2007 #14: The Great Hindustani Dhaba That Wasn’t

Posted on by
Kids coming home from school, carrying their slates, which are still used up in these parts. On the right you can see a 'Debta' post - very strong magic. Chitkul.

Kids coming home from school, carrying their slates, which are still used up in these parts. On the right you can see a ‘Debta’ post – very strong magic. Chitkul.

Something we came across here in Chitkul was the occasional “Debta” (sp) stones. There was often a patch nearby where a fire had obviously been going. These stones are two or three feet high, stand alone and are not to be touched. A local guy we chatted with (who’d been university educated) told us that when he was a kid and hadn’t learned about this taboo yet, he touched one of them and his skin erupted with horrible sores. So we made very sure to keep an eye out for them and not bang into any accidentally. Okay, it may not be part of our belief system, but we had no problem respecting the locals’ beliefs and customs.

After a wonderful day strolling around the village, we found out that the new restaurant that was being built (‘The Great Himalayan Restaurant’) and wasn’t open yet, was actually open if you could find the chef  ‘Bobby’ and sweet-talk him into cooking for you. He just wasn’t into crowds so he hid a lot. So I sat at the only other dhaba available (‘The Great Hindustani Dhaba’) while my partner went to use his charms on Bobby. The Great Hindustani Dhaba advertised on a large sign outside the door the following: ‘Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, Chinese, Food, Chomin, Momo, Thuppa, Tea, Coffee, Cold drinks’. I grinned as various silly thoughts went through my head. How did they cook their Chinese? Did they have to chase them down first? In which case, were they tough to eat? Were they willing to serve them with Chomin, or were they a stand-alone dish?

The Great Hindustani Dhaba. Get your 2-minute noodles here...

The Great Hindustani Dhaba. Get your 2-minute noodles here…

I have no idea what a ‘thuppa’ is, but when we first got here we were delighted to see we could get Momo (Tibetan dumplings, a favourite of mine) at this dhaba. Except we couldn’t. Because the man who made the Momo had gone elsewhere (no further explanation). Upon enquiring about the ‘Chinese’ and ‘Chomin’ (Chow Mein), it turned out the afore-mentioned absent guy was also the cook of these things. The only thing the remaining guy could cook us in the late afternoon BEFORE dinnertime (at which time he apparently shuts the door) was a packet of Maggi 2-Minute Noodles each. And these took about thirty minutes to get to us from the time of asking. We were starting to catch on that all was not as meets the eye in this ONE AND ONLY daily eating establishment.

So I sat and sipped my chai (which this guy was able to brew with reasonable competance) and crossed fingers that Bobby and my partner got on well together. As it turned out, they did, and my partner came back with a 7.30pm dinner appointment for us. So a little later we left our room and went back down to the restaurant, and imagine our surprise when we found it half full of very loud-talking tourists who’s country of origin I will not mention here. The secret was out! So much for our quiet little tete-a-tete over candlelight with gentle music in the background. However, the food was varied and fabulous, and even if we couldn’t hear it over the talking, there was gentle music playing in the background.

The Great Himalayan Restaura...

The Great Himalayan Restaura…

Having eaten, we wandered back to our room, indulged in a tot or two of Southern
Comfort, which always goes down so well in the mountain air, and danced under the stars to Santana with an audience of bats and a firefly or two.

The next day a few of the local women turned up, and after a few minutes of confusion it became clear that they wanted to see the little movie of my partner’s daughters (7 and 3 yrs) dancing back at home. They were absolutely delighted at this miracle of technology and the cuteness of the girls. We were to see these women go by every day after that and they always waved cheerfully or stopped for a quick chat.

The local ladies marvelling at the technology we bought with us (digital camera) and getting all gaga over the cute little girls on the video.

The local ladies marvelling at the technology we bought with us (digital camera) and getting all gaga over the cute little girls on the video.

After breakfast and chai, I did some of my washing before it came crawling out of my backpack of it’s own volition. Mountain water is cold! My hands became so numb I had to take time out to warm them up again before wringing my clothes. We also acquired a couple of the local-style coats, tailor-made with goats wool (I think). This was most fortuitous, as there is no market here, no shops selling garments and when we enquired, we found that all the tailors in the village were too busy to take on any more work. I won’t say who or where we got these coats from, because as the days went by we noticed that we were the only foreigners wearing them, so we gathered it was just a quiet little transaction with a person who had somewhere along the line come to the conclusion that he’d feel okay about trading with us. This trade transpired while no one else was around and nothing more was mentioned, although we saw one or two double-takes by some of the locals, and the odd little grin in the corner of the mouth of the guy we got them from. These jackets are worth their weight in gold. They are extremely warm and very windproof, and we had no problem with the cold once we donned them. Apart from bedtime, they were to stay on us for the rest of our stay in the village.

Donkey power and legs - the only form of transport in the village. This villager wears one of the beautifully-cut jackets favoured by the locals.

Donkey power and legs – the only form of transport in the village. This villager wears one of the beautifully-cut jackets favoured by the locals.

Again, we wandered around this beautiful place, looking and marvelling. We stopped and talked with four carvers who were working under a tarpaulin, on the new Debi temple in the temple square. They were very nice guys and their work is exquisite. Apparently they’ve been hired by the ‘Archeological Foundation’ or some such outfit, and they are given lodging, food, local brew and 250 rupees a day. This is a brilliant wage as far as India goes. No wonder they’re so content – they get to be creative and are paid very well for it. Wonderful.

Carver at the Devi Temple construction site.

Carver at the Devi Temple construction site.

