Erotica Chaotica

Dear Granny,
Please don't read this post.

Sorry I didn't write in a while. I lost control of the english language but I'm back now. Kinda. So, just a little post to fill you in on where its at. (This was all a long time ago now, so I'll skip through it...)

Varanasi to Khajuraho. A nasty little town with some filthy temples. Deservedly on the Saga bus route. Packs of touts thrusting the same crap under the noses of terrified retired big-shots and their fat wives. There was something rather carnal about it, seeing them speed up, desperately trying to power-walk their way out of the horror. All to no avail. It was messy. Where was I? Ah yes, Khajuraho. Rock porn:


I don't know when India covered up and went from tantric to "embarassed goat-nailers" as a 50somethingamericanhippywomancounsellor I met put it. Maybe it was the muslim influence, maybe the british. Shame. Now pairs of giggling 20-something Indian men get their kicks, and probably their sexual education, there. As you may have gathered, I wasn't overly enamoured by the town, but where else could you be accosted by a manic, greasy-lank-haired german practically dribbling while he blurts out "Excvuse me, do you know ver is zee carving of zee man fucking zee horse?" (OK, maybe in germany...)


That's quite enough of that.

So, in Khajuaraho I went to a guesthouse run by a yogi a few km outside of town, played ma geetar (and I must say I'm currently on fire musically) and did some yoga. Yoga is well good. My back feels like it might be designed to bend.

Hmm... maybe I've been a little harsh on Khajuraho. Nevermind. Next stop Orchha, which was a place I'd been really looking forward to as several people I'd met described it as a haven of tranquility, which was what I wanted after several crazy towns. But I was ill. Oh yes. I won't go into it - suffice to say I immediately reached for the antibiotics for the first time in India, thus annhilating any local resitance I'd developed. But believe me, it was necessary...


Orchha has some very nice old palaces, but I didn't really appreciate them given that I was confined to my room for 2 of my 3 days there. Still, a nice place to recuperate.




Then to Gwalior, site of a huge hill fort which (surprisingly rarely) has a Palace sporting Hindu architecture:


Quite nice, no? Variations on the 3-wheeled rickshaw theme can be found throughout India, but possibly my favourite so far are Gwalior's mad-max tongas:


I rushed through Gwalior, in order to get back to Delhi in time to meet my Mum(!) It was interesting to come full circle, and to see how my impressions of Delhi had changed. Unsurprisingly, I found it much less chaotic than I remembered. Paharganj (grotty backpacker area), which I considered a right-of-passage that I must learn to feel at home in when I arrived in October, I've come to realise is nothing of the sort. Its just a transit area to be endured for the minimum amount of time possible!

I'm actually in Paharganj now, about to go up to Amritsar, having just taken Mum back to the airport (2 weeks later), and will be filling you in on our Rajasthan adventures very soon, as well as explaining how (despite my efforts to make things as stress-free as possible) on her 2nd day in the country her first experience of an Indian train was having to jump onto a moving one!

Varanasi, 4am

I couldn't sleep - mind in hyperspace, so I walked the streets of one of the oldest cities in the world by the light of the full moon (power cut), taking care not to walk into sleeping cows, or step in their shit. Indian cities, like all cities I guess, are great at night. They never sleep, there's always someone selling chai, cooking something, and as the city regained power I was passing this internet place. The guy who works here also sleeps here, which is standard, and he'd already let another insomniac in, so I thought I'd bring you up to date.


From Siliguri to Patna - capital of Bihar, India's poorest state. I didn't hang around when my train arrived at 3.30am, and took a taxi straight down to Bodhgaya. The whole 4 hour journey was through a thick mist, gradually turning from black to grey to pink to orange to white as the sun rose, out of which ghostly figures swathed in cloth sporadically appeared from nowhere, often dangerously close. Some driving a 2-cow cart, some squatting outside their huts, and many walking miles and miles to work before dawn. It was like some medieval horror film, but I was too tired to be scared, and my driver was quite sensible.


