India

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Last episode we were leaving Nepal and heading over the border to India....

We arrived on a bus in Varanasi surprisingly and disappointingly ahead of schedule as it left us sitting, paralysed by neighborly Nepali induced prejudice against scamming Indians, at a rat harboring diner at 2.30 am and no accomodation arranged. Got sorted anyway and awoke to take a deep breath of death soaked air and head out to see the ghats, or river banks of the sacred Ganges where every Hindu dreams of being cremated so they can escape this miserable endless cycle of reincarnation they believe they're stuck in. Wasn't long before I saw a half cremated body floating down the river - relatives must have run out of firewood - and watched it float in to get stuck between some boats moored by the edge. Anywhere else the unsuspecting boat owner would think he was stuck in a nightmare when he discovered the morbid cling on, but there he'd probably just bat it away with an oar. We were guided to the "burning Ghats" - the ones where the cremations actually take place - by some kids who introduced us to a guide there who introduced us to an old woman begging for money for firewood for her supposedly imminent cremation. We watched a few bodies being prepared and ignited, watched locals prospecting for any jewellery that might have fallen in the river when the cremateds' ashes were thrown in, then gave the old lady a few rupees, the guide wanted a few too and the kids joined in with their own invoices. Emotional wrecks and a few rupees lighter we paid up and dashed for home down the filthy narrow old town streets, passing a dead dog outside our hotel which we would observe pass through the various stages of bicycle traversal aided decomposition, in keeping with the all pervasive filth, during our very nasty Varanasi sojourn. Nexy morning, more acclimatised, we awoke to sit on our balcony over the river for sunrise and watch the hive of riverain activity awaken. Locals doing Yoga, others doing laundry by battering the dirt out of their clothes and replacing it with holier dirt from the river and Hindu holy men making offerings to the Gods. For many Varanasi means fire after death - for us it was a tough but fascinating baptism of fire. But things got better....

We trained it out of there on a night train to Agra, wary of our 6 cabin fellows and surprised at the low class carriage we had ended up in. But it was cheap. 2 of our co-travellers bought dinner off a passing food seller and to our amazement sat facing the open window eating and discarding wrappers etc straight out the window. As time went on, we realised this was par for the course. Agra is home to the amazing Taj Mahal which is worth the hype if not the 15 euro entry price foreigners are charged - 37.5 times higher then the locals' entry fee! Pictures paint the rest of the words.

The train system dictated our next moves. We had intended going to Jaipur and Delhi, but it would have made it impossible to get south after for christmas as the trains were all booked up already, so we headed south straight away. Agra to Mumbai(Bombay) we gave ourselves an upgrade to an air conditionned compartment for 4 - with curtains for privacy instead of the barred open windowed no privacy area for 8 of the first train. The 2 train company employees we shared with were a constant source of information on how far behind schedule we were - 4 to 5 hours. They were also full of questions about how sexually liberated Ireland was, lamenting the fact that divorce was not possible in India but proud of the fact that they had not been disgusted when they once shared a compartment with an Ozzie couple who had slept on the same bunk together. They produced a bottle of whiskey - drinking is not accepted on Indian trains, or many other indian places for that matter - at great risk to their professional lives and shared it generously. They hid the offensive elixir and dived for cover like naughty schoolboys caught in porn posession every time the drawn curtain, hiding us from the corridor, so much as rustled. The whiskey inspired a bit of misongyny, as much to Blas incredulous ears they poetically but politically incorrectly declared their wives good for "cooking and fucking". I don't know about the latter but can vouch that their wives would score highly on the former skill as the lads shared the food that those suffering women had prepared with us and it was great. They were very entertaining and generally sound and the trip was informative and good fun.

From Mumbai we struck out wast to Aurangabad for a few days again in a fancy compartment and again met 3 lawyers who would have grilled us all night about life in our worlds if Bla had not declared a lights out. The trains were becoming not just a great means of cheap transport and accomodation, but also a great way to meet the locals and learn about them and their country. We took 2 day trips out from that town to see 2 sets of 20 or 30 amazing temples which insterad of being constructed by inserting material into a space, were all built by removing material from space, i.e. carved from cliffs. Some of them would have made mount Rushmore look like kids sandcastles. Back in Mumbai for a day's sightseeing, the focal point being the Gate of India, most famous for some British queen coming in through it and the last British troops going out through it. Given directions to posh restaurant by posh hotel we were intercepted by a 66 year old retired nutty professor given to cronic repetition but he showed us a cheap jewel in the expensive Mumbai crown. He pointed out that "economically advancing India" has Nuclear technology but that half of the massive population of Mumbai still have to sleep and shit in the street, and bemoaned his 250 euro a month finishing salary. Luckily he did not outstay his 1 beer invitation, as he repeatedly, repeatedly, repeatedly said he would not.

