Sari Safari

Corbett National Park, India

On safari? In India? When I first found last year such a thing was possible, it was straight on my mental to-do list, and this week I was finally able to don my binoculars, pith hat and khaki clothes and get among the tigers. If only I did actually had such an outfit to wear.

So back in Rishikesh having come back from the volunteering project the night before, the day was all nicely planned out. Catch up on writing for a couple of hours then leave by lunchtime for the next stop - Corbett National Park. But it was one of those days where extra things came up and everything took longer than planned, and at 6pm I still hadn't left, so it was another night there and a vow to leave first thing in the morning. 

It took the whole next day to get to Ramnagar, starting with a walk to the rickshaw stand followed by some tense negotiations, a rickshaw ride across town, a local bus an hour or so to Haridwar, then another rough and ready local bus for the five hour journey to Ramnagar. You know how TV is a more sped up and exciting version of real life? Well this journey actually felt like watching an exciting live travel programme - it was action packed the whole way, with something happening all the time. If I was reviewing it the only thing I'd criticise was it's lack of plot! First off - I've seen plenty of drivers on the wrong side of the road this past few weeks, but shortly into the journey as we drove along a stretch of quietish and slow dual carriageway, where there's just dirt between the roads, a guy in a jeep swung over the bit in the middle and drove towards the oncoming traffic just because the surface was better. Whilst everyone beeped as normal, they just causally slowing and dodging round him. Next - I've not talked much about smells in India, but on a daily basis you encounter a few, mostly bad ones. From the smoke of someone burning rubbish in the street, to a heavily polluted stream, to dirty exhaust fumes. In this case when stopping at a pretty rough and ready roadside cafe, the horrible stench of stale urine. Some of the toilets you come across are classed as 'deluxe' toilets (which are normal by western standards), but some are pretty darn horrible like these. Though I must say nothing I've found yet has been as filthy as the toilets at Glastonbury Festival! 

We continued on, and realising this is my first taste of rural India outside the Himalayas, passed a lot of fields full of sugarcane along the way, with many heavily overloaded tractors full of harvest crops pulling onto the road from small fields. In a village we passed a guy on a bike selling sweets to kids through the school gates, a pile of rubbish by the roadside being picked through by pigs, dogs and people, and soon after, a dead cow missing all it's skin and being ravaged by dogs. We passed lots of small but neatly laid out fields of vegetables, and carefully stacked discs of animal manure being dried to use as fuel for heating. Men in their boxer shorts were lathered up and washing in a lake, a number of brick factories had chimneys smoking away, and a bunch of young kids seemed to be having fun splashing about in some mud pools in a field. The only 'normal' things amongst all these colourful goings on were the petrol stations. Over the day I must have seen nearly ten cricket games of cricket being played by young lads, wherever they could find a bit of free space - as I've said before Indians love cricket. At one point a lashed up cable that crossed above the road was hanging a bit low, and caught the bus roof which drove on regardless and ripped it in half. An entertaining journey for sure, and a fascinating insight into rural India. 

I arrived in the typical Indian town of Ramnagar, a jump off point for Corbett National Park, and after looking at a few ropey rooms in different places, found one on the Main Street that would just about do the job. It was that noisy that it seemed like I was camping on the road, and turned out not to have hot water included, but was clean and would do for the night. The following morning I went to the National Park reception when it opened at ten, and encountered some of the most confusing and frustrating Indian organisation yet. The place was supposed to open at 10am but with a big quest formed outside they turned up about half an hour late. Inside, no-one came to the particular counter I needed for nearly an hour, I was then told I should have booked online (nothing about that on the website) and they said they were counting to see if there was a quote of permits available for the day. I asked again shortly after and they said come back at midday. I returned then, and thankfully they had a cancellation so I could visit, but I had to organise my own jeep myself. Rather than than just give me a single charge as you'd sensibly expect, I was then led through how I needed to pay an entry fee for myself, an entry fee fee for the driver, an entry fee for the jeep itself, then a fee to hire a park guide, a dorm bed, a housekeeping charge, parking for the jeep, and finally the hire of the jeep. All explained in the most confusing way, involving going forward and back between a number of different people, some official and some trying to make some money as a driver, and with it never clear which is which. Four hours later after cutting through all the crap, many groans and reluctantly paying for a jeep and driver to myself as I was unable to share, we were on our way to the jungle. How difficult could they make something so simple?