DSCN0001 72

2007 #13: Snow-Leopards and Flesh-Eating Snails

Posted on by
The village of Chitkul, below the Kinnaur Kailash mountain range, Himalayas. Over that snowy peak is Tibet.

The village of Chitkul, below the Kinnaur Kailash mountain range, Himalayas. Over that snowy peak is Tibet.

For me, the first night’s sleep in Chitkul was terrible. I think it was from overtiredness, but I went to bed super early, had a crappy sleep then woke up at about 4.30 am and ended up sitting outside on the veranda with my trusty torch wondering what to do with myself. I really needed to go to the toilet, but, having heard Raj’s (guesthouse owner) tale about a snow leopard taking his large, male donkey away for a meal a few months ago – just down the hill a little bit – I was just too much of a fraidy cat to go along the veranda and around the corner to the concrete box that contained the necessary hole in the ground. It was very, very dark, we were way up in the mountains, nobody else was around, and although I like to think I don’t resemble a donkey in any way, what if there was a snow leopard that needed glasses crouching in the shadows, just waiting for me to be at my most vulnerable with my pants down? Okay, I could close the bathroom door and be safely inside with whatever creatures lurk inside such less-than-salubrious surroundings, but what if the short-sighted snow-leopard sat outside the door and trapped me there until I could yell for help in the morning? These, and other wonderful-to-read-in-a-book-about-it-happening-to-somebody-else visions swam round and round in my head until I finally gave up and went back to bed with my legs crossed. My partner, as per usual, was comfortably asleep, blissfully unaware of the incredible dangers I had just avoided, and I lay there in our concrete cell waiting for dawn to throw it’s disgustingly cheerful sunrays over the mountain tops again and bring with it the sanity of daylight.

My partner, once awake and in a disgustingly cheerful mood, thought this was the funniest thing he’d heard in ages. He really can be quite unchivalrous at times. For the rest of our stay in Chitkul I had to put up with little jibes about snow leopards, killer donkeys and other such witticisms from him. I confess to wishing that he would one day be trapped in a toilet with a giant flesh-eating snail or that a crow would follow him round the village for a day trying to bite his bum every minute or so.

After a crappy cup of coffee and an absolutely wonderful three or so cups of chai, I began to feel a little more human again. The view from our guesthouse was fantastic. We were sitting amonst the giants of the world – huge mountains with glaciers and snowy tops, and clouds constantly dancing around them. Every few minutes the clouds shifted and we had an entirely different view to look at. And to our left, a wonderful snow-capped peak called Kinnaur Kailash. Over that peak – Tibet, the border only 60 km away. Mindboggling. It was hard to believe we were really there.

We went for a walk around the village. An absolutely exquisite place, steeped in history and culture. The buildings were made of wood, or wood and stone, with pitched roofs covered with slate, or in some cases, corrugated iron (a much cheaper alternative). There were many little storehouses dotted all over the village with hay stored in the roof, grains, etc, stored in the second story of some and (I think) oils stored in the bottom. They all had huge, old metal locks on the tiny doors. We figured they must send the kids in to deal with the stores, because the doors were too small for adults to go through.

A storehouse with an old padlock on one of its small doors. Each family has a storehouse of their own. Chitkul.

A storehouse with an old padlock on one of its small doors. Each family has a storehouse of their own. Chitkul.

A village elder walks up one of the village's steep paths. Chitkul.

A village elder walks up one of the village’s steep paths. Chitkul.

Chitkul houses constructed of wood and stone, with slate quarried locally on the roof of most of them.

Chitkul houses constructed of wood and stone, with slate quarried locally on the roof of most of them.

Every second step we took, we stopped to take photos, gasp with wonder then take more photos. There were waterways everywhere with little bridges and the occasional water-driven grinding mill across them. The people all wear ‘topi’ – wool-felt hats with one side that is green. They’re very gentle, quietly friendly people here and we had some nice conversations. On our way down the path by the primary school, we sat and watched some school children going home. They were going past a women who was crouched down with them, giving them something. As we got up to carry on walking, she rushed up to me and gave me two pieces of flat bread with what looked like a cake of honey and seeds on it. She gestured that one was for me and one was for my partner. I was quite bowled over by this kindness to complete strangers. And the food was absolutely delicious. Bless her lovely heart.

A millhouse straddles one of the streams in Chitkul.

A millhouse straddles one of the streams in Chitkul.

Beneath the millhouse. Chitkul.

Beneath the millhouse. Chitkul.

Local women with their 'topi's' (hats), denoting that they are 'Kinnauries' - from the Kinnaur districts of Himachel Pradesh, Himalayas. Chitkul.

Local women with their ‘topi’s’ (hats), denoting that they are ‘Kinnauries’ – from the Kinnaur districts of Himachel Pradesh, Himalayas. Chitkul.

2007 #12: Mountainside Audits and Goats Horn Cells

Posted on by
Part of the road we traveled to get to Chitkul, Himalayas.

Part of the road we traveled to get to Chitkul, Himalayas.

Finally, we got onto the final bus of our burst up the mountains. This was fun as well. We were tearing along quite nicely, when suddenly the bus driver screams to a halt after a landrover passes us. The guys got out of the landrover, boarded the bus and demanded to see everyone’s tickets. This turned out to be an audit! How about that – you’re most the way up the Himalayas and bureaucracy still manages to find you and wants to check the paperwork. Well, that’s India for ya.

The conductor of the bus told us it was not possible to get to Chitkul (where we were heading) but only to the village before it. But then we stopped at a river where the road had been washed away. The conductor got off, checked to possibility of us getting across it, and once we had made it across he charged us 10 more rupees and said they could take us to Chitkul after all. It seems that the road first has to be passable before they’ll admit to being able to take you there. This had me praying that there would be no monsoon rains for the few days we would be in this village, causing us to become local inhabitants until next summer.

