Hello my Darjeelings

After a long sleep last night, an upgraded hotel (paying an extra $3 each) and a chance to explore Darjeeling today as well as plan in more detail our final 10 days in India we have come to be quite fond of Darjeeling. The Chinese and Tibetan influence, not quite as obvious as in Leh, I think has some sort of calming influence as the Tibetan/Chinese men don't stare as intently and the women actually smile and say Hello when they pass you in a lane.

Photos are up of Amritsar, Delhi, Agra and Darjeeling.

We had a morning of talking to Jeep drivers and buying (just in time) our train ticket from New Jalpaiguri (next to Siliguri) to Kolkata on the 6th of November. Actually adds an extra day to our time to visit Sikkim (which sounds even more Tibetan and has the 8500m Kangchengdongza to marvel at).

During the afternoon we strolled though Happy Valley Tea Gardens and sampled their best Superfine Tippy Flowery Golden Orange Pico One - arguably the best tea in the world - argued by the fine men and women of Darjeeling of course - only takes 5 seconds of brewing for a tasty cuppa. We got lost on our way to the tea plantation and ended up eating Dhiwali sweets (bangle-sweetbreads) with a family who have a house on the slopes next to the plantation - the owner, Uday, promised to be our agent to organise accommodation for any future visits to Darjeeling.

Following the tea we walked (panting) up so Observatory Hill and had an afternoon looking at prayer flags, a shared Tibetan/Hindu Gompa, and the funniest tribe of monkeys I've ever seen. Not much to add other than that. Just thought I'd stick another post up to calm any concerns that we were about to throw ourselves off the edge of a Darjeeling cliff.

Oh, and we met a French-Canadian man named Cosmos - wandering about India in his suit educating universities on proper medical practice and also how to be more environmentally friendly. Good work Cosmos.

Tedious Taj and the train to Darjeeling

or:

Agony in Agra and the cross-India Express.

Once again we are in recovery mode.

It all started at 4:15am in Amritsar - as previously posted - we hdad an early start for our 8 hour train ride to Delhi. Shortly after arrival we had booked a return bus trip to Agra (home of the Taj Mahal) the following day and a 28 hour train ride the next day, to Siliguri, far north West Bengal.

Exhausted from our early start that morning we got to bed sometime after ten o'clock, waking early again at 5:20am to get to our bus pick-up spot by 6am. It was a scheduled five hour ride to Agra and our seats were in the ergonomically compromising back seats (note:bench) of the bus with a fan screwed to the wall where my head should have been. After more like seven hous sitting with a hunched back and getting minor brain damage from the bumps in the road banging my head into the corner of the fan, we arrived in Agra. First stop was the Fort and Heather and I decided - bugger this - and jumped on a cycle rickshaw to take a look at the Taj Mahal and then get a different bus back to Delhi.

The Taj costs nearly $30AUD to get in so we had a look from a distance. One of the least awe inspiring contructions I have ever seen. I guess it's all the hype it recieves, but it seriously was nothing special - apparently built for love by a filthy rich Maharaja - I would have sent it back for improvement if I was the unlucky lady to have this built in my name.

So anyway - as per usual, our rickshaw driver wanted to take us to a multitude of shops - he gets a drink or lolly just for brining us into each shop, and he was a nice enough old man so we agreed. After getting our attempt to buy another bus ticket found only an over priced 'seat' in the cabin (ie. with the driver), we had no choice but to agree as all the buses leave about the same time and get into Delhi after midnight. So for the first three hours of the journey Heather sat with her knees under her chin directly behind the driver - later noticing his underpants were hanging next to her head. And I sat with the gear stick between my legs and an Indian with half his backside on my leg.

At the dinner stop (birthplace of Hare Krishna) we were shifted onto another bus which apparently was quicker and more spacious. This time (for the final three hours) we sat on a bench that looked across the cabin at the driver with our backs resting uncomfortably against the window frames and handles. We finally made it back to Delhi just before 2am and went back to our hotel for a quick 3 hour power nap before getting up at 5:30am again to get our 6:30 train to Siliguri.

So tired, dirty, hungry and with sickness returning again we threw ourselves into our 4-man sleeper 'cabin' (curtains for walls) and slept for most of the first day. The highlight was the sleeping, followed by the omlete, which was the only stomachable food as the taste of Dal is starting make us nauseous.

