Saying goodbye was hard. I left Mum and Brodie early in the morning in Darjeeling and caught two jeeps down the mountains to the border with Nepal. I always find border crossings a little nerve racking, but the India/Nepal border is so unofficial,anyone can just walk between the two nations without question. My parting experience of India was filling out more forms, the bane of my existence in India.Then I walked across the bridge, I have survived India! At 4pm the bus departed the dusty border town. Despite horrible visions of overcrowded buses with people sitting on the roof, it was actually quite comfortable.I even slept last night, despite being bone jarringly shaken about as the bus rolled over broken up roads. I must admit however I did feel slightly nervous when at 7pm we passed the flaming crash of a van. I could feel the heat on my face as we passed.A nice introduction to Nepal's roads. I arrived however safely in Kathmandu this morning.A bit tired but generally in good spirits. In four days Emme arrives for our trip into the mountains, another interesting bus ride I'm sure. Tomorrow I am meeting up with my friend Emily, who has been in Nepal for a month. So many familiar faces on the other side of the world!
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Tea Dear(jeeling)?
Our trip to Darjeeling infact begun not with tea, but with white water rafting. The Teesta river, flowing down from the high Himalayas provided for the perfect introduction to white water rafting, with fast flowing rapids broken by periods of sedate river cruising. It was exhilarating, crashing through the tumult and foam of the churning water.
Darjeeling sits high above the river, a steep climb up to 2000m. The population is mostly Nepalese, and all the street dresses proclaim that this is Gorkhaland, not West Bengal as the Indian government would have us believe (Darjeeling is the center of a movement among the Nepalese community for a separate state). We stayed however with a lovely Tibetan family. There are also many Tibetans. We visited the Tibetan Refugee center and have had some brilliant Tibetan food.
On the second day we found everything inexplicably closed. A fire overnight had ravished the bazzar and so the whole town closed up in a show of 'town solidarity'. This made finding places to eat a bit of a challenge. Yesterday we caught the 'Toy Train' along the heritage railway, a quaint steam powered ride to the cloud shrouded town of Ghum, walking back in the pleasant mountain air. Good training for next months trek. Darjeeling feels tantalizingly close, just kilometers away is Nepal and the high peaks of the Himalayas.
For the first couple of days the fabled mountain scenery was hidden from view, shrouded in mist and smog. Then one morning we caught a glimpse of snow capped peaks, and the morning after that they were revealed in all their glory, towering high over Darjeeling. Kanchenjunga dominates the skyline. As the worlds third highest peak it is only 300m shorter than Everest, which could also be seen in the distance. At last, my Himalayan goal is in sight, far across the boarder in Nepal. In less than 10 days Emme and I will begin our journey on foot to the base of that mountain. The excitement built during a visit to the Himalayan Mountaineering Insitute, set up by Tenzing Norgay on his return from becoming the first man to scale that mountain with Edmund Hillary.
Darjeeling of course is world famous for tea. Brought by the tea sipping colonials across from China, the tea grown here is often regarded as the worlds finest. And we went to what may be the worlds best tea plantation (It is the worlds highest, and only supplies to Harrods of London and Bollywood, Fancy). Tea pluckers were busy taking in the first flush of the spring season. The real highlight of the plantation was sipping tea with an eccentric old Indian woman in a plush toy filled shack, an explucker who chatted away about tea as she made us tea from the top pick of the season. It only took 5 seconds to brew but was delicious, warm orange in colour, sweet without any hint of bitterness or tannins.
 |
| From The Plantation.... |
 |
| ...To The Table. |
Today is the last day together with family. Tomorrow I take the bus across the border to Kathmandu for the next leg of the journey: The Everest Trek.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Jungles and Mountains
 |
| The Python |
Where in the world we are . View Travels in a larger map
The first afternoon safari we saw little, only a few peacocks and monkeys in the dense jungle. A storm was brewing, and most of the animals were tucked up in bed at home, evidentley. Still the forest was beautiful, lush, the trees lichen clad and sprouting epyphite ferns. It was good to be somewhere wild after so long in cities and towns.