Finally we made it to Chitkul. I had to kind of instruct my body how to get off the bus, because it certainly wasn’t volunteering by itself. I had no idea how tired a body can get until this journey. It was raining and cold and we were now at 3500 metres – the highest I’ve ever been. We’re talking 60 kms from the Tibetan border. Fortunately, there was a Guesthouse a few metres away. Unfortunately, they had decided to use their “summer season” to paint the place. Fortunately, they had an empty room with it’s own bathroom. Unfortunately, they were using enamel paint and this room was freshly painted. Try that after days of busrides and mountain roads coupled with complete exhaustion. We turned that room down and he showed us another one in another part of the building. If it wasn’t for the fact I was busting to go to the toilet, we may have applied a little more discretion to the choosing of our accommodation. As it was, we threw our packs down in the room and I raced off down the hall, down the dodgy steps and into the closet/dungeon they said was a bathroom. Having got that over with, I went back into the room and reeled at the smell of only slightly less fresh paint than the other room.

So we decided to go for a wander and see what other accommodation was available in this little town. Finally we found another place – Raj’s Guesthouse – after wandering up and down goat tracks for a while, and chose to stay there instead. We had the choice between the room with the curly goat horns above the door, or the one with straight goat horns. One of the ‘boys’ came back with us to help with our luggage, and no matter how we tried to explain to the owner of the first place that we just couldn’t live amongst paint fumes without throwing up on the floor of his wonderful and salubrious establishment, he still insisted we pay 100 rupees before he would allow us to book out. We hadn’t even been living there for an hour yet! In the end we paid, because we just had to get away from the fumes, and off we went back up the goat tracks to deposit our belongings in the goats-horn cell we had volunteered for instead.

Me at the goatshorn-topped entrance of our room, Chitkul.

Me at the goatshorn-topped entrance of our room, Chitkul.

Raj's Guesthouse, Chitkul. The top of the stone steps to the left is at exactly 3,500 meters from sea level.

Raj’s Guesthouse, Chitkul. The top of the stone steps to the left is at exactly 3,500 meters from sea level.

2007 #11: The “Oh God Save Me” Mountain Bus Experience

Posted on by

We were very lucky to be on a bus with quite good seats. This meaning our knees did not touch the seats in front of us. The ride was very mountainous, which I was to find out as we went along meant full of curves and alarming drops over the sides of quite narrow roads.

The mountain dips down to taste a truck - will it eat it or will it let it pass?

The mountain dips down to taste a truck – will it eat it or will it let it pass?

The mountains have jaws, and now and again they clamp down on a passing bus or truck.

The mountains have jaws, and now and again they clamp down on a passing bus or truck.

The bus driver was full of confidence, so he had no problem driving on these roads at the pace of a speeding bullet. This is not to say there weren’t warning signs, such as driving past trucks with “Oh God Save Me” painted on the sides and and local people needing to lean over us and throw up out the window. Too late – we’d already paid the ticket, boarded, and had very little chance of getting of aside from doing a 007 number out the door. Due to the lack of a helicopter fortuitously hovering beside us, we decided to stay aboard and take our chances.

If you look at the left of the photo, you can see a road winding along there. It looks low from here, but it's still a few hundred feet up...

If you look at the left of the photo, you can see a road winding along there. It looks low from here, but it’s still a few hundred feet up…

It doesn't pay to look up. There are rocks everywhere held up by little tiny stones, just dying to come down and meet ya...

It doesn’t pay to look up. There are rocks everywhere held up by little tiny stones, just dying to come down and meet ya…

The old man passed the blessed food around and people put rupees in his tray. He wouldn't accept any money from us though. Not sure why.

The old man passed the blessed food around and people put rupees in his tray. He wouldn’t accept any money from us though. Not sure why.

Very shaky because I took it out the bus window. This old man is a hermit and that doorway is the entrance to his cave. The bus stopped and he got on and passed around 'prasad' - blessed food. What exactly was he saying...?

Very shaky because I took it out the bus window. This old man is a hermit and that doorway is the entrance to his cave. The bus stopped and he got on and passed around ‘prasad’ – blessed food. What exactly was he saying…?

I some villages the tribes will have their own king - he gets to have the tallest house in the village.

I some villages the tribes will have their own king – he gets to have the tallest house in the village.

Yup, that's a glacier. We went past several of these. Sangla District, Himalayas.

Yup, that’s a glacier. We went past several of these. Sangla District, Himalayas.

The only highlight of this trip really was stopping at an “Aryan Tibetan” cafe, which served the first Momo’s we’d had here since last year. Absolutely delicious, as usual. By the time the bus arrived at Sangla, 11 hours or so after we started, the novelty of the bus ride had pretty much worn off. We hiked about 1km up a slight gradient, which felt like Mt Everest because we were stuffed and now getting up a lot more in altitude, and found ourselves a Guesthouse to stay in. We were given a room with a nice mountainy view (of course – what else are you going to see in the mountains?…) and flopped onto the bed to enjoy stretching out and not moving any more. After a while we tried all the light switches, which by now was becoming a bit of a game. Sure enough, we had about 6 switches and 2 of them actually did something to do with illumination. Another rang a bell downstairs, which I didn’t realise, and this caused a bit of confusion when the “boy” knocked on the door and asked us what we wanted, while we asked what he wanted, and we all stood around trying to figure out what was going on. Another funny thing was, even though we were in a double room, they only provided us with one towel. Never mind, we had 2 corners each, and when you have no towels in your luggage at all (use a sarong), this is the height of luxury.