Buddha spent most of his life in Bihar and attained enlightenment under a Bhodi tree in Bodhgaya. The original tree is gone, but another, grown from a cutting of the original, is there in its place. The town is the most important pilgrimage site in the world for Buddhists. Besides a sprinkling of westerners & hotel/shop owners/workers, half of the people are Buddhist pilgrims, and the other half are beggars. There are thousands of beggars - they come from all over the state for the pilgrimage season (alms giving being an important part of Buddhism), sitting in enormous lines, often in a terrible physical state, all with the same begging bowl... the scale of it is impossible to convey. And even with the most cynical view on their tactics, & with the knowledge that they do earn enough to survive, its heartbreaking. But when your every move is tracked by several destitute children, its simply not an option to step back and consider just how different my childhood was. Whilst its easy to give enough to a few people for them to eat for the day, which I do, its such a hopeless situation in the current climate that I know anything I do is really for my own benefit. Not that I think feeling guilty is the solution...


So yes, Bodhgaya. Part dusty, filthy, smelly 3rd world disaster, part serene oasis of Buddhist tranquility. Every country with a significant Buddhist population has built a temple/monastery in the town, in their country's architectural style. For example, here's the Thai temple:


But really the whole town is decoration for the main event: the Mahabodhi temple &, more specifically, the Bodhi tree in its grounds. Stepping into the temple complex, especially having come from the bedlum outside, is like entering a different universe. It's a real privilege to be with monks from all over the world, in the place that's central to their beliefs, that they're visiting for the first time after decades of devotion. Sitting under the tree with them, listening to them chanting or seeing them meditating or prostrating themselves every step of the way round the perimiter, like this guy under the tree...



(the bodhi tree is illuminated, just below the Mahabodi temple)

I left the centre of the Buddhist universe at 5am, and by 11am I was in the heart of the Hindu universe: Varanasi. The city is spread along the banks of the river Ganges, where a long series of ghats (steps) make the water's edge accessible throughout the year (after the monsoon, the river can rise by 15m or so, judging by the tide marks on some of the buildings).



The old city, behind the ghats, where I am now, is a chaotic maze of alleys, winding through bazaars (markets), past temples, mosques etc. Cows, dogs, goats wander around, lines of shopkeepers hawking identical wares vie for attention, children fly kites from every available vantage point, invincible young men barge through on motorbikes - slick quaffs, sunglasses glued to their face, horns blaring, swerving as they speed past cauldrons of boiling oil in which an old man cooks something or other while his grandchildren play almost directly beneath. Imminent danger is everywhere. Disasters waiting to happen. Similar things happen in all Indian cities, but this may just be the most Indian city I've been to!


The ghats are extremely photogenic: the Ganga is the centre of Varanasi life. People come to pray, to swim, to wash, sewers empty into it, dead animals are floated into it. I decided not to eat any fish here...


Although they're good for photos, I've been really saddened and disappointed by the ghats (having heard so much abot them). It really feels like Hinduism for tourists: "ceremonies" are performed every evening to ticket-paying audiences, literally every other person you walk past wants to sell you something, and doesn't give up easily. And the saddhus. These "holy men" on the ghats were aptly described by an over-excited gap year girl on her mobile in the hotel last night as "a bunch of naked dudes smoking weed all day..."; not to mention the naked western hippies with them, enjoying the crowd of gob-smacked Indian tourists. One is not impressed. If I was a Hindu, I'd be really upset that such a holy place has descended to this. Of course, the less desirable elements are more in-your-face, so I appreciate I'm generalising. There are genuine parts, but still...


If you've heard one thing about Varanasi, its probably involves the burning ghats. These are ghats where cremations take place on open pyres. I won't go into detail. The (outlawed) caste system is still in full swing: higher castes are burned higher up the ghat, while untouchables handle the bodies. The cremations are gruesome, but I've spent a lot of time watching, and feel a great deal of respect for the way Hindu's treat death so openly. I've found it very helpful...

I'm finding northern India very different from the south. Put crudely, the south is closer to being a holiday, whereas the north is more of a challenge. I've done a lot of thinking in Varanasi, and have met some really nice people. Everyone travelling in India is here for a reason, and more often than not it boils down to the same things: we come here to appreciate what we have, to understand what we don't, and to come to terms with what we've lost. That, I believe, is called "gaining perspective."

