Terror in India

You are probably all aware of the recent terror attack in the Taj Hotel, Mumbai, and the current Hijack alerts for major airports such as Delhi. Thank you if you were concerned for my safety, please don't worry. Thank you also if you weren't concerned for my safety, I also don't feel like I'm in any danger that I wouldn't be in anywhere in the world. I just hope that my flight on the 22nd of December to KL isn't delayed. I only have a few hours to change from the international terminal to the low cost terminal. But I feel everything will work out fine.

Delhi, Varanasi and Beyond

I'm finally somewhere in India that could be described as a small town, and quiet. A arriving in India from Nepal, I as quickly as possible arranged to depart from Delhi - a rather crazy and polluted place to be after Nepal. From Delhi I headed by train to Varanasi, considered to be the holiest city in Hinduism. Varanasi was an interesting place to be. It's lies along side the Ganges river, the holiest river in India. There was some story about it, but like most Hindu stories, it was confusingly metaphoric and especially hard to understand for a naive foreigner such as myself. Basically though, in a non-spiritual sense, it supplies an awful lot of people with the water they need to survive. Reason enough to worship it, I think. Pity it is a purely spiritual worship, and not a environmental. Rubbish litters the banks, and who knows what harmful chemicals it contains. In this water people come to cleanse themselves both physically and spiritually. Some even drink from it. I imaged getting sick from the water vapor let alone drinking it. You couldn't get me to bath in it if you offered me Nirvana.

Because Varanasi is the most spiritual Hindi city, it is also the most popular city to die in. It is believed that if you die in Varanasi and your ashes are cast into the Ganges you will escape the cycle of rebirth. Because of this there are cremations happening almost constantly on the rivers banks. I've heard that bodies burn well, but to witness it is another thing. You don't actually see much of the people - they're hidden under cloth and wood. But I did see a foot hanging from one of the fires. Cremation are open to public viewing, if you are a man. In the past, widows have been known to throw themselves onto the fires of their dead husbands. Hence, no women. Sadly, even today for a lot of Indian women, if their husband dies, their life is practically over. Many women are uneducated and unskilled, so finding work to support a family is almost impossible. I believe a lot of the female beggars are widows, but don't quote me on it.

Next after Varanasi was a quick stop to see the Taj Mahal in Agra - it is the "must see" site in India after all. It was impressive, I have to admit. But maybe I'm just strange, but I, unlike most people, don't really find the Taj Mahal beautiful. Perhaps you could say superficially it is beautiful, but a representation of true beauty, it is not. It's almost the opposite. It is a monument representing extreme wealth and excessive power. Rulers such as this may no longer exist in India, but the divisions of wealth can't be too much different. People spent much of their live working on the Taj, for little or nothing in return. The talented architect of the structure callously had his arm crippled to prevent him from creating another Taj Mahal for someone else. Now that's how you show appreciation.

Following a relatively uneventful stay in Jaipur, Rajesthan, I arrived in my current location of Pushkar. It is a small (for Indian standards), quiet (for Indian standards), and unpolluted (for Indian standards) town. Like Varanasi, Pushkar is another holy place in Hinduism. But after talking with the internet cafe owner, the difference is Pushkar is holy for the Brahmin, the high cast, and Varanasi is for regular, lower cast people. But again, please don't quote me on it.

Post Annapurna

I finished trekking, flew to Pokhara, and finally said so long to my guide. It was nice not having someone always there waiting on me.

After a couple of days in town, seeing a few friends I had made along the trail, and eating some good food, I headed out to Sadhana Yoga - a retreat located just 2km from Pokhara city. My next 6 days consisted of morning meditation at 6.15am. Followed by a morning walk, yoga, delicious breakfast, steam or mud bath, afternoon meditation, daal baht lunch (traditional Nepalese food, eaten for lunch and dinner), evening yoga at 4.30pm, yummy bean soup and chapati bread dinner, and an early night at 8.30pm. It was so nice getting up early and going to bed early. I had become quite accustomed to it after trekking. It was even better not having to move around - just staying in the same place for a while chilling. I felt so great after the 6 days, better then I have ever felt. I highly recommend it to anyone going to Nepal. If you are interested checkout www.sadhana-asanga-yoga.com. Most people stay for only couple of days, but if you can you should stay longer, you definitely benefit more.