The next morning we were more fortunate. This time transport was by elephant, providing a unique way to travel through the dense jungle and yet be high up to look out for wildlife. I also heard they would't let tourists walk through the park, for fear of one being eaten by a Bengal Tiger. Our first animal was not a tiger but a python, a huge python, coiled up beneath a log. I'm glad there was an elephant between us. Then across a stream, I spotted something huge and grey, it was a rhinocerous! It eyed us wearily before bounding into the scrub. Futher up the river some deers were drinking. Further on wild boars shot from view through the undergrowth to escape the elephants trample. Elephants are amazing animals, when my sunglasse were flicked from my face by a branch, our elephant was able to spot them in the leaf litter, and then pass them up to me with it's trunk. Such inteligence. That evening we saw bison on the savanah.
By our third day in West Bengal, it was time to ascend into the mountains. Climbing steeply on windy, earthquake damaged roads the palms gave way to fir trees and the faces became more Nepalese. At 1800m, high above the Neora Valley and on the edge of a national park was where we stayed. Our lovely little cabin was perched on a cliff, with soaring views across the deep valley. From here we went on walks into the hills.Our fury, four legged guides led the way, yapping at the odd cow or two that had wanderd into the park. The Nepalse food was amazing, and came in large quantities. Unfortunately I could not quite enjoy it, having been a bit ill for the past few days.
The Gangies
Varanasi, like a city from another world and another time, every sight and sound and smell so completley and utterly foreign. In It's maze of medieval laneways you could be in another century, well besides the odd 21st Century motorbike. On the banks of the Gangees the same religious rituals are performed that have been carried out for hundreads of years. It is an intriguing and exciting and discusting and repulsive and compelling. So far my favourite place in India.
Our guest house was nestled within the maze of shop lined lanes that made up the old city. Colourful and crowded, just mind the cow/goat/monkey/motorbike/unspeakable things on the ground. I loved walking through these lanes, for they sure beat the horrors of the streets. Varanasi drivers just seem to keep their hand pressed on the horn, it is earsplitting and madening to spend any amount of time in the traffic. We were right around the corner from one of Hinduisim's most holy of temples. Also, one of it's most high security locations. The place was crawling with soldiers, with two pat downs and 10minutes at a security post having our passports examined and paperwork filled out. You can not breath in India without a beurocrat filling out a form. The temple itself was a bit disapointing, in the end I think we spent more time getting in than visiting.
The holy Gangies river is most beautiful in the early morning light, as tye soft glow of the morning sun spills over the ghats. It is also the most photogenic time of day. Typically, as soon as we were in the boat for our dawn voyage, my camera ran out of battery, spoiling a wonderful photographic experience. Along the ghats, people bathe in the purifying waters of the Gangies. I myself washed my hands thoughourly after touching that water, nothing seemed pure about it to me. Come evening the river is alive with ceremoney and spectacal. Every night of the year, thousands gather for the hour long religious ceremoney, seven preists performing a carefuly coreographed blessing of the Gangies. Futher up river the funeral pires burn brightly as families cremate their deceased on the river banks. A slightly macarbe and yet strangely beautiful sight, so different to the customs of death in our own society.
Nearby Varanasi is the site of Sarnath, where the Buddah came to teach in the 5th century BCE. The buddhists then built a huge stone stupa over the site.
When the madness became too much we would retreat into the peace and comfort of a German run bakery offering great rooftop breakfasts, pastas and vegi burgers. You see, whilst I love Indian food, it is so rich that it is hard to eat continuously for weeks. I did not have any problem with eating south east asian food for every meal but here you need something thats not curry every once in a while. We also found an oddly placed Japanese restaurant down an alley in Varanasi, with suprisingly good Japanese dishes. My favourite culinary experience however was lassies at 'The Blue Lassi,' an unasuming hole in the wall that served the best lassi I have had in India. From it's extensive menu I chose a chocolate orange, Brodie an apple pear and Mum, a mango blueberry. They were delicious, served in neat little clay pots. As the lonely planet describes, 'The best lassi in Varanasi.'
