kodaikanal to Madurai

A beautifully scenic journey back down the mountain to the baking city. The bus has such gently bouncy suspension it rocked me into snoozeland for an hour before hitting the crazy Madurai bus terminal again.

Kodaikanal

Expecting a quiet hill station the bus roars into a typical Indian town 2km above sea level. You can see why the English retreated from the scorching southern cities to here in colonial times, it's lovely and fresh, and even cold at night. I ended up with quite a plush (compared to my Madurai prison) room for a nice price, overlooking the mountains, with thick blankets containing odd patterns and cheesy pictures of bears. Not much to say about the place itself. It's geared up for relaxing. Hired a bike and cycled around the lake, had a walk up to the observatory and around the back of the town, visited the small temple, had a look in the many chocolate and spice shops then sat about in the sunshine by the lake, watching the Indian tourists playing chess and trying to operate paddle boats that looked and sounded like they hadn't been maintained since the 80's.

The restaurants were very disappointing. All "multi-cuisine" but masters of none. I've had better curries on brick lane, seriously. I don't get the Indian love of Chinese food. It's everywhere, and is really quite bad.

You can see all of my Kodaikanal pictures here

Madurai to Kodaikanal

Sorry for the glut of posts today - this is the first time i've been able to spend any time on wi-fi in ages. There is NO wi-fi!! I've been writing all these posts offline then uploading to blogger when i have a chance. I'm finding myself splurging words out at the moment, which is the complete opposite of what i thought would happen!

The guards clanked their batons along the prison cell bars at 7am. I had a suprisingly good nights sleep. I have 5 new mosquito bites although I couldn't see any of the beasts in my standard pre-bed check. There's either one very fat mosquito hiding or an army invaded and left. I discharge myself for good behaviour and head for the bus station via a delicious street coffee-man. I needed to find the bus to Kodaikanal. If people knew they all sent me different directions, and they wanted money just for telling me. If they didn't know they sent me somewhere, wanting to be helpful, and asked for money. Not willing to give out cash and now fed up of asking people I speak to a policeman, who tells me to go to Arapalayam bus station about 5km down the road. I thank him gratefully and grab a tuk-tuk agreeing on 50 rupees with the driver before we leave. He agrees and we head out. Once there i hand over 50 and step out. "70 rupees" he says. "50 we agreed!" i said. "60 rupees" he said with his best smile. I just walked off, agitated already and it's not even 9am.

In Arapalayam bus station a million busses are coming and going, people eveywhere. I weave between the buses asking the drivers "Hello! Kokaikanal?". Eventually i find out where and when the bus leaves. I expect to see some westerners waiting as Kodaikanal is 100% on the tourist trail. I guess they're all going by private bus or taxi. This crate costs me 91p, for a 125km, 2.5 hour journey! I get on the bus and store my bag as the rest of the world gets on after me.

A seven year old boy called Karthick sits next to me, and front/behind sit his sister, 2 cousins, mother, father, uncle and aunt. They're on a family trip to their favourite temple in the mountains. Their English is amazing, i can't speak a word of Tamil! It's impossible to learn even the simplest words in India With 1500 languages those words are bound to be different when you get around the corner. The family are incredibly curious of me and i recieve the Spanish inquisition. They don't come across many westerners. The daughters are shocked that i'm not married. They take my photo and I sign various bits of paper for everyone. I get their signatures also, and wish my camera wasn't in my bag behind a forest of legs. I hand out stickers and fail at trying to explain skiing. Karthick draws me a picture of his made-up super hero (Gilob.G).

We reach the temple and they head off "BYE BYE BYE BYE BYE BYE..." until out of sight. Such lovely people. New people get on the bus for the remaining hour up the mountains. The man in front has such a cough i'm sure he's going to die before we get there.

Madurai (part1)

I arrive out of the station at midnight and need to find accomodation. I'm heading to Kodaikanal first thing tomorrow so any room will do. I shall be back to explore Madurai in a few days.

I come across a few places i recognise from the lonely planet, but they're out of my budget. I stumble across this large block on a dark backstreet, it says "Madurai residences". The young man behind the counter says he has rooms for 300 rupees (£4) so i agree. I wait for him to ask for passport, fill out name and to pay. I try and explain that this is what i want to do but he does the Indian head-shake and hands me the key. Seems unusual but ok. I've got nothing to lose. I head to the room on the 4th floor, it reminds me of a prison. All concrete, dark, with windows from the room to the balcony. Men in wifebeaters are watching TV in some rooms i pass. Opening the door reveals my cell. It's just a bed (clean sheets but no blankets), a TV and a hole-in-the-ground toilet. The walls are a faded snot green colour. I do nothing but get into my sleeping bag and sleep.

I'm woken up by the phone at 1:30am. An irate man says "come reception now, come reception". I head down and a different, older man (possibly the owner) starts going off at me about my name, passport and money. I didn't argue, just entered my details and paid. I said sorry, patted him on the back and he smiled back "no problem sir". He needs to re-train his staff!