Night train further south to Thrivandrum in Kerala state and of course to a Yoga concentration camp for 4 days. The regime was brutal: woken at 5.20 for meditation, prayers and singing ancient Sanscritt Hindu hymns from 6 to 7.45. Bit of Deja Vu practising a religion without really knowing what I was saying. A few bits of pineapple and in for 2 hours of beginners Yoga exercises, or Assanas, which was all I had thought yoga involved. 10 am, finally some vegetarian food eaten off a metal tray, with hands, on floor, in lotus position. 11 to 12, Karma Yoga where we all selflessly give - i.e. clean the concentration camp out of the goodness of our hearts, I took the bins out daily. 12 to 1 Yoga coaching where mainly headstand related problems were aired and remedied. 1 to 2 Yoga lecture where we learn there's more to Yoga than a bit of stretching. 2-3.30 a break with a cup of tea and a banana before 2 more hours of hard core assanas leaving one feeling battered into an uplifted state of elasticity. 6pm, more veg food at ground level. 7-8 "socialising", 8-10 meditating, praying and chanting again. 10.30 in bed, lights out, wondering what just happened. Left after the 4 days, just before Karma Yoga obviously, feeling brain washed and still haven't removed the chants from my day dreams. It was a great, intensive way to experience that aspect of Indian though.

Christmas and NY spent living in bamboo hut on a cliff top over Varkala beach in Kerala - easy christmas swim and not so easy lobster christmas dinner. Located a lobster serving restaurant on Christmas eve and were introduced to a live crustacean, resident in a cardboard box during an exploratry lunch. Determined to have a fresh lobster on christmas day and sure this one would not survive another 24 hours out of water in his cardbord abode, I surreptitiously drew an X on with with an indelible marker to be sure he didn't turn up on our plate the following day. We booked a live lobster and some illegal beers for christmas day. Christmas morning after swim, had breakfast in said resturant to be sure all was in place for dinner. On arrival the distraught waiter regretted to inform us that no lobsters had been caught that morning and that our one had passed away just 20 minutes after we'd left the previous day and been boiled to preserve the meat. Disconsolate we asked to see him and noted the indelible mark had come off in the boiling. We agreed to have him for dinner anyway for lack of an alternative and again marked him lest he should be swapped. At the much anticipated dinner, the deceased was presented to us complete with mark for inspection then sent for thermidoration, our waiter had become like a lobster funeral arranger. Eating him was almost as poignant for us as the cremations were for relatives in Varanasi, but ours was a happier occasion, made more so by a pod of dolphins messing around in the sea in front of the restaurant. The one christmas dinner I cooked myself before was less work than this one!

We had arranged to meet a guy called "Sumbodee" to go out fishing on Stephen's day at 4pm. We showed up at his hut on the beach but there was no sign of him. A group of local men were playing cards nearby so I approached and told them I was looking for Sumbodee. I expcted an answer like "aren't we all" or "can you be more specific", but instead got a derisive sneer and they continued with their cards. Eventually our man turnmed up and off we went on the boat - 3 pieces of wood tied together and a bamboo stick for an oar - to fish. On the way out I asked what we would use to fish, some nets he said of which I could see none on board, but some out at sea. Out we went straight past the nets we could see and kept going. Half a mile out I asked where our nets were at which point Sumbodee cheerfully announced that we would go fishing the next day cos he didn't actually have any equipment. We laughed and tried to figure out what the purpose of the trip was and slowly realised there was none and told him to bring us back in. On shore again Sumbodee wanted to know what time would suit us for fishing the next day, we told him 7am sharp, he said he'd get the gear no problem, we wondered if he was getting it from "Sumbodee Else" and of course stood him up the next day. It was a good demostration of good natured Indian unreliability.

Took a day trip from Varkala to Kanya Kamura at most sothern tip of India where Ghandi's ashes were scattered and if you had 3 legs you could put each in a different sea. Eventually dragged ourselves away from the clifftop beach hut and fantastic seafood restaurants, to Allepey for a trip on the Backwaters - a big system of canals locals use 4 transport and padhi field irrigation and tourists cruise in houseboats - we just joined locals on a ferry. Next, day stops in Kochin and Udupi to see sights. Udupi has very holy temple where the monks feed 100s of pilgrims and locals at lunch time - we got fed with the VIPs - i.e. we ate with the security guards. Got a bus up to Madakeiri in "The Coorg" and stayed in a bungalow in the garden of an eccentric eco-warrior aristocratic Indian, owner of 8 land rovers and a village populated by farmers who pay their rent in rice, when they pay. He brought us to the village and on a 20km walk through coffee plantations, showed us the land he is buying to provide a corridor to migrating elephants and told us all the healing properties of herbs we passed - he also passed a few herbal cigarettes, making the countryside all the more inspirational! We checked out the Maharaja's palace in Mysore, it was no eyesore, in fact the best piece of architecture I've seen from the 20th century. Went up to Hampi for 2 days with its 15th century ruins lieing amid an atmospheric rock strewn landscape. Good fun going from ruin to ruin on a hired moped, especially transporting it across a river in a corracle - a possibly Aran Island inspired circular currach - see photo. Hampi is also famous among backpackers for Bang Lassis - "herbal" yoghurt shakes that are meant to augment the sunset experience. Kashmiri fundamentalist Hindus in the town have all but stamped them out, but we found some. They didn't kick in until well after the sun had set meaning we had a very amusing dinner. From Hampi we trained it lower class, having now become Indianised enough to travel with the rabble, to Chennai (Madras), forgot to have chuicken madras and took an overnight flight via Columbo in Sri Lanka to Bangkok of which my first impressions were amazement that someone had staged a coup in such an advanced looking city. But thats for another episode....

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