 

Heading into the park

My jeep driver Puran was a very friendly 43 year old local guy with pretty basic English, but a warm heart and keen eye for wildlife. He chatted away and after ten miles up the road towards the park asked if I fancied driving. Errrr... Sure! So for the first time in five months I was behind the wheel on a rural Indian road, which felt a bit strange, a bit fun, and probably a bit illegal. A few miles later when we got to the gate of the park, the guards were shouting all sorts of things at us in Hindi - turns out they definately didn't want me driving in the park! The entrance gateway was huge and imposing, and passing through it felt like we were entering Jurassic Park, though hopefully without Jeff Goldblum or the man-eating dinosaurs. After signing in and paying up, we ventured down the narrow dirt track into the heart of Corbett National Park, heading ten miles or so to Dhilaka. The jungle was dense on both sides, and we went through the rocky bed of one dried out river bed after the next, passing tens of termite mounds both sides. Puran had a very keen eye for spotting things, and the first was some sambar deer - a stocky breed with a dark grey coat, then some jungle fowl - a brightly colored type of wild chicken. We went down some little side roads a few times to the main river that runs through the park, and Puran eyed many large fish then a couple of fairly massive turtles just under the surface of the water. 

 

Termite mounds

At dusk we arrived at Dhikala - a purpose built village of concrete buildings surrounded by an electric fence to keep the wildlife out. Except the monkeys who always found a way in. It was a pretty quiet evening hanging out in the restaurant bar chatting to a group of Indian tourists who approached me, consisting a friendly but arrogant head of a town council, and couple of blokes in their twenties who were on their twenty-sixth visit to the park! As ever, everyone I met was fascinated by meeting a foreigner, interested in my trip, and remembered my name straight away. They love foreigners.

At the crack of dawn the next day, I was sat ready for a different sort of safari - high up on the back of an elephant. This was the first time I've ridden on one, and I felt so small in the presence of this mighty and powerful, yet calm animal. With four of us on board, we set off following a procession of four other elephants out into the long wild grasslands around the camp, hoping in particular to spot a tiger of which there were a hundred and sixty odd running wild around Corbett. After half an hour or so our luck came in and after hearing the call of deer running away, we spotted for a fleeting moment the sight of a tiger flashing past a gap, slowly stalking it's prey. It was over way too fast. We tried to find it again with no avail, and now away from the rest of the elephants, went off into the nearby jungle to see what we could see. Another half an hour or so later we turned onto another track and there were sudden whispers amongst the guys - there on the path about two hundred metres in front of us it was; a female Bengal tiger, walking slowly along the track looking around the meat kitchen for breakfast. We followed her for around two minutes, trying not to disturb her by keeping a distance and staying quiet, before finally she strolled off into the dense undergrowth. It turns out we were the only ones that day to really see a tiger properly and I was the only one to get some photos, so I went away feeling pretty chuffed.

 Early morning at Corbett

 

Feel the power!

Not exactly worthy of a photo award, but there she is, the Bengal Tiger we saw

After breckfast back at the camp I met up with Puran, who drove us further into the grasslands in the jeep to see what else we could spot. Having a jeep to myself felt unnecessarily lavish, and was a bit on the costly side but due to the crazy way the park works, the only way I could do it and enjoyable nonetheless. By this time of day, the tigers seemed to have gone off for a doze as they do when it warms up, but we still managed to see a really good variety of other animals and birds that I'd not seen before. storks, egrets, and laughing thrushes. White breasted and common kingfishers. A number of hawk eagles, fish eagles and a mongoose. We went down to the muddy area around a lake, and found a pair of mugger crocodiles resting in the mud, waiting to pounce, then on the way back to the camp; two adult and a baby wild elephants. What a morning!

 

Puran taking us through the grasslands area 

After lunch it was time to start heading out of the park and Puran slowly drove along, stopping every so often to see if he could spot anything before continuing on. The wildlife became more sparse, seeing only the footprints of first a tiger, then a black bear (who hunt by night). Nearly out,the final sightings were a tawny fish owl and later a brown faced owl, sat motionless but ready for action in a tree. At dusk it was sadly over and we were back at Ramnagar, ready for me to catch a train later that night. 