A little later, down in the dining room, we tried to explain to the staff, who had about as much English as we had Hindi, the concept of putting onions with the fried mutton that was on the menu. I think they thought we were crazy as they had not heard of doing this before. It was akin to suggesting we would eat the wool and not the sheep or something, in their minds. Anyway, we ended up with something with meat in it, as well as yummy veges. Aside from the fact they had the t.v. turned up to screaming pitch on the counter and the forks were so thin they actually bent when introduced to mashed potato, it was a good meal.

And then – to sleep.

Looking up the wild and beautiful Sangla Valley.

Looking up the wild and beautiful Sangla Valley.

The village of Sangla.

The village of Sangla.

Aha! Momo territory. When I see these sorts of buildings, I start looking around for momo signs. Tibetan dumplings - yum!

Aha! Momo territory. When I see these sorts of buildings, I start looking around for momo signs. Tibetan dumplings – yum!

2007 # 10: The Austin Powers Peacock Bed

Posted on by

Well, we ended up staying another night in Shimla. Sheer exhaustion dictated that this should be so, not to mention acclimatisation to altitude. The room we had (on the 4th floor, naturally, according to Murphy’s law, which is continuously having a good laugh at our expense) was like something out of an Austin Powers movie. The backrest of the bed was shaped like a velvet peacock and it had little lights all around it. However, when we turned the lights on, one of them did go, one went on then changed it’s mind and went off again after a few minutes and one didn’t go at all. This wasn’t the only power problem we had. As it turned out, we could watch t.v. and recharge our camera batteries, or we could watch t.v. and have hot water for the shower. We couldn’t have it all – just who did we think we were?!

Oh, and watching t.v. was hilarious. We found the Discovery Channel and watched David Attenborough talk about butterflies and things, but it was dubbed in Hindi. This was great entertainment, until the t.v. turned itself off. We phoned the staff downstairs and after a good amount of time, one of them came upstairs, turned the switch off then on again and away it went. And of course, this little power upset totally threw the hot water system out and we ended up having a luke warm shower. And it’s not all that warm in Shimla.

Another funny thing was our packet of potato chips puffing up like a balloon, until it was as tight as a drum. This was due to the altitude. I wanted to eat them but Paul thought it would be a great joke to leave them and see if the packet actually blew up when we took it up to the Sangla valley, which is approx 3500 metres. I myself had reservations about this. What if it blew up whilst on the bus and we all got evacuated because they thought it was a bomb? That would be kind of embarrassing. So we decided that he would carry them in his backpack and just explain and show them the mess if it happened.

Shimla is a town left over from the British Raj. The British used it as a summer heat-escape place. There are many British buildings there, and one in particular looks just like a building from Hogwarts in Harry Potter. (I got a photo of it for you Ayla.) There’s also a statue of a guy that looks like he’s throttling a kid, whith a sigh under it saying “Duty With Love”. Talk about Dickensien! There are many monkeys in Shimla also. One of them caught me glancing at it out the window when it was wandering around on our balcony and tried to attack me through the window. I’m grateful to the person who invented glass. Talk about a temper!

The next morning we actually got out of bed in time to get to the bus station at 7.40am. What an unnatural time of the day…

We had to walk down many steps to get to the bus station, of course. Walking down steps whilst laden down with backpacks, etc, is not quite as easy as one would presume. My knees were a bit unhappy about it. However, we got there in time to have a chai and watch some rather large mice playing about in the rafters. Just as good as Discovery Channel really. I wonder if Indian mice squeek in Hindi…

2007 # 9: The Hindi-Einstein Train Station Discourse

Posted on by

We did a bit of thinking and decided to go back and change our train tickets. Taking into account India time plus factoring the monsoon into it, we decided that the likelihood of our first train being on time and being able to catch our next train within a three quarter hour window was about as likely as seeing the Pope in a nightclub. So back we went to make a nuisance of ourselves at the
Railway ticket office again. By the time we’d finished enquiring about trains, times and other sundry details, the poor man at the helpdesk actually laid his head on his desk and groaned. I strongly suspect he was glad to see the back of us.

It turned out to be a fortuitous decision. After playing on the metro again and climbing 9 flights of steps with our backpacks and bags, it turned out that our first train was going to be 3 hours late. We congratulated ourselves most smugly on our intuitive foresight and settled down to wait. We were very lucky in finding a good seat under a fan with a definately lower count of sociable rats than last time and amused ourselves with a novel, a crossword book and watching an old man across the way discover the delights of the MP3 player. It ended up being a good laugh, as the owner of said machine was a very happy guy who sung out loud to his music while we mimed typical modern Indian dancing. A good time was had by all and before we knew it our train was arriving.

On this particular leg of the journey, we discovered something that will be of great value in future train-travelling; request a bunk as far away from the toilets as possible. We had the cubicle nearest the toilet and, well let’s just say that the air was rife with odours that are not to be compared with that of a rosebush nor indeed a field of lavender flowers. We live and learn.

We arrived, and gladly so, at Kalka station. The advantage of our train being 3 hours late was that we had 3 hours less to wait for our 12 o’clock train to Shimla. Kalka station is quite delightful compared to others we have been acquanted with – they are having ‘Clean Year’ there and there was no rubbish, spit, rats nor any of the other delights offered at other locations. They do, however, have a great variety of characters hanging about. One (female I think, hard to tell sometimes) considered herself to be a master of discourse. She raved on at the top of her voice in Hindi (I think), blissfully unaware, nor caring, that nobody was actually taking any notice of the many and voluble wisdoms she had to impart. We couldn’t help hearing her, of course, due to the high sound volume, and we did actually ponder what it was she was saying. Wouldn’t it be funny if she was actually another Einstein and was actually speaking about matters of inertialess drive, measuring the circumference of far away, yet to be discovered planets, and how to make a good cup of tea whilst floating in space.