Our guest house was nestled within the maze of shop lined lanes that made up the old city. Colourful and crowded, just mind the cow/goat/monkey/motorbike/unspeakable things on the ground. I loved walking through these lanes, for they sure beat the horrors of the streets. Varanasi drivers just seem to keep their hand pressed on the horn, it is earsplitting and madening to spend any amount of time in the traffic. We were right around the corner from one of Hinduisim's most holy of temples. Also, one of it's most high security locations. The place was crawling with soldiers, with two pat downs and 10minutes at a security post having our passports examined and paperwork filled out. You can not breath in India without a beurocrat filling out a form. The temple itself was a bit disapointing, in the end I think we spent more time getting in than visiting.
The holy Gangies river is most beautiful in the early morning light, as tye soft glow of the morning sun spills over the ghats. It is also the most photogenic time of day. Typically, as soon as we were in the boat for our dawn voyage, my camera ran out of battery, spoiling a wonderful photographic experience. Along the ghats, people bathe in the purifying waters of the Gangies. I myself washed my hands thoughourly after touching that water, nothing seemed pure about it to me. Come evening the river is alive with ceremoney and spectacal. Every night of the year, thousands gather for the hour long religious ceremoney, seven preists performing a carefuly coreographed blessing of the Gangies. Futher up river the funeral pires burn brightly as families cremate their deceased on the river banks. A slightly macarbe and yet strangely beautiful sight, so different to the customs of death in our own society.
Nearby Varanasi is the site of Sarnath, where the Buddah came to teach in the 5th century BCE. The buddhists then built a huge stone stupa over the site.
When the madness became too much we would retreat into the peace and comfort of a German run bakery offering great rooftop breakfasts, pastas and vegi burgers. You see, whilst I love Indian food, it is so rich that it is hard to eat continuously for weeks. I did not have any problem with eating south east asian food for every meal but here you need something thats not curry every once in a while. We also found an oddly placed Japanese restaurant down an alley in Varanasi, with suprisingly good Japanese dishes. My favourite culinary experience however was lassies at 'The Blue Lassi,' an unasuming hole in the wall that served the best lassi I have had in India. From it's extensive menu I chose a chocolate orange, Brodie an apple pear and Mum, a mango blueberry. They were delicious, served in neat little clay pots. As the lonely planet describes, 'The best lassi in Varanasi.'
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Beauty In an Ugly City
Indian Railways moves 11million people and 2.2million tons of cargo every day. Despite the huge capacity, trains are often booked out for weeks, as was the case when we needed to go to Agra.
"I am sorry Madam (Indian Accent), they are all full,"
"I am sorry Madam (Indian Accent), they are all full,"
"all nine of them!?"
That was after being sent between different windows and up the road trying to find the tourist window.
In the end we caught a taxi to Agra, with our lovely driver, Narinda to navigate the dusty, potholed streets and cow scattered highways. Outside Agra is the abandoned Mogul city of Fatepur Sikiri, cooking out in the desert. The hot breeze brought little relief. In search of a good photo I tried walking barefoot upon the sun exposed stone (for we were in a mosque), I almost burnt the soles of my feet off. It was hot. Mum made the mistake (against my advice) of giving a small boy our spent ticket ends. BIG mistake. For the rest of our time at the site we were followed by a second boy chanting the mantra,
"Only one ticket?"
How we were to materialise this spent ticket end was beyond me, we had already given them ours. I guess it was our little introduction to the madness of the Agra touts.