Arriving back in Kathmandu was a bit of a shock. I remember saying previously that I thought Kathmandu was OK. But this time it seemed really dusty and polluted. Maybe it was because I had just spent the last three weeks in the fresh air. I didn't remember the roads being so bad either. The only reasons why you could call them roads is because cars drive, or should I say bounce along them. I can't even start to describe how bad the surfaces are. You may have well been driving through a paddock, minus the grass, and with more bumps.

Thankfully after two nights I was heading to Delhi. Three weeks in India begins. Then home for Christmas!

Zen & the Art of Grorbies & Snot-rockets

It's been almost a month since I last wrote a post. My excuse is I've been a little busy walking the Himalayas, and eating healthy food at a yoga meditation retreat. I'm going to do my best to recall what I actually did. That which will interest you anyway. This is not going to be the travel diary-like: Day one bla bla bla... Day two: bla bla..., three reasons. One: I started off writing everyday, but progressively slacked off throughout the trek (I blame the altitude). Therefore I probably can't accurately recall my day-to-day activities. Two: I find that travel diaries, unless they are full of exciting things such as me being lost in the mountains having to survive by killing wild yaks with my bare hands, are pretty boring to read - I don't want to waste your time. And three: I find day-to-day travel diaries are pretty boring to write, and I don't want to waste my time.

My trek around the Annapurna Circuit started on Tuesday the 4th of November, 6.00am. With me waiting. Waiting for my guide to come and meet me at hotel. He turned up about 45 minutes late. Not a great first impression. The excuse, the trekking company couldn't open the office door. Hmm... Still not a great impression. I was actually intending to leave the day before, but I came down with a bit of the flu on my first day in Nepal. I woke up during the night with aching legs. I admit I panicked a little since I had just spent the last few days in Delhi. Who know what you can catch there. Dengue fever came to mind. Thankfully, nothing serious.

Nepali trucks - I like to call them the Clown Trucks

Gokul (my guide) and I caught the bus to Besisahar, the little town where we started out trek. I love public buses, especially ones where the seats are just a little bit too close together, so your knees rub on the seat in front. Gave me flash-backs of my 24hour bus ride across the desert in Xing Jiang. But at least this was only 6 hours. My flu sickness by this point had progressed into a pretty bad upset stomach - I'll spare you the details.

The bus ride is where I first met The Honeymooners. There was this couple sitting a few seats in front of me, on the opposite side. A blonde woman (Nicoline), and a Chinese looking man (Eddie, who looked about mid 20s rather then late 30s). They had decided to not stow one of their packs on the roof of the bus with everyone else. Instead opting to carry it on their lap. Not a small bag either. To be honest, I thought they were a bit strange. They were all cutesy and icky. The kind of way that's only OK if it's you. Not OK if you have to watch. I was to travel most of the trek with this couple, and I tell you the cuteness and ickiness only got worse. But I learnt it was their honeymoon, so I cut them some slack. You have to admire the honeymoon choice - slogging away for 20+ days around the Annapurna Circuit, rather then relaxing on a tropical beach somewhere. They were definitely strange. Strange, but I like them - and I think they liked me. It was nice walking and talking with Nicoline and Eddie, being apart of their special occasion. I even shared a room with them a couple of times. Nicolines said she could tell her friends she spent the night with two men on her honeymoon. For one, there were limited rooms in the towns, and also both places were high altitude - above 4000m. I heard from a Nepali that it was very bad luck in Nepal to do any hanky-panky' on the mountain above that height. So in a way I was like an umpire making sure there wasn't too much contact between the teams - for their own safety of course. They could have well died if it wasn't for me.

The Annapurna Circuit was a bit of a trekking super highway, with thousand of people walking it every year. It puts a lot of people off. But I figured this many people don't walk it for no reason. The scenery was amazing - beautifully diverse. It's funny how while you struggling for breath climbing over 5000m high, in the freezing cold, not a tree in site, you forget that you're in the same rich green rice growing country, scattered with banana palms, you were in only a few days earlier. I guess that's why the Himalayas are so powerful, not even the Nepali summer can strip them entirely of snow. 'Hima' mean 'snow', and 'alaya', 'abode'.