I'm by no means knowledgable nor fanatical on wildlife generally, but I loved the process of tracking down and identifying all these often exotic creatures as most people would. A brilliant experience and worth all the hassle.

 

Mugger crocodile

 Samber deer

 Fresh tiger footprint on the track

 Spotted deer - the most common animal in the park

 Wild elephants

 Stork

Flood Relief

Kandara village, Himalayas, India

After doing a jungle hike a few days before near Rishikesh, as you may recall from my previous post, completely by chance I'd met a Director of Indian charity 'Asha-Kiran'; a very pleasant chap called Manish. He offered me the chance to help them out for a couple of days, delivering supplies to the region that was affected by the devastating floods in June this year, which killed over 20,000 people - a startling figure. I thought about it for a while then decided how could I not go - here I am roaming about the place for my own benefit with all the time in the world, whilst less fortunate people nearby are missing some of the basics of life - it would be selfish not to. 

We planned to meet in Rishikesh at 6am. Feeling shattered after just three hours sleep, due to having to sort out insurance and credit card problems the night before, I was there on time only to get a text saying they'd be an hour late. Great start. I went and had a chai at a small shop up the street, and despite the time of day and darkness, there were five men in their sixties and seventies chatting away. Who'd get up at that time just for that I pondered. One of them sat down and shuffled beside me, looking at my phone screen to see what I was doing. As I may have noted before, Indian people have no qualms about staring, being nosy, being noisy, interrupting, talking over each other, asking personal questions, or invading your personal space. The concept of manners doesn't exist as such, but manners is a term that determines what is socially acceptable, and with all of the above being considered fine here, in reality you can't call it wrong. It's just their culture, their way. Through hand gestures I could see the chap was very interested in what I was doing, so I showed him a few photos of my travels over the years, whilst he unsucessfully tried again and again to use the touch screen, like a baby trying to walk for the first time, and relayed the place names to his friends with excitement. 

---

With daylight now broken, the car arrived and I met the others who were also heading to the flood zone - Manish, Victor - a Spaniard who was the other Director of the charity, three local Indian guys who were also volunteering, as well as the driver who they'd hired along with the car. We headed North out of town, and I could see straight away it was going to be a long and tiring drive - along the windy contours of misty jungle-clad valleys, following the river Ganges towards it's source. Along the way there were numerous road safety signs saying things like 'driving faster can cause disaster', sections where the surface turned to mud and gravel, with speed bumps and pot holes that were back breaking to go over. We passed packs of mules heading to the hills with bricks and sand in their saddle bags, people using village pumps, and a huge hydro electric project. Groups of women carried huge piles of grass and plants on their backs along the roads to feed their cows, other women crouched on the verge smashing rocks salvaged from the riverbed into pieces of gravel, which looked like a desperate existence to me. A small truck pulled out of a side junction without looking and we braked hard to a halt, stopping just in time. Further on, passing through a town, I couldn't help but smile when we drove past a barbers shop that also sold brass instruments - what a great combo!

The Ganges river

 

Women en-route, collecting grass for their cows

After about five hours we came into the start of the area really affected by the floods, and the devastation was very apparent. Some low lying houses along the Ganges lay crumbled, others remained covered to nearly the first floor in silt. There were landslides everywhere. The road we were on was built into the hillside, and in many places one lane had been completely washed away leaving us some hair raising squeezes along the remaining lane, with a large drop down to the river beside. In a few places the road had been washed away completely, and bulldozers had temporarily cut a dirt track further into the hill, or laid a track along the riverbed for us to pass on. It was all a total mess, and whilst some of it was being rebuilt, it seemed very obvious that the government weren't doing nearly enough, not even roughly maintaining these temporary roads.

 

Breathe in, 'cause there's a bi drop the other side

We eventually left the road that we'd followed along the Ganges for hours, and headed up a snaking road into the mountains. As ever there were big drops, narrow windy roads with poor surfaces, and no barriers. It felt like I was in an episode of 'Worlds Most Dangerous Roads', but thankfully after twenty minutes or so, and seven hours after leaving, we reached our destination - a small and remote mountain village called Kandara. Being so far up in the hