Leaving the madness behind

Just as well my phone alarm worked, as the hotel staff didn’t give us a call as promised. We had an 11 hour day ahead, so that wasn’t a great start. But at least our jeeps had air con – that made up somewhat for the number of potholes we bounced and crashed over. As we travelled along our senses were bombarded with a million images in a flat landscape. We probably didn’t cover many kilometers, it was just so slow. We were in the same jeep as Raj, which meant we scored a) bananas and b) samosas.

Gorakaphur is the dirtiest town I have ever seen – I thought by now I was immune to the filth, but this was on another level again, stinking piles of rubbish all over the place, people literally living in amongst it. I was glad when we went to a rather upmarket, clean looking restaurant for lunch, where Raj ordered Malai kofta, rice and garlic naan, all of which I enjoyed. Nearly 4 hours after lunch we reached the border town of Sonauli where was absolute mayhem - mainly caused by untold numbers of trucks blocking the narrow road, all jostling for position to cross the border. It was truly insane. Raj was brilliant and made our drivers take us closer than they wanted to – but we still had to haul our luggage quite a way through the madness.

Finally, we crossed into Nepal, (hooray, at last after all these years of dreaming, I am here!), our visas were stamped, and we were herded onto a Nepali bus built for midgets. Even my knees were bent double but Rob’s were up by his chin! Onward we travelled for another hour along roads getting ridiculously narrow - to Lumbini, and finally to our gorgeous hotel Buddha Maya.

All of us strolled out and stretched our legs before a hot shower and dinner. Recalling the day I have visions of Raj buying bananas at a roadside stall, leaping out of the car to buy fresh hot samosas, and so many other scenes – water buffalo in the water, people in their homes or shops, vehicles of every sort and shape. No wonder then that Lumbini feels like an oasis of peace and calm. No beggars or pushy touts, clean, friendly people. We were the naughty ones – at dinner the group of us sneakily knocked off a 750ml bottle of gin.

Silk scarves and funeral pyres in Varanassi

I will never be able to reconcile the way Indians see the Ganges as a sacred river central to so many of their rituals, and yet they use it to dispose of their rubbish and their dead. It hurt my western sensibilities to watch a little girl picking through every scrap of rubbish that had been carelessly left on the steps leading to the river, every now and then finding a treasure which she secreted in a little bag tied around her waist. We have so much, and so many of these people have so little. But I am getting ahead of myself.

We travelled overnight by train, sharing a cabin with locals and keeping all our gear constantly in sight, with me so neurotic that I even slept with my bag under my head. Small bags are a must for train travel in India! We alighted at Allahabad, where India was officially taken over from the East India Company by the British in 1857/8. After breakfast, we piled into jeeps that seemed to lack air conditioning and spent the next 3 and a half hours melting in the heat. The road seemed to plough straight through the middle of villages, and as we went along the condition of the road worsened. In one village the road was cobbled, so we bumped and clattered through that one. We saw so much life along the way, an endless procession of sights and sounds. The countryside was fairly scenic, with trees and crops of rice and corn.

Finally we reached the holy Ganges, where we were told that no alcohol or animal products were to be consumed near the river, and no rubbish thrown in. There must be one rule for locals and one for foreigners on that one! We climbed into little boats and made ourselves comfortable under the shade cloths while we were rowed out into the current by our wiry crew. We rafted up together in the middle of the river, and were served an enormous, delicious meal of rice, dahl, chutney, pickle, spinach paneer, potato curry, yellow pumpkin and chai tea. After that we lay back and relaxed as we drifted down to our camping spot on a deserted island. Rob stepped off the boat and into bird heaven – pratincoles, kingfishers, waders – and also into the sticky mud of the Ganges. It was paradise on our little island, watching the sun go down. The crew erected tents and cooked us another amazing meal which we ate under starlight. The heat continued, and almost no one slept in their stifling tents. We dragged our mattresses outside, wrapped ourselves in our silk liners in a vain attempt to avoid the mossies, and sweated. All night long we had to endure the amplified sound of chanting coming over the river, a ceaseless wail only briefly relieved by the distant sound of a coyote.