After half an hour or so, she wandered of, wildly gesticulating, and we were just getting used to the comparative silence, when another one of these characters turned up. Well, no need for T.V. screens at Kalka railway station – there’s enough action going on already.

Our Toy Train was only one hour late in taking off and what a wonderful ride it was. It climbed the hills at a leisurely pace and the views out the windows were excellent. We shared the ride with an expatriot Indian couple who now live in Dubai and they were great to talk with. The train went through many tunnels, some so long it seemed we were in there for at least a minute. Each time we went through one everybody would scream with delight and when we came out the other side of the longest one, heaps of bats were flying around the entrance.

The train stopped at many little stations and so we didn’t get to Shimla until dusk (about 7pmish). By this time we had had enough of train riding and reckoned that since leaving our room in Delhi we had been travelling and perching for 22 hours. We were stuffed! As I stepped off the train, I was accosted by a hotel tout who spoke as if I were deaf, and I had to make it very clear to him that we needed a few minutes to sit in silence, thank you! We decided to go to this hotel in the end and thank goodness he and his cohort carried our bags, because there were no rickshaws and it turns out that Shimla is not called the Queen of the Hills for no reason. Up we walked, and then some, and then some more. I was dumped in the village square (or equivalent of) while Paul went to look at our prospective room. I was there for almost an hour before he returned and just about falling over with exhaustion. (Insert ‘Why do I let myself in for these journies??!!’ here.)

Our hotel, of course, was more up. Trudge trudge trudge….. (Chanting a mantra to myself, “This too shall pass,This too shall pass, This too…”.

Finally we were able to shut a door behind us and lay out flat. We ordered room service because no way was I being convinced to go somewhere for dinner – I knew it would include uphills sooner or later) and we ate that, had a nightcap of Southern Comfort in sympathy with our sore bones, decided we would decide at 6am in the morning whether we carry on with a 10 hour busride to Sarahan and promptly began to sleep like the dead.

NOTE: It is now well after 6am and we are still in Shimla.

2007 #8: What’s in a Beggar’s Pockets?

Posted on by

The train ride back to Delhi was marvelous. And much to my very facetious satisfaction, my partner woke me up far too early for the train stop and we had to look out the window for ages until we got to our arrival point. Trivial, I know, but it did feel good not to be the only one overladen with cautiousness first thing in the morning on a train journey. And I got some really good shots with my camera, so I was pleased with that too.

We had a fairly laid-back day. We got back to our room, showered, then laid down again to get over the exhaustion of laying down all night. You only get about six or seven hours sleep while moving over hundreds of miles on a train and your subconscious is always semi-worried about your luggage, shoes and money staying put, so it isn’t the soundest of sleeps no matter which way you look at it.

Then, foolishly, we made our way back to the Railway Station and booked yet another bunch of train tickets. We simply never learn! This time, in three nights time, we will be on a train to Kalka, which will land at about 4.45 am. Far be it from us to travel during decent hours. But it does save money on accommodation and you get to where you’re going without having to stare out the window, sitting up, for seven to ten hours at a time. The novelty can wear off that no matter how wonderful a place is.

Then, with the favour of every god known to mankind, three-quarters of an hour later we will get on the ‘Toy Train’ (a very famous one) and go to Shimla. I say this because India is well-known for ‘India Time’, which does indeed stretch to the India Railway Company. So we’re really crossing our fingers that our first train will arrive in time to catch the second train. If not, we’ll play it by ear – what else to do? But it really is awesome to be able to go for hundreds of miles for a very small amount of money here. The India Railway System is the largest in the world and, if you ignore one or two idiosyncracies, is quite well organised.

From Shimla we will get on a bus (oh joy…) and go on to Sarahan. This is now in the Himalayas. Then, no doubt, we’ll flop around in a state of advanced exhaustion for a night or so then do it some more until we get to Chitkul. This is the village that is the last one in the Sangla/Baspa Valley that you can travel to without getting a permit. After that valley, with permit, you go more uphill then over into Tibet. We will not be doing that. We’re talking serious mountain-climbing here and I’m just not that into UP. It always hurts, you can’t breathe for panting, there’s always more UP in front of you, and then knowing my luck, there’ll be five days of cloudy weather and you can’t see a thing anyway! (Tis Monsoon season, after all.)

I wouldn’t be surprised if there was no internet there (in fact, I’d be pretty disgusted if there was – these are supposed to be remote, unspoiled villages) so I may not be in contact for close to two weeks. So there you go, you may just get a holiday from my ramblings, if you’re lucky.

Last night was cool. We sat around on the rooftop, yakking with a Kiwi, some Dutch, German, Indian and various other people. All well-travelled and all very nice with a great sense of humour. Then it RAINED. When it rains here in Monsoon, it really really means it. Cools the air nicely though. This morning, pretty much like last night. I’m enjoying just keeping still while I can. And eating meat. Rishikesh is a vegetarian area, and while I love vegetarian food, every now and again I need to eat something that once was moving.

Also, we saw a beggar here yesterday that we see regularly every year. We actually heard him coming and knew it was him. My partner calls him the God Botherer. He crawls along the ground with one leg stretched out in front, calling upon the mercy of all the gods he knows of and holding a stainless steel cup. We happened to be sitting with one of the shopkeepers at the time, and he told us that this guy is actually very rich. He makes about 1000 rupee a day, which is a fortune over here, and has pockets sewn all over the inside of his rags to hide his money in. Why he prefers to keep grovelling in the dirt and mud and doesn’t invest in a fleet of rickshaws instead, I don’t know, but he does put on a good act and really does earn his money. And it’s terribly entertaining to watch. Especially since last year I spied him standing up, shaking out his clothes and yakking with one of the locals, then getting back down on the ground again to continue his theatrics. I wonder if he owns a mansion in the hills somewhere and retires there in the off-season to swan about on his verandah and watch his peons work in the fields? I wouldn’t be surprised.