I started reading a book 'Mayada - Daughter of Iraq', published in 2003 and appears to be blatant propoganda for the invasion of Iraq - it almost quotes the news (or maybe journalists used this book as their source) - but if taken as unrelated to the US invasion it is still a historically interesting book.

I fell asleep reading and woke up in time for an omlete before arriving in New Jalpaiguri (station serving Siliguri). After the usual cacophany of lies a taxi driver finally took us and a Spanish and Korean pair to the Jeep stand in Siliguri - two and a half hours of climbing and winding later we arrived in Darjeeling.

Both exhausted, and I'm feeling fluey again with a sore throat, we are not impressed by Darjeeling itself. After the quietness of Leh in the Himalayas - our expectations for Darjeeling were to high - the town is a busy, noisy and uninteresting. Jeeps are crammed into the narrow roads and the constant smell of diesel fumes in India has managed to pervade this town as well. It is west-facing on the hillside so the view down the valley is pretty, but gets old after a few looks. Some exploring tomorrow and a visit to a tea plantation might reveal something more interesting about the place. I see it more as a base for getting to Gangtok in Sikkim after we sort out permits, and then down and across into Bhutan for a day of free sightseeing (yes, it is free to go for a day).

I have to say that my impressions of India have not been that great. Leh was wonderful and inspiring. But the rest of it is just pollution, poverty, and people waiting to rip-off an uninformed and trusting traveller. I don't need to see poverty, I know it exists, and the pollution created by 1.1 billion people is saddening more than anything. Any natural wonder that exists is always shadowed by the threat of ever growing pollution and a population that follows in the conspicious consumption habits of the West. No doubt the final few days in Kolkata will be the icing on the cake - where pollution, poverty and inequality is supposed to be at its worst.

While I'm in a bad mood - I might post a little drawing of Mohammed. Just to offend people who like to take offense at EVERY BLOODY THING that they can. If your religion can't cope with humour, satire, analysis or criticism then that is your problem - get the hell over it - if you actually had 'faith' then the hypocrises you follow wouldn't bother you when challenged. But then again you'd have to be a moron to believe in a blatant hypocrisy just because your school and family told you it is 'right'.

Amiable Amritsar

We spent our last afternoon in Amritsar by heading to Atilla (I have forgetten it's name - just know it as 'the border') to watch, with several thousand other Indians, the closing of the border ceremony with Pakistan. The poor Pakistani guards only had a little stand for a few spectators on their side, while the Indian crowd was getting revved up with (MC:) 'HINDUSTAN' (crowd reply:) 'HINDABA' or something like that as well as other war cries. Following the longest cry of 'guaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaards' I have ever heard (great lung capacity)the guards marched at super speeds with arms flailing before stopping dead, stamping their feet so hard when they about turned that the ground must shake when a few hundred of them march together.

The crowd was the worst behaved I have ever seen and only some yelling by the guards (I'm sure threatening in Hindi to open fire unless they behave themselves) would get everyone seated again until the next moment when there was something worth seeing. I waved my little plastic Indian flag enthusiatically and did my 'ooh ah India ah ha India' as they say on the TV here. I did think the Pakistanis did look a little more menacing - identical outfit, with the big fan sticking out of their hats, but with dark green instead of khaki - something about their march had a little more bite to it.

The one hour jeep to and from the border involved me, Heather, the driver and 13 other Indians crammed into an old landcruiser - cosy (and daredevilish during the rush to get back to Amritsar when the ceremony had ended.

The evening was highlighted by more helpful Sikh men, furthering out positive perception of Amritsar. Not having time to get into the Golden Temple I was struck by it's beauty. The outside building is just a protective fortress - behind which is a large mote around what looks like a pure gold building - stunning (from the view we had through the archways). So holy a place it seemed that I was not that keen to go in given my non-Sikh leanings and the respect I feel they have earnt. The father of Sikhism was actually a farmer who travelled with a Muslim mate singing songs about peace, equality and love. The songs still continue non-stop from the Temple.

An early rise this morning to accompany a lone Israeli girl on the 8 hour train back to New Delhi where we find ourselves now - return bus ticket booked to Agra (Taj Mahal) tomorrow - returning at midnight and heading straight to the train station for our 24 hour ride to Siliguri - near Darjeeling - on the opposite side of India.