As we were trekking, I was reading, Ekhart Tolle's 'Practicing the Power of Now', and practical version and notably smaller version of his bestselling, 'The Power of Now'. Basically it's about not living in the past or future but the present, not letting the mind control you, and other zen, hippy stuff. It was much easier to process than 'The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying' which I started off reading, and quickly regretted bring with me. I was one of few people who didn't hire a porter to carry my things. Some people said I was brave. Basically another word for foolish.

I was walking day by day trying to practice the power of now. Not feeding the mind. Conscious, not the subconscious. That's the way to enlightenment (or at least to an easier life). It was a good thing to be reading while trekking. You really notice how your mind wanders when you are doing a repetitive thing like walking. I was observing the differences between the Nepali and the Westerners. How can these people who are a smaller build carry so much? Some of the contract porters (who carry goods up the mountain, - necessary supplies like Coke, mineral water, chocolate biscuits, etc), carry up to 80kg. They are paid by the kilogram, so they obviously carry as much as they can. They don't have the latest hiking boots, only plastic sandals. Some even have bare feet. I watched these men as they step by step climbed the mountain. I can tell they're not contemplating their destination - that would make it too hard. They just focus on the moment... step-by-step. When tired they rest. When they need a smoke, they have a cigarette.

My bag's the little one. About 14kg. Everyone was like "that's so heavy why don't you have a porter?"

Along the route there's a well known village, Manang. One of the largest stops on the trek. It's a busy little town, mainly because it's the official place where trekkers spend an extra acclimatisation day (3519m). I spent my day off climbing around the hillside. In the afternoon I went to visit a 92 year-old Tibet Lama, who has lived on the side of a cliff high above Manang, for the last 38 years. He's a regular tourist attraction, making a healthy living from donations in return for good luck blessings for the 5400m Thorong Pass crossing, a few days ahead. Luckily there was noone else there. I had an excellent afternoon sitting above the valley, soaking up some of the most amazing views I have ever experienced. I guess all good things have to end. It was windy and dusty, and I got sick, again. Just a cold. We were meant to go on a two day trek to Tilicho Lake, the highest lake in the world. But I decide it was better to rest a day instead. This suited Gokul. He, along with most other guides, seemed to think the track to the lake was too dangerous. Rumor has it two Koreans hadn't return a couple of weeks earlier.

View over Manang from the Lama's little hideout.
Check out the amazing turquoise lake below the glacier!

Sunset over glacier behind my hotel in Manang

With my cold began another lesson. How to blow snot-rockets, just like the locals. It may sound gross to you, but when travelling, the usual manners of the homeland need not apply. Not many things are off topic. Discussions of bowl motions and the consistency of poo, coughing and spitting flemme-balls, and of course blowing snot on the ground, is not uncommon. There's good reason for it as well (for the snot and flem, not the poo talk). It avoids using toilet tissue that either gets burnt or thrown on the ground. Some people find it easy, but I cannot master the snot-rocket. I had plenty of ammunition as well... Maybe I'm not anatomically correct for it. Many a shot landed on my shoe or trouser leg, but most just sprayed over my face. Occasionally, when the snot was the right consistency, and I made sure to spread my legs far apart, and lean over bending my head to the side, pointing my nostril at the ground, I had success. And it was good! But generally short lived. Hocking and spitting flem balls on the other hand were a piece of cake. My Chinese side shinning through.

Speaking of cake, Manang had the best apple pie - I dream of apply pie that good. It's amazing how in the whole of China, a decent bakery is as hard to find as decent English, yet in a remote area of the Himalayas, only accessible by foot, you can get all sorts of delicious cakes, pastries, and apple pie - mm mm

Top of the world. Well top enough for me anyway.

The Thorong Pass (Thorong La) was the climax of the trek. Everything was easy in comparison. Most of the days leading up to the pass, you were at your destination by lunchtime. But Thorong La on the other hand was a good 8-10 hour day. Starting out at 4am from Thorong Pedi to avoid strong winds that pick up during the afternoon, we climbed about 1000m in altitude to the pass, then down about 1500m to Muktinath. Climbing 1000m doesn't sound hard, but when there isn't enough oxygen for you muscles to work properly, you find yourself tiring very quickly. Some people deal with it better then others. Some stride over it with no troubles at all (for example the Swiss). Others really struggle. A Korean girl told me she was vomiting along the way. An English girl I met, almost passed out and needed to be assisted by others. Others need to take a horse to the top, and then walk down for a rich US$100. About what you would pay for a porter for the entire trip.