2007 #7: Blue Moon Blues and Dog Chorus

Posted on by

The next day I spent languishing in bed, under attack from a misdirected case of Delhi Belly. It somehow lost it’s way and found me in Rishikesh. And this, combined with a day hotter than mid-summer in hell, resulted in a day of great discomfort for me. At least the monkeys had buggered off so I could scuttle back and forward between room and toilet without having to arm myself with anything long and whackworthy. Who’d read about it though – me in an absolutely beautiful and terribly auspicious place and all I can do is look at the ceiling wall fan and the barely-hanging-together toilet door from the inside – not exactly the view I had in mind when I came here. What’s more, to really make it sickening, it was full moon. And not just any full moon – a Blue Moon. Sigh. Oh well, at least we enjoyed the moon last night, rising over the Himalayas, whilst listening to Pink Floyd. Of course, there was the obligatory indian dog barking it’s head off just outside our gateway for ages on end, to add a grounding touch to the scene. It was funny though, ‘cos about every 10 minutes when we’d all lost our auspicious patience with the mangy cur’s chorus, I’d mutter under my breath that someone should throw a rock at that dog. And sure enough, about 3 seconds after I said this each time, a rock would land on a piece of corrugated iron beside it and it would shut up for a short while. Me and somebody out there were obviously in sync.

NOTE: Even in the Western world Rishikesh is auspicious, as the Beatles wrote about 38 of their songs there, including “Obladi, Oblada” (what on earth were they thinking with THAT one??!!).

Needless to say, the day of the toilet was very uneventful, and the things that did eventuate I doubt you want to hear about.

Moving right along. Yesterday morning, we awoke to the blessed sound of thunder and rain. This lowered the temperature so much that I actually left our room and skipped a little rain dance, so happy was I not to be broiling alive any more. The green was greener than ever, the air was fresh and as yet untainted by the landrovers revving their engines by the gate below, the dog had lost it’s voice and I could actually move more than 3 feet without heading for the great white telephone. Ahh, the little joys in life.

We had a nice morning yakking and “taking chai” (in other words, lingering as long as decently possible over tea in a cafe while forking out as little money as possible) with a German couple also staying at our gueshouse. Our train wasn’t leaving until 11pm last night, so we had plenty of time on our hands. We also had a dip in the Ganga (Ganges River). You just can’t come all the way up here and not pay homage to the river – Ganga Ji. Surprisingly cold actually. Well, maybe not so surprisingly, considering it comes straight out of a glacier or something in the highest mountain range in the world. Funny how I should be so surprised. (Rolls eyes at self.)

Finally, we prepared for takeoff, having procrastinated at top speed, reluctance enhanced by the fact we now had to walk up very steep steps in the sun wearing backpacks. Remember those steps we meandered down when arriving here? Yes, there they squatted, patiently waiting, knowing full well that we would have to return and do the ‘up’ thing. And it hurt about as much as I expected.

We comforted ourselves, once recovery of breathe was retained, with a ride in a rickshaw all the way back to Haridwar, where the railway station is. The sort of rickshaw that one would normally think six people would squeeze into comfortably, and Indians can get at least 16 people into. We forked out enough rupees to have the darned thing to ourselves. Such opulence! Such indulgence! It felt great. Several people tried to flag the driver down along the way, but we had paid full fare ourselves and they looked on with disbelief as the driver went on by with only TWO PEOPLE IN IT!! It wasn’t nice of us to be smug about this, but we were anyway. The sides are open in these rickshaws, so you get a nice breeze. And also, if you can time them between the judder bars and potholes, you can take some good photos from out the sides. And to top off this fabulous experience, you have an almost front row seat of the driver playing chicken with buses, trucks, cars, other rickshaw drivers. etcetera. Quite exhilerating really – makes you feel alive. And lucky to be so from one second to the next.

So we obviously made it in one piece, and found ourselves with several hours to kill in Haridwar. Turns out it was an auspicious day of some sort (there are many of these throughout the year – if you miss one, another one will happen along shortly) and there were crowds of people thronging the banks of the Ganga. We wandered through the bazaar, which really looks like it’s name – full of shiny pretty things, stall after stall, lane after lane. We ate, we watched, we took photos, we ate some more, we took chai, we resisted touts and we saw only 3 other white faces that we could count. At dusk, the crowds gathered at the ghats (steps down to the river) and various and sundry things were going on – don’t ask me what because I really don’t get Hindi over a fuzzy microphone at the best of times – but it all looked like fun.

We did manage, however, to stay on the edge of the crowd and get a seat in a dhaba for dinner before the madding crowd turned up there. So we sat at a table (open air) and watched people, and they watched us. We figured some of them probably thought we were djins (ghosts) with such pale skin. Paul reckons most Westerners pass by this town and go straight on to Rishikesh, which is the Yoga capital of the world. We certainly were the object of the curiosity of many. After a while you learn to stare somewhere over their shoulders and look slightly bored, then once they’ve had their visual fill, they move on.

We only bought one thing each at the bazaar – I bought a shawl (rather proud of my powers of resistance to shopping here) and Paul bought a DVD which is really, really corny Indian music but features much of the local landscape. While he was buying it the powerpole a few feet away blew up with a spectacular shower of sparks. India is never a boring place.