We must be getting used to this place as Main Bazaar is a walk in the park compared to the frightful hell hole it first seemed two weeks ago. I did just get mobbed by some kids trying to pick my pockets - but that's life - and fair play - I am a comparatively wealthy foreigner.

Happy Diwali

...or Dipawali as it is called in Amritsar.

After a bit of a hassle getting away from our tenacious carpet selling houseboat hosts we escaped from the drizzle and cold of Srinigar fairly disenchanted with Kashmir and the Kashmiri people. Our last night there involved an evening of looking at our hosts carpets, shawls, ponchos etc and kindly selecting which items we would like as a trade for some of our goods which we had already shown them. As the time to haggle came around we made it very clear that no money would be changing hands - only possessions. The father was getting more and more infuriated as he kept saying 'Okay only 1000 Rupees' and then pretend the deal was over, finally he stormed out as his sons told him he didn't understand what he was doing and agreed to our trade. The souring of already strained relations wasn't made any better by a night of listening the constant wailing and moaning of the the Muslims as they yelled at poor Allah all night while he was on his annual vacation (final Friday of Ramadan) down to the first sky where he could hear their whinging.

After going through several bag scans, checks and full body searches we finally boarded our plane to Jammu - the 2nd largest city in the Jammu and Kashmir (J&K) region of India. Less than 30 minutes later we landed in Jammu, a journey which would otherwise have taken us 10 hours in a bumpy bus through treacherous landslide prone terrain (a pair of Germans we met here in Amritsar had a rock fall on their jeep from Srinigar to Jammu - and whom are only a couple of very few other travellers we have met in this part of the world - the path is beaten but no-one is walking it at the moment).

The night in Jammu was Diwali festival, and Heather celebrated by vomiting up the spinach from dinner the previous evening and everything ingested since then - explains why she had such a stomach ache the whole time, my usually sensitive gut didn't have any effects from the stuff though, phew.

While Heather rested I took rickshaws about the place in Jammu and assessed our options for getting to Amritsar - an early bus or a mid-afternoon train with no certainty with seats - we took the train option and after some confusion about queues, classes, platforms and carriages (pretty much every step in the process) we seated ourselves in a pretty comfortable spot with a nice breeze blowing through the bars (windows). Snoozing, reading Indian Cosmo, chatting to an Indian Geography professor about the Australian economy and eating chips took up the very short five hour journey to Amritsar - heartland of Sikhs and venue for the Amritsar massacre where British troops slaughtered nearly 2000 innocent men and children during a peaceful protest - many dying as they leapt into the now famous well to flee the torrent of bullets.

Amritsar station was crowded but with a friendly atmosphere we haven't come across yet, maybe it was partly because of the friendly Sikh chap on the train who entrusted us with 10 rupee to donate to the Golden Temple for him, or maybe it was the cycle-rickshaw man who only asked 20 rupee for a mammoth effort of riding us and our heavy packs across town to the Golden Temple - not even attempting to inflate the price - so we paid him nearly $2 instead of 70 cents - aren't we generous (ha).

The faces of the Sikh men seem more open, gentle and trustworthy for some reason - bigger eyes perhaps? A cool spell (note: freezing cold snap in the North that we have just left) in Amritsar gives us a nice cool 25 degree day to explore the town and visit the Attari border closing ceremony with Pakistan - a daily event of bravado and pomp that draws thousands of spectators.

I am desperate to spend a day in Bhutan and we are looking at our options for getting to Darjeeling as quickly as possible after we have seen the Taj Mahal just south of Delhi. Running out of time and there is still so much to see.

photos of Kashmir here.

Kashmir.....

Okay, I'm going to have another go at describing the last week or so, the internet is cheaper and we are delaying returning to our houseboat where we our 'family' will continue to try and get more money out of us.

The pics from Dehli, Manali and Ladakh all have comments now....

So we left Delhi about a week and a half ago in a 'sleeper' bound for Manali in the Himalayan foothills. I was convinced that lying flat on my back for 18 hours would be the most luxurious bus ride I had ever taken. Not so. Being in a dusty box in the luggage rack with sinuses cemented with mucus for the entire 18 hours was more of a torture technique - Guantanamo bay guards should try this one (meanwhile did I just see something in the news about the liberalisation of media ownership laws in Oz - good one Johnny get that FDI at all costs you moronic troglodyte).

Manali was a very relaxed little town with more signs in Hebrew than English - if you know what I mean....But tourist season is all but finished anywhere in the North as the winters sets in and roads close, so we had Old Manali almost entirely to ourselves.