Agra itself is not a nice town, overdeveloped with decaying buildings and crawling with touts and rickshaw wallas. The Taj stands in the midst of it all in striking contrast. Clean and white and shining in all its architectural glory. We visited at sunrise i the soft, cool morning light.It is a beautiful building like no other, a temple to the self centered desire of one man to immortalize his wife's (well one of his wives) memory.
That night we were to catch a train out to Varanasi. As our driver had to go home to Delhi that meant spending several hours in crowded Agra station. Brodie and I took a stroll through the surrounding streets, a bewildering and numbing sensory experience. Motorbikes, tuk tuks, cows flying at you, the smell of spice, shit, rotting garbage, urine (most overpowering) and other unidentifiable odors. The deafening sound of horns, beeping just because they can. Street stalls and crowds, filth and life.
Later that night in the station there was a storm. Thunder and rave above the din of the traffic. Then the power went out. Waiting in the darkness as the crowds continued to pour in and out of trains, unfazed by the darkness. It was lucky we had my torch. The power was eventually restored and our train arrived, late of course-but on time Indian style.
That was after being sent between different windows and up the road trying to find the tourist window.
In the end we caught a taxi to Agra, with our lovely driver, Narinda to navigate the dusty, potholed streets and cow scattered highways. Outside Agra is the abandoned Mogul city of Fatepur Sikiri, cooking out in the desert. The hot breeze brought little relief. In search of a good photo I tried walking barefoot upon the sun exposed stone (for we were in a mosque), I almost burnt the soles of my feet off. It was hot. Mum made the mistake (against my advice) of giving a small boy our spent ticket ends. BIG mistake. For the rest of our time at the site we were followed by a second boy chanting the mantra,
"Only one ticket?"
How we were to materialise this spent ticket end was beyond me, we had already given them ours. I guess it was our little introduction to the madness of the Agra touts.
Agra itself is not a nice town, overdeveloped with decaying buildings and crawling with touts and rickshaw wallas. The Taj stands in the midst of it all in striking contrast. Clean and white and shining in all its architectural glory. We visited at sunrise i the soft, cool morning light.It is a beautiful building like no other, a temple to the self centered desire of one man to immortalize his wife's (well one of his wives) memory.
That night we were to catch a train out to Varanasi. As our driver had to go home to Delhi that meant spending several hours in crowded Agra station. Brodie and I took a stroll through the surrounding streets, a bewildering and numbing sensory experience. Motorbikes, tuk tuks, cows flying at you, the smell of spice, shit, rotting garbage, urine (most overpowering) and other unidentifiable odors. The deafening sound of horns, beeping just because they can. Street stalls and crowds, filth and life.
Later that night in the station there was a storm. Thunder and rave above the din of the traffic. Then the power went out. Waiting in the darkness as the crowds continued to pour in and out of trains, unfazed by the darkness. It was lucky we had my torch. The power was eventually restored and our train arrived, late of course-but on time Indian style.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Delhi, The Family Arrives
India's capital comes in two, contrasting parts. There is Delhi, chaotic and sprawling, whose rickshaw clogged streets are lined with street vendors and food stalls, cows, rubbish, filth and excitment. New Delhi lies to the south in complete contrast, its wide, clean tree lined boulevards seem the very picture of calm and serenity. The city is tied together by an extensive metro system, which although comfortable, can get extremely crowded. While from the Bangkok skytrain durians and balloons are banned, on the Delhi Metro it is forbidden to carry any "human skeletons or body parts," which was a major inconvenience. Security is high here, with more metal detectors and baggage x-rays just to alight the metro than boarding a plane at Sydney Airport. At the Red Fort it was slightly disconcerting to see a a machine gun set up, pointing at the entering crowd.