Finally, back to the dreaded railway station, where of course the train you are assured many times over will leave at 10.55pm isn’t even at the station yet at 11.15pm. At one stage we wandered outside to sit on the steps and were suddenly surrounded by a reasonably-sized crowd of Indians who wanted to take a photo of us. We sort of shrugged and said O.K. (fair’s fair, we take photos of them) and before we knew it, a gorgeous woman was snuggled up next to Paul and posing, then a man tried to snuggle up with me for the same thing. I stopped in in his tracks with a stare and a “Noooo” that could have frozen lead, and hauled out the old “Tum bahut sherati ho!” (You are VERY naughty) routine. Well, that did it. Now they were even more fascinated. So that was another quarter hour of entertainment – more wonderful for them than it was for us. How do you explain to a babbling crowd that you speak no Hindi, even though you just spoke some to them? And one woman wanted my $2 shop japanese fan, although she couldn’t have bought it off me for $50 at that moment, in that heat. Various expletives did come to mind near the end of all this, but we managed to stay polite until they drifted away, then we ducked back inside the station to the comparative privacy of just being stared at by the hoards, as opposed to being babbled at also.

The train finally turned up and we climbed into the blessed relief of Air Conditioned cells. This was more upper class than we’re used to, and made even more attractive by the fact that noone was interested in us. The Railways actually provides sheets, blankets AND pillows in this section, so we were almost beside ourselves with ecstacy at this unaccustomed luxury. I told Paul my cunning plan of letting him do the worrying about what station to wake up for and promptly fell asleep. Aahhhhhhh. If only we could afford to travel like this more often. Still, you don’t know what luxury is if you have it all the time, huh? There’s nothing like roughing it to hone your sense of the fine things in life.

Speaking of which, I might go and wallow under the fan again and save up some energy for the next foray into the depths of Paharganj, Delhi.

2007 #6: Rishikesh – Shaving in the dark on the Little Frog Highway

Posted on by

After doing a stint in Janpath, to go to the Tibetan Row (shops), we organised storing our luggage in the luggage room down the road, had dinner on the roof and made our way to the Metro. This time the guards were even more interested in us as we had backpacks on. The “women’s things” trick didn’t work this time, so we had a bit of a performance unlocking padlocks so they could play spot the bomb. Naturally they didn’t find one, so on we went. We had to leave from Old Delhi Railway Station – a charmless place with rats as long as your forearms that will walk right up to you. I amused myself stomping at them while Paul went to buy water and check the platform-leaving situation. We were lucky enough to be near a pile of goodness-knows-what thingys done up in sacking bales, so I crouched down on one of them, feeling pretty pleased with myself for finding a seat. I decided to stand up again though once Paul told me that a rat had just run under my knees. I’m all for being sociable, but that’s just a little bit much for me. After all, we hadn’t even been introduced!

We actually found that we were in a cubicle on the train with foreigners. This was a first for me. Usually it’s with Indian families, etc. It felt almost strange. I actually slept unusually well on my slab, and things had been going along swimmingly, until I woke up to my alarm going off at 4.45am. Theoretically, we were supposed to get to Haridwar at about 5.15am. Well, 5.15 came and went and nobody seemed interested in waking up. We stopped at a station for ages and I had no idea where it was, as I couldn’t find any locals that spoke english. Paul just downright wouldn’t wake up, and sometime during the night a woman, a man and a baby had sprawled on the floor between the bunks, so I couldn’t even sit up and take photos of the scenery out the window, for fear of standing on the baby. So, here I was, cramped in my little lower bunk, not able to even sit up, not knowing where on earth we were, wondering if we should be leaping off about now, and I seemed to be the only one that gave a damn!

Around 6.15, we pull up at another station and everybody magically awakens and starts getting ready to get off. Paul was particularly chirpy, the rotten so-and-so, and was obviously puzzled about why I was so grumpy. That’s it – from now on, I’m going to just sleep and let him worry about what station.

So we got off and walked along the station, with me willing to bite the head off anyone that approached me. I had my sunglasses on so my glare wouldn’t scare anyone innocent. Then we walked past a guy who was sprawled on the footpath with insects swarming all over him and a puddle of urine nearby. We were pretty sure he was dead. That was a bit of a shock to the system. As Paul puts it, this is my first visit to an Indian holy place and the first thing I see is a dead man. However, apparently by Indian standards, this (Haridwar) is a good place to die. Bless the guy, at least his suffering is over.

Once out of the station, we made our way to a cafe, through honking buses and idiot touts who couldn’t take no for an answer. Once I’d had a bit to eat and a couple of chai’s, I started to come right a little. We jumped on a bus to Rishikesh and I quite enjoyed the ride up, as we had a good seat in the front and the scenery was quite interesting. This is where I got my first view of the Ganges River. They have a Shiva statue here that’s absolutely enormous! Boy, these guys are good at statues.

The signs here are great – “This is a highway, not a runway” (on the side of the road), the ‘Fair Look’ beauty clinic, the ‘Jolly Clinic’, the “Happy Faces’ school, etc.

From Rishikesh, we took a rickshaw to Luxman Jula and then walked down winding, narrow steps for ages until we came to the huge swing bridge across the Ganges that Luxman Jula is named for. We booked into a nice old building that runs a guesthouse and they gave us a room 3 times the size of the cell they give us in Delhi. The only drawback was the fan was too far away from the beds, so didn’t really have any effect. A rearrangement of furniture soon sorted that out though.