So, there you go. I'm wide awake, its morning, I'm going to hire a boat & watch sunrise on the Ganga. Its going to be a glorious day...

Run to the Hills...

...and freefall. (small town pretty)
Sorry, but its worth it if at least 3 people might understand, no?

Darjeeling. Now there's a nice name. It means "land of lightning" I believe, though in exactly what language, I'm not sure.
Everyone I'd spoken to had said not to go there as it's too cold at this time of year. But it was now or never, and I fancied a nice cup of tea. Actually, I don't really like Darjeeling tea, but I didn't want to go to Assam right now as things seem to be kicking off. And in case you're wondering, it was tribal people from Assam who first showed the british how to make tea, and it was the british who decided to plant it in Darjeeling. I digress...



It wasn't so cold when I arrived, so I went for one of the oldest hotels in town: at the highest point, lots of charm, a 3-room suite, 3 resident mice, very cheap (off season), no insulation, and a very old electric heater. I've could've got more heat from a match. It was SO COLD. 4 blankets, 2 duvets, thermal underwear, still cold.
But the views! The backdrop to the town is the Kangchendzonga range (part of the Himalayas), which has the 3rd highest mountain in the world. More on that later. It wasn't clear enough to see Everest, which was a real shame, as was the fact that I didn't use my camera for the 2 clear days I had in Darjeeling. And then the clouds came down. Or maybe they came up. In any case, 2 days of cold, cloud, very few backpackers, and a town that goes to bed at 8, became mildly depressing. I read. A lot. In fact, I've read more on this trip so far than on the whole of the last one.



Anyway, I'd had enough of being cold so headed to Kalimpong (about 800m lower), with the intention of travelling onto Bhutan.



Kalimpong was great. I was really lucky with the weather, had an amazing hotel (where Hilary & Tenzing stayed pre-Everest), & spent most of my time gazing at this view from my balcony:



Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Himalayas. I've never seen anything like it. Just the name is awe-inspiring, but to see part of them in the flesh is a genuine privilege. OK, I know you want more... The peak on the right is the aforementioned Kangchendzonga.



The West Bengal hills really didn't feel like India to me. I realise I'm saying that a lot, but that's the way it is. No one place defines the feeling of India in the same way that no one place defines Europe. This (very new) country is really more like a continent. Its so big, so diverse in environment, culture, language etc, it has a larger population than Africa. I could go on. Oh yes, the hills. The Nepali/Tibetan influence is visible everywhere which, put simply (crudely) is more relaxed, more friendly, and almost hassle-free compared to most of India.



Now, according to the book, the Bhutanese powers that be had relaxed their $200/day tourist fee in the city of Phuentsholing, just across the border for Jaigon. Having decided to risk travelling through a political strike, packed my bags and bought my bus ticket, I was having lunch with an American guy when the owner of the restaurant overheard our conversation and told me Bhutan was no longer open for free, and hadn't been for a couple of years. I verified this on the interweb and narrowly avoided 12 hours of nervous buses only to be turned away at the border. So I stayed in Kalmipong for one more day, which was nice.



I was quite sad to leave the hills. But I intend to see the Himalayas again, from the other side, while I'm in India, and I was in the mood for some hot weather again. And my jeans needed a wash. Here's the best mode of transport in the hills, minus the 6 people clinging onto the back/sitting on the top:



And here's the Teesta river as seen from the road from Kalimpong to Siliguri:



Siliguri is without doubt the worst place I've been in India. All the downsides, none of the positives, but it is the major train station to/from the northeast. Still, I only had a few hours to kill. Or so I thought. Having survived 6 hours without pulling any hair out, I went to the train station, where the flashy digital bulletin boards only display information on the train that's most recently departed (along with 6 lines of scrolling "don't set fire to the train, don't cook on the train, don't push people off the train, try to stay inside the train while its moving, this board designed by BEC, Bangalore flash flash flash). I queued to ask for the platform number. Nice man said platform 3. Went to platform 3, 9.30pm, 1 hour early... At 11.30pm, I went to ask when it was expected and THE SAME MAN told me "2pm tomorrow." 15 hours late. Nevermind, I eventually found a hotel that was still open, and delayed my journey to the heartland of Buddhist and Hindu pilgrimage until the next day...