I am not proud of the fact that I had to defecate on the banks of the Ganges next day – I wasn’t the only one suffering from a sore belly either. Most of us seemed to be getting a gutbug one after the other, and we wonder about the hygiene on the boat, where they religiously made us wash our hands but I never saw them wash their own. At Chunar we disembarked, and climbed somewhat thankfully into air conditioned jeeps and drove through lovely clean villages, fields of paw paw and corn, heading for Varanassi. It is the world’s oldest living city, established in 1400BC, and India’s holiest city. At our nice hotel I enjoyed one of the best showers of my life, it felt so good to wash off the sweat and grime of the train and boat.

Later we walked around part of the old city with its narrow alleyways and shops, stalls, people, colour, life and touts. We visited a famous silk-making area and watched silk being woven. Later we joined a candle flower ceremony on the Ganges along with masses of people and boats. In the streets there were rowdy parades celebrating the end of Ramadhan.

Unfortunately next morning Rob and I didn’t get the expected wake-up-call, so we missed out on the dawn ceremony down on the ghats. More than one hundred steps lead down to the river along a 6 kilometre stretch where there is a constant celebration of life, and rites of passage are performed.

Four of us joined forces and visited Saranath, also known as Benares or Kashi, the birthplace of Buddhism, where Buddha gave his first sermon in 528 BC. Beyond the rather naively decorated temple was a dismal zoo, but also an excellent museum with ancient relics dating back to at least 1st century BC, and containing stone lintels, columns, statues and a glorious glowing Buddha. The drive by rickshaw there and back was amazing – nearly an hour through thronging streets and insane intersections. Loads of beasties and bicycles in a never ending procession.

In the afternoon Rob insisted he knew the way back to the ghats, and promptly got us lost. The heat was too much, so we summoned a cycle rickshaw. The driver didn’t understand us and took us miles in the wrong direction, he thought we had said Gate – so he had to cycle all the way back again. He earned himself a big tip, he really deserved it in that heat. We sat on the ghats for a while, but they are disgustingly filthy, rubbish everywhere, so it didn’t prove to be a pleasant spot for serene contemplation. Rob was incredulous when it took us only 3 minutes to walk back to our hotel!

Raj took 4 of us through the packed streets to an Indian cotton shop in the middle of incredibly busy markets. We had a wonderful time in the shop and all bought a selection of beautifully handmade colourful clothes from the lovely vendors. Autorickshaw drivers tried to fleece us on the way back, so we got into 2 cycle rickshaws instead and once again enjoyed the chaotic ride. Pity about my churning stomach - Rob munched his way through thali while I ate plain rice, banana and yoghurt. A 4.30 am start in the morning –ugh.

Escape to the countryside – Orchha

Our train from Agra was a local one with hard bench seats, air conditioning in the form of ceiling fans that didn’t work, and a crowd of people all trying to steal your seat. But what a relief to leave the big crowded cities behind and get out into the pretty countryside, water buffalos wallowing in pools, cattle egrets stepping around in the grass, iridescent-winged rollers flying by, and the colourfully dressed people working in the fields or tending their animals.

We detrained at Jhansi, the site of a dreadful massacre of 5000 native Indians by the British. We didn’t sense any resentment, unless you could count the insane driving. Piling into tuk-tuks, we were driven to Orchha, all of us amazed at the number of people crowded into some of the tuks-tuks along the busy road. I counted at least 14 in one. Every tuk-tuk driver was hell bent on being the first one to wherever; they all drove like lunatics, passing each other and anything else that got in their way. Our drivers were somewhat more moderate, thank goodness.

Our accommodation was an air-conditioned tent with its own bathroom at a beautiful resort, and the first thing most of us did after our sweaty journey was leap into the pool. At sunset we wandered down to the river, and were set upon by the village children. Then, a fascinating, very special experience - we watched uncountable numbers of people pouring in to the local temple for a Puja ceremony, complete with music and dancing by the girls and women, who tried to get us to join in.