Beginning the pass. Jumping took a lot of effort, I hope you 're impressed.

Leading up to, and crossing the pass, I kept thinking of a group of Russians that were walking on the same day as me. One in particular, I dubbed the Russian Chimney. Every time I saw him he was either smoking, trying to light a cigarette, or arranging his cigarettes in a waterproof container. He was a ticking time bomb. A heart attack in the making. I spent along time, with absolute humane worry, picturing his poor inflamed and swollen heart packing it in on the pass. But there he was on the safe and sound a couple of days after the pass. Obviously I underestimated the Russians. Built for the hard conditions.

The Russian Chimney trapped in the airport, dreaming of another smoke

My trekking ended with a flight from Jompson to Pokhara. The full trek extends for at least 4 more days. But I was more then happy to leave. After the pass, I was getting sick of walking, and was looking forward to starting my Yoga holiday. Six days of healthy food, yoga and meditation.

Spectacular landing in Nepal

After my three days in Delhi I set off for my three weeks in Nepal. I was happy to get out of Delhi, as interesting as it is, I was sick of having stinging eyes and a dusty throat. The flight was a little slow to depart Not surprising, I was flying with Royal Nepal Airlines who have a bit of a reputation. But eventually we were on our way. I must say that for a 1.5 hour flight the service was exceptionally good. We got a full meal and everything. Not bad food either. I guess I'm use to flying with cheap arse airlines like Air Asia who wouldn't give you water if you were dying of dehydration.

I was sharing the flight with a heap of Indian high school students on some school trip to Nepal. I assumed they were from a Christian school as the "Father" was speaking to them in English. They were pretty well behaved though - Jesus was keeping a good eye on them. I had a brief chat to one of them - a 14 year old boy who looked like he proportionately should have been about 5ft, but had been stretch an extra foot. Nice kid, even though he quickly opted to sit with his friends rather then with the strange foreigner.

It wasn't long before the snow capped Himalayas came into view on the left side of the plane. I was surprised the plane didn't tip, everyone, including myself, ended up on that side of the plane. This where the excitement of coming to Nepal set in. Their power and beauty is hard to describe, so here's a photo and so you can see for yourself. (Actually I can't seem to upload from this computer. Check out my www.flickr.com/photos/ornament)

As the plane began descending over the Kathmandu Valley, the scenery changed from white rugged mountains to richly green rolling hills. Some of the most beautiful scenery I have even seen. The "Father" sitting directly behind me was also enjoying the view. Letting out almost erotic, "Oh..... Oh..... Ooh.......... Oh wow." This sounded funny, but God knows, it was going through my mind as well. The rich green hills seemed endless. Patches of bright green terraces were spotted amongst the darker green - examples of the human inhabitants of this land. Finally the hills gave way to Kathmandu city. A loud and dirty city, but one with a special character of it's own. Compared to Delhi, it looks like paradise. The air's not bad either.

Posting pants India style

Well this was an interesting experience for my first day in Delhi. Josh (Louise's boyfriend) had a couple of things he needed to do, and I thought I would tag along. His main task was to buy 20 pairs of pants for a woman he met in Denmark. The best place was at one of the local markets.

Arriving at the local market, it took a while for everything to get rolling. Most of the shops were not yet open, so we waited around drinking chai and discussing the meaning of life. When the market was showing a lot more life and most of the shops were open, we went searching for the pants. I wasn't sure what he was after, but eventually he found (kinda) what he was looking for, and started negotiating with the shop owner. The technique of bargaining was different from what I was use to in China. We went in confidently, sat down in the shop, and were given another cup of chai from the owner. Josh explained to me, in Indian culture they see the customer as God. Indians are a very welcoming people and will invite you into their place and take care of you. So we were drinking chai and choosing the pants that we thought a Danish woman would like, without even talking about the price. I asked why he hadn't discussed price. Josh assured me we would do business with this man, and he would give a decent price. This to me was pretty silly way of bargaining. It's a mistake to show too much interest before you have negotiated a price. The shop keeper new that Josh would be buying from him, so why would he give a really good price? Anyway, Josh has had a lot of experience in India, and on top of that speaks pretty good Hindi, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. But he did pay a lot more then he expected