We had lunch overlooking the Ganga. We could see the bridge from there and the monkeys hassling the people from the cables above. Laxman Jula is quite a beautiful place with huge, impressive temples in nicely painted colours. Our guesthouse is next to one, which is several stories high. People walk up each story and ring the big bells there as they get to each level. So we have bells ringing all day. It’s a darn sight nicer than the honking, etc in Delhi though, so we not complain.

In the evening, we had dinner at another cafe overlooking the river from the other side, and this place had monkeys doing their get-silly-at-dusk thing and jumping on the roof then off the side of the buildings into the trees below. Cheap food and entertainment with it – wonderful!

After dinner we wandered up the hill to town and Paul decided to get a shave and trim in a little shack on the side of the road. They gave him a trim and just as they were about to shave him, the power went off. So they lit candles and carried on. Paul is a very brave man. Like heck would I let someone at my throat with a cutthroat razor in the candlelight! Ten points for intestinal fortitude, I say.

Meanwhile, I sat outside watching several little frogs hopping here and there. They are just so cute. It’s not often you get to see frogs these days and it seemed like I had happened across a frog highway. Even a little firefly got stuck in my hair. What a magic place.

I got up this morning and went to the toilet on the corner of the building. When I came back out, opening the flimsy wooden door that only just locks, there was a monkey on the roof about three feet away from me. That woke me up! Turned out, the place was surrounded by monkeys – Rhesus vs Langhurs, fighting over the mango tree out the front. What a racket! The rhesus ones are happy to land as heavily as possible on the roofs and threaten and scream and carry on. Again, I watched with camera, although I kept under the roofs and had my umbrella with me as an anti-monkey device.

2007 #5: May I Help You? Go Away!

Posted on by

Tuesday evening we went to Sadar Bazaar on a cycle rickshaw. An excellent way to travel as you can see everything around you well and watch this curious place as you go by. Sadar Bazaar has even smaller alleyways than Paharganj, which stretches the mind somewhat. It’s a lot trickier trying to follow Paul in the crowd there, as it’s even more intense, also. I dunno how he finds his way to these places – I just watch where my feet are going, watch out for rickshaws coming up behind and watch him racing along in front of me until we finally get there. It’s not exactly a leisurely pace for looking around the place, but the last thing I want is to be lost in that crowd! You just don’t see white faces around there, and asking for directions can be a very hit and miss affair.

We must have spent about three hours in this shop. We sat on bar stools at the counter and Paul ordered what he needed while I looked around, up, down, through glass counters, and then some. There is stuff everywhere, like Aladdin’s cave and it’s hard to look at everything because your eyes don’t know where to land first! By 9pm, after the power had gone out a couple of times and the alleyways were clearing and dark corners were everywhere with who-knows-what lurking in them, I was starting to feel a little anxious about walking back through this place. Paul just shrugged his shoulders and strolled back down the lanes again. It turned out fine, as we actually only had to go straight ahead for a few metres and we were back out on the street. Thing is, he takes the route down the lanes, left, right, left, right, etc, because that’s the route he was on when he first found the shop. Completely logical to him, but all too confusing for a blonde with no sense of North.

On the ride back out (rickshaw again) I was able to take a better squizz at our surroundings. It’s a fantastically atmospheric place with rubbish up to ankle height and multi-level squalor – many-layered brick or concrete boxes on top of each other that serve as dwellings, with sacking for doorways and women in sarees peeping out from them, silhouetted against light from bare lightbulbs. New Zealand seems so incredibly sane and tidy in comparison to this.

We also drove past families living on the sides of the roads. I saw one mother sitting on the footpath with three progressively small children lying on a piece of plastic. This was their home. It’s so hard to get your head around somebody living like this, when you know that in your home country no one has ever starved to death and we all at least have a roof over our heads.

Back to the rooftop where we lounged about in what now seems like incredible luxury, despite the fact the roof of the building next door has been crumbling away for years now and you often see bodies sleeping on the roof. I think that’s more to catch a breeze than a case of homelessness. After seeing places like Sadar Bazaar, our rooftop perch is a high-quality oasis.

We also went to the train station yesterday to get tickets for our first journey out of Delhi. I had to laugh at a sign saying “May I help you?” with an arrow pointing to the door. Polite way of saying ‘go away’? Turns out we couldn’t get our usual second-class non-aircon places on the train for the return trip, so we will be returning with an aircon bed each. Well, bed being a slight exaggeration. More like a slightly padded slab, six to a cubicle, reminiscent of sardines in a tin. Anyway, aircon should be interesting to see. Apparently it actually gets very cold sometimes, so I’ll be taking a shawl for this.

Last night, we had dinner at a dabha (cafe) on the side of the street. Well, raised off the street by a concrete slab, but not enough to take away the exotic experience of swallowing dust from the traffic along with your dinner. I also get a giggle out of how anyone can just come along and slump down at your table, or help themselves to your water jug or pinch your sugar. Talk about class.

While sitting there, a wedding procession went past. First came the musicians, with drumming and trumpeting – not necessarily playing the same tune. Which some one pointed out isn’t actually that easy to do. Then the living candelabra – men with many-layered lights on their heads. Then the horse carrying the groom and a little boy, dressed up in royal colours and dripping with gold. A few more lights and then the generator that actually runs the lights. Not to mention the traffic trying to fit all around them at the same time. Very entertaining, and we felt fortunate to see such a spectacle whilst dining on our thali. Later on, back on the rooftop (I think we may be starting to resemble bats with all the time we spend up there), they treated us to some lovely fireworks in the distance. Nice ending.

Okay, I’d better go. We’re off to dinner then into the madding crowd at the trains stations. Oh boy, my favourite thing (eyes rolling). We’re off to Rishikesh tonight. We’ll arrive at 5am tomorrow (another favourite thing of mine……same look).