Next morning Rob went out with his bird book and caught the interest and attention of the menfolk. A line of colourful saris were drying along a fence, and processions of people filed past heading back to the temple. An exploration of the Raj Mahal palace followed. It took 22 years to build, employed thousands of workers, and is a mix of Hindu and Muslim architecture – minarets and towers. We saw the King’s quarters and the rooms for his concubines, and climbed to the top for panoramic views of the lush green countryside dotted with brick edifices. Vultures soaring overhead completed the picture.

The sweat was dripping off us, it was so hot, and it continued that way for our visit to Taragram, a local paper-making enterprise employing mainly women. Next day we visited a small village and watched pots being made by hand, and sat with the children in their open-sided school room. The local houses had clay slab rooves and the walls were painted light blue to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The newer concrete houses proved to not be as cool as the original houses. In the late afternoon we attended a cooking class, and watched (and later ate) chai masala, an aubergine dish, raita, rice pilau and chappatis being made. The memory of all that delicious food makes me long for the genuine tastes of India again.

Astounded in Agra

We were picked up at Agra station in airy open sided jeeps and driven through the fascinating streets to our little hotel. It felt like the real India –cows wandering at their leisure along the roads – they are rather beautiful. From the rooftop of our hotel we got our first glimpse of the mighty Taj. But first, a visit to the massive Red Fort, built in 1565 by 3 successive Mughal emperors. The large majority of the fort is still in use by the Indian Army, but we were shown around the remainder by a beautifully spoken and highly knowledgeable guide.

From there we went to the Kanu carpet factory, and were shown all the steps of knotted carpet-making. The factory is a Government funded project to help local women, and to replace heavy industry with its disastrous impacts on the people and the monuments – especially of course the Taj. It takes 3 years of training to learn the knotting techniques. Many women work on a single large loom, and use singing to follow the design, as there is only 1 printed pattern. Some carpets take 3-6 months to make, 288 knots per square inch is very good quality. They are washed for 4-5 hours by hand, vinegar is used to set the dyes, and they are washed again, dried, combed and cut by hand with scissors – a highly skilled job, every rug done twice. The carpets were soooo gorgeous, they gleamed and cried out buy me buy me.

Next visit was to one of the wonders of the world, the glorious Taj Mahal. It truly is astounding, so beautiful and peaceful, set on the banks of the Yamuna River. Rob saw loads of interesting birds, and I had to keep reminding him we were here to see the monument! We spent a fabulous couple of hours wandering around, feeling quite stunned by the place, and even though there were plenty of people around, oddly enough it didn’t feel crowded or unpleasant.

Dicing with death in Delhi

You could read a score of books and watch a dozen movies but nothing prepares you for the reality that is India. You have to go there to believe it – and I’m not sure you could ever understand it. There’s just so much of everything and everything becomes too much.

It all started with us flying into the heat of Delhi late at night, facing long delays landing and waiting an hour to collect our luggage while every bag was checked as it came off the plane. Everything went relatively smoothly after that for a while, we managed to find the special ticket booth and bought our taxi voucher and headed confidently for the door. That’s when we made a fatal error – we dithered. Had the man in the ticket booth said to take any black and white cab or any black and yellow cab? As we turned around to go back and ask, a sea of people swarmed towards us and at that moment we were taken in tow by a taxi tout. Not that we realized that at first, but it soon became clear when we were bundled into an old car and hurtled through the dark streets in the pouring rain with two Indians in the front seat and nothing declaring the car was a taxi.