At 3.30am on Friday morning I was awoken from my sleep by a knocking on the door. It opened to reveal my mother and brother, fresh of the plane from Singapore. 3.30am is not exactly the best time of night for a family reunion, but despite still being half asleep, it was a wonderful moment. Once again, I have company on my adventures around the world. Over the past three days we have soaked in the sights, Delhi's Red Fort, the massive nearby mosque, the taj-like tomb of a Mughal king, the site where Gandhi was assassinated. Of course Delhi's sites are not without their hassles, harassment from rickshaw drivers, demands of payment left right and center from an army of touts who will find any excuse to take your money. All part of the India experience, shared, with family.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Pink City
The first thing I noticed stepping of the plane in Jaipur was the heat. It was evening but the air blowing through the window of my taxi was a hot, drying wind, straight from the desert. After being in the tropics for a few months the change in humidity was a bit of a shock, but at least the air is not as thick and sweaty as down south.
I made the mistake of trying to use my usual mode of transport, walking to see the sites. I made it half way there before relenting and climbing aboard a cycle rickshaw. The idea of travel by cycle rickshaw always conjured up images of British colonials being sedately carted around their dominions, however it was anything but, as it sped at a surprising speed through the chaotic streets, bouncing through pot holes.
The city of Jaipur itself is not the most beautiful of cities, despite it being painted all over in a faded salmon.However it is home to some brilliant sites, such as Jantar Mantar, the ancient observatory filled with devices to map and measure celestial bodies. The largest and most iconic structure here is it's massive sundial with an accuracy down to two seconds! That evening I climbed high above Jaipur to one of it's many forts for stunning views across the sprawling city, it appeared from this height that the city was more blue than pink.
Skipping the cycle rickshaw today I caught the local bus out to the Amber Palace and adjacent fort, for more grandiose Mughal architecture. It seems they were very fond of their palaces and forts, Rajastan (the state of which Jaipur is the capital) is practically littered with them.
India is continuing to yield many wonders, such as how many different shapes and sizes and colours rupees of the same denomination can come in (The 5 Rs comes in at least four types and a note) and how many different answers you can get to the question, "Where do I buy a ticket to Delhi?" I saw posters today advertising the wonders of a naked guru brandishing what apeared to be a feather duster.(kissing is not ok for films but posters of naked gurus seems to be normal enough) Hinglish is an interesting language to decipher as English and Hindi words are mashed together into sentences. I think however, I have acclimatised to the cows and barely bat an eyelid these days as they lumber past. I'm sure as I journey onwards through India, the amazing and the bizarre will continue to manifest around every corner.
I made the mistake of trying to use my usual mode of transport, walking to see the sites. I made it half way there before relenting and climbing aboard a cycle rickshaw. The idea of travel by cycle rickshaw always conjured up images of British colonials being sedately carted around their dominions, however it was anything but, as it sped at a surprising speed through the chaotic streets, bouncing through pot holes.The city of Jaipur itself is not the most beautiful of cities, despite it being painted all over in a faded salmon.However it is home to some brilliant sites, such as Jantar Mantar, the ancient observatory filled with devices to map and measure celestial bodies. The largest and most iconic structure here is it's massive sundial with an accuracy down to two seconds! That evening I climbed high above Jaipur to one of it's many forts for stunning views across the sprawling city, it appeared from this height that the city was more blue than pink.
Skipping the cycle rickshaw today I caught the local bus out to the Amber Palace and adjacent fort, for more grandiose Mughal architecture. It seems they were very fond of their palaces and forts, Rajastan (the state of which Jaipur is the capital) is practically littered with them.
India is continuing to yield many wonders, such as how many different shapes and sizes and colours rupees of the same denomination can come in (The 5 Rs comes in at least four types and a note) and how many different answers you can get to the question, "Where do I buy a ticket to Delhi?" I saw posters today advertising the wonders of a naked guru brandishing what apeared to be a feather duster.(kissing is not ok for films but posters of naked gurus seems to be normal enough) Hinglish is an interesting language to decipher as English and Hindi words are mashed together into sentences. I think however, I have acclimatised to the cows and barely bat an eyelid these days as they lumber past. I'm sure as I journey onwards through India, the amazing and the bizarre will continue to manifest around every corner.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)