With the first snowfall of the season imminent we organised a shared jeep to take us via the Manali-Leh highway to Leh in the Ladakh region. Of all the overland journeys I have taken, this was the worst (ie. the best). Almost 18 hours to cover 450km of winding, bumpy, dusty, precarious, high altitude motoring in the very back of a rough old jeep. Our driver was pepped up on some strong stimulants and was twitching like a squirrel when he wasn't tossing tapes out the window that he couldn't get to work. Early in proceedings I got some motion sickness after a dodgy cup of tea. For the remaining 12 hours I fought off the urge to vomit as we were tossed about in the back seat. Heather wasn't enjoying the massive drops off the sides of the road but we both got into a travel trance and managed not to kill each other as every kilometre of the 474km trip seemed to take an eternity. We finally arrived in Leh after sunset and checked and after a few unsuccessful attempts to find room in a guesthouse (all full with Indians) we found a cheapish hotel (with no hot water) and splashed some water onto ourselves before collapsing on the wooden board of a bed (a common theme with Indian beds).

Ah - I have to cut this short as the cafe people have to close so they can go and pray (another Friday in Ramadan- apparently today has even more meaning than most Fridays)........okay they are back from praying sooner than I thought so I'll keep going with this.

We woke the next morning in Leh to snow, falling on our hotel receptionist as he boiled a drum of water for our morning shower out of a bucket.

We found a cosy little guesthouse in the centre of Leh (the night before was on the outskirts) with apple trees and a nice old Tibetan man with a Yoda-like voice and we spent the next four days trying all the different Tibetan, Indian and Chinese meals in a selection of the restaurants in Leh. We also managed a walk up a hill to look out over Leh (and for me to get the heart pumping at such a great altitude - 3500m). Leh was wonderful - I loved the Tibetan influence and indeed could almost have been in Tibet - the weather worn faces of the majority Tibetan population had an utterly Bolivian appearance to them - especially the quaint old ladies with their toothy smiles selling their wares on the side of the road. Monks wandered the streets and people rolled the ubiquitous prayer wheels as they passed.

After finally recovering from our flu and jeep ride we booked the bus to Srinigar - another 400-odd kilometre journey with an overnight stay in Kargil- the gateway to Kashmir and the entrance to a section of one-way road open at certain times for traffic in different directions.

We managed to get seated across the isle from an alcoholic who knew everything about everything but forgot all his English as he got drunker during the journey and ended up talking in Hindi. After a night in the shabbiest, smelliest hotel I have ever seen we got back on the bus at 4am for the final haul down through the Himalayas to Srinigar - getting snapped up by a houseboat owner before we arrived, which saved us the mammoth task of arguing with every man and his dog for accommodation on Dal Lake.

We knew we were in Kashmir from the moment we passed through Kargil - the military presence was suddenly tangible (it was also in Ladakh with the Chinese border also a sensitive area - but this was something else). The first thing I saw was a sign saying 'be cautious, the enemy is watching you'. The most interesting thing has been the opinions of the Kashmiris. Intensely proud of Kashmir they don't consider themselves Indian (proud of their Caucasian bone structures and slightly paler skin) and their Muslim faith offers them more kinship with Pakistan - they want an independent Kashmir before anything else, and the idea that the problem is an Indian-Pakistan dispute is totally irrelevant to Kashmiris - they blame the US for intervening and turning it into an issue other than an independent Kashmir.

Interestingly, there are also Israelis traveling here (Kashmir is almost unanimously Muslim) - some of which choose not to be identified as such for fear of resentment from the Kashmiris. But as out houseboat owner told us - they have no problem with Israelis or any individual - it is a government problem.

Kashmir is famous for its handicrafts, or so we are told constantly as everyone tries to sell you something. Our tour of Srinigar by our Houseboat owner yesterday involved a one hour 'tour' of a carpet factory (handmade carpets though) and the expectation that we would buy something, 'because it is an investment and we can sell for 3 times the price in Europe'. The price was $2,900 AUD for a 4x6 100% silk Kashmiri carpet - negotiable no doubt - how does that sound? Not that I'm looking to buy.