We had no idea where we were going as the car sped along, weaving in and out and around all manner of cars, lorries, buses and vans trundling along the motorway. Glancing anxiously at each other, we furtively hid all our valuables in case our worst fears were realized. We came to an official-looking road barrier and the boys in front said that this was the street our hotel was in, but the road was closed because of flooding. As the rain was torrential it was easy to believe. There was a barrier across the next street they tried, so they said they would take us to a “Government Information Office”. This was down a dark alley with various shifty looking people hanging around. Things were getting seriously scary now. I went inside while Rob stayed with the bags and the boys. A smooth talking fellow phoned our hotel – I was informed they had no reservation for us; the rooms were all flooded and so on. I said rubbish, stormed back outside and insisted we be taken directly to our hotel which I had booked through a tour group – and Rob started mentioning police. Luckily we had heard of this scam and stood our ground – because they then without any further nonsense drove us straight to our hotel. By now it was 1 o’clock in the morning and it was with an enormous sense of relief we checked in to the Hotel Goodtimes, thanking our lucky stars we hadn’t been robbed or murdered.

In the morning we were greeted by a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds in the chaotic wet and muddy streets and were instantly and thereafter constantly harassed by auto rickshaw drivers, those persistent pests. We dodged potholes, puddles, people, bikes, cars, motorbikes, dogs, trucks, rubbish and more auto rickshaws as we bravely headed for the shops.

Later in the day we hired a proper fixed-price taxi, and that’s when we decided you had to have the patience of a saint to survive the traffic in Delhi – the traffic our driver had to negotiate was unbelievable, horns honking continuously, cars going every which way, people, bikes, buses, dogs - even a pig. We visited Jantar Mantar where a guide forced himself on us and charged us way way way too many rupees for his services that we didn’t even want. But he did do a thorough job of explaining how these astronomical observatory structures built in the 1700’s worked – as well as telling us how many years he had guided and how much people valued him and paid him! We finally managed to extricate ourselves from the shameless fellow, found our waiting taxi and were driven past the beautiful Parliament buildings, India Gate, flash houses and hovels, the fancy shopping areas of Connaught Place and through rough looking shops selling all manner of goods. The rain and the thought of fighting off vendors and guides made us reluctant to sally forth into these areas or Central Park, and we soon headed back to the sanctuary of our hotel.

Next day we watched a barefoot woman in a lovely sari load a dozen bricks on her head and carry them up several flights of stairs to the top floor of a decidedly dodgy looking building under construction. It made your heart bleed.

We joined our tour group, met our nice companions, and shortly thereafter headed off for what I can only call an experience - travelling on the metro. You know all those movies you see of people being squashed into a carriage? Well, that’s the truth of it. It was my worst nightmare or so I thought, literally being pushed and crushed into the train, my arms pinned at my sides, my diaphragm unable to move, my face in someone’s armpit. But there was worse to come -our second bad experience in Delhi – Rob had his wallet stolen from the side-pocket on his trousers. He never felt a thing. Kiss goodbye to USD $500 and SND $175 – about a thousand dollars NZ. We were upset and disheartened and it was hard to enjoy the incredibleness of walking through the seething crush of humanity in Old Delhi. We visited the oldest mosque in Delhi leaving our shoes at the door and walking barefoot across the filthy ground, the ladies amongst us swathed in pink spotted garments.

A Sikh temple was next; this time we all had to don orange headscarves – Rob looked just lovely in his. From the terrace we looked down on the mind-boggling crowds in the streets below, into which we were once again thrust, wending our way along narrowing, crowded market alleys, a myriad of colorful things for sale. An interesting feeling came over me after a while; it was as though I shut off, closed down, I couldn’t bear to look at the masses of people anymore. At the end of the network of alleys we had to pass a massive stinking rubbish pile and then face the return metro ride, our guide Raj jamming the train doors open with his foot and hauling us out from the tangled commuters at our stop.

Oh woe is India: the searing heat; the lack of infrastructure; so many people sleeping on the edge of streets, on little platforms or on the ground, wrapped in dirty blankets or filthy rags; piles of rubbish everywhere; beggars – mainly women with their pathetic little children and babies; religious men muttering Namaste to us; bright coloured clothes of countless people all trying to sell the same range of unwanted items; skinny dogs; monkeys; minor birds with their bright eyes; people with beautiful eyes; people with shifty eyes; women and men in separate queues to get on the trains; lots more men than women in the streets; every single person wanting a piece of you…

As Gael on our tour group said – “just adjust”.