After making the purchase, our next task was to post the thing. I learnt, for a parcel to be sent by India Post it has to be sewn together. That's right, not packed into a box like everyone else, but rapped in fabric and stitched together. They don't accept anything else, don't ask me why. So we had to find a 'packer', someone whose job it is to sew parcels together for people. Nobody at the market seemed to have any idea where we could find such a person. We spent along time being sent back and forth between shops. People would be like "try shop bla bla" (in Hindi), so we would go there. And they would be like "Go to shop bla bla bla". Eventually Josh realise he was asking the wrong question, and asked for a tailor. If anyone could do it, a tailor could. We found one soon after, and he assured us he was the man for the job (well the boy for the job). The older man then took us to buy some material from the local fabric shop. We chose minimalist white. The end product was not too dissimilar from a white pillow. Josh assured me this is what they want - no more, no less.

At the post office, of course no body has a permanent marker, so I ran back to the market to get one. Josh in the mean time had walked around the back of the counter in the staff area. He later said that if you are confident no one will question you. But still, I don't know if I could just walk into a post office and go straight behind the counter. Anyway, it was finally all sorted out, apart from the fact that the post worker thought that only a maximum of 2KG is allowed to be sent by surface mail. Airmail on the other hand could handle more - go figure.

The parcel was sewn, labeled (with a permanent marker), and weighed. The only thing left was the custom declaration. How they think they can glue a piece of paper to a fabric covered parcel, without it falling off in transit, is beyond me. But Josh said, "did you see what I did? I shook the man hand, and he told me not to worry, the parcel will make it, he'll make sure it does. I guess that's India for you.

Night of nights - Arrival in India

It was 9.20pm as the plane descended through the overhanging haze of Delhi. Looking out the window I could see fireworks exploding above the housing along side the air stripe. Quite an awesome spectacle being on the same level as the fireworks. It was as if they were celebrating my arrival. But alas I was sitting in economy class amongst all the other common people (who can afford to fly) - there would be no royal welcome. It was actually the beginning of the Diwali festival - India's most important celebration. What an accidentally auspicious time to come - a great start to the trip.

Almost immediately as the plane settled onto the tarmac the air inside the plane began to fill with a strange odor - a thick and sickly mixture of spices, gunpowder smoke, and general human and machine made stench. I was expecting the pilot to introduce the smog along the weather, but he did not. Obviously (and going by what others say) this was nothing new.

Making it to the baggage collection was a quick and easy matter. Waiting for the bags themselves was painfully slow. After about half an hour a few bags randomly appears with big gaps between the groups. I was imagining a few poor souls carrying the bags by hand from the plane to the carousel. But of course all I needed was some patience. My bag eventually appeared, and I focused on the next tasks at hand: purchasing a prepaid taxi voucher, and catching one successfully to my intended destination.

I paid for my voucher at one desk, was directed to another desk who would allocate me my taxi number, met my drive, and after a lot of honking was on my way. I'm not sure what type of car it was, but it resemble something I would have expected from the 1950s. I was doubtfully thinking to myself, it's going to take ages to get anywhere in this thing. But it didn't take long for my young driver to prove me ignorant. Boy could he drive it. Racing around cars, honking horns, flashing lights, weaving around road works through eye and nose burning smog. In the meantime fireworks were being let off in all directions. It was some crazy theme park and this was the Cab Ride of Doom. A taxi ride through a war zone. The driver was trying to tell me something, pointing at the fireworks. I couldn' t really tell if he was speaking in English but I assumed he was telling me something about the Indian New Years. My relatives had told me the other day it was going to be the Indian New Year. Other times the driver would say something (which I couldn't understand), so I figured if in doubt, repeat the address of your destination.

After asking about 100 people on the street around South Extension, where Part 2, then R Block, then 36 was, we finally made it. Shaking his hand I gave him a pretty descent tip, wishing him a happy new year. He repeated happy new year back to me looking a bit confused. I later found out that the festival has nothing at all to do with any kind of new years, instead is the festival of light.

I climbed to the 3rd floor appartment, careful not to catch my bag on fire on the numerous candles lining the staircase. The house of a friends sister who I am staying with were all preparing for a party across the lane. I decided to join them wearing some of Josh's traditional Indian wear. Things couldn't really get much weirder anyway.