So fed up with the constant pressure - despite living in very comfortable style in our houseboat we tried to organise a bus to Jammu and train connection to Amritsar. It has been pouring rain for the past 24 hours and people are saying the Srinigar-Jammu road is becoming impassable for buses due to landslides. A flight to Jammu is only $40 so we will fly there tomorrow then get our train overnight to Amritsar. There is a Dengue fever epidemic at the moment and I'm not taking any Malaria precautions so getting away from a stagnant lake sooner rather than later is probably a good idea.

Amritsar is the Sikh heartland so we will have seen Hindu, Buddhist, Islamic and Sikh dominated cities in this small but tough corner of India - surely one of the most diverse regions in the country.

Thanks to everyone for emails and pictures, I will try and get around to replies and comments on photos asap.

Oh. And has the cluster bomb debacle in southern Lebanon been on the TV there? The most excessive and outrageous use of an unnecessary weapon that is still killing Lebanese civilians.

Leh-zy in Leh

I have just written a great long post about the last few days - only to have it lost. I am seething with anger as I have wasted so much time and money sitting here on a damn computer. But I will try and re-write it a little. No actually I can't be bothered. Here is the summary.

Terrible bus ride lying flat on back for 18 hours up to Manali
Stayed in Manali for three nights - it was relaxing, lots of pot-smoking Israelis.
Sickening but awe-inspiring jeep ride from Manali to Leh (most of story focuses on this - really amazing stuff). I spewed, lost hat, lots of bruises, dust everywhere, high passes, steep edges, crazy drivers.
Been in Leh for a few days recovering. 3500 altitude. Very Tibetan. No tourists. Chilly.
Leaving for Srinigar tomorrow. 2 day bus ride.

Thats all. Photos are almost up - another ordeal on these computers.

http://lucas.intercate.net/gallery/India

Leh, Ladakh

Just a very quick one. Made it to Leh, one of the most painful experiences I've endured. But we are here and safe and had some snow this morning. Will tell the whole story later, when we have access to faster cheaper internet.

some photos of Dehli and Manali at:

http://lucas.intercate.net/gallery/India

Get it India

We are sitting in an internet cafe beneath a fan running at 6000rpm and still sweating. This place must be a sauna during the height of summer. Main Bazaar in Paharganj, New Dehli is a surging swarm of people buying and selling. As expected though, being a tourist means the sellers won't take 'no' for an answer - a man just chased us down the street with a multitude of different backgammon boards because I took a cursory glance down at his wares.

The flight from London to Dehli was moderately painful - mainly because we had nasty hangovers, but also because the cabin pressurisation was causing havoc with our sinuses - ears and noses are still popping and dripping. I was impressed by the old lady sitting beside me though, she sat quietly, possibly meditating, for the entire trip with her legs tucked up next to her on the seat and didn't make a noise except once when she needed some help putting her seat back.

We were expecting that people would try and rip us off at every turn in Dehli, and they have been trying so far. From the regulated and recommended 'pre-paid' taxi driver to the again highly recommended man running our hotel - it's all about the commission and getting where you want to go without constant pressure to do something else requires determination and a fairly closed mind to other options. I heard India was tiring to travel through, I just hope it is a little less frazzling than downtown New Dehli.

But in saying all that - it was expected, and we have already been out doing some 'window' shopping along Main Bazaar - it tingles the senses to hear the drums of the Hare Krishnas, smell the curries (and urine), look at the colourful intricate fabrics and be brushed by an autorickshaw as it hurtles through the crowd.

The cows look hungier than I'd expected though. Milling among the taxis just outside the airport, along the highways, through narrow lanes and among the throngs of people on Main Bazaar, these apparently peaceful cows are everywhere and the only time they get touched is an affectionate rub between the horns from a passer by.

The old rule of asking at least three people (or until you get a consistency in answer), doesn't apply here - I can't foresee we will be told the same thing twice, ever. A backpacker network will be harder to crack in a place like Dehli where hotels rather than hostels with dorm rooms is the rule. The plan is to get the overnight bus to Manali tomorrow - known as India's adventure playground it will be nice to be in some mountains for a few days. Maybe it was story of Dean Jones's double century he scored in the Calcutta heat that sits in my subconcious, but I am expecting a very hot and humid time in Kolkata when we finish up in India. So I will be savouring the fresh mountain air of the Himachal Pradesh and Kashmir (weather permitting) for the next week or two.

We have been thinking so much about going home to Australia that this next month will be one last chance (of this trip) to forget about the world of jobs, money and responsibility for a little while before we throw ourselves into the next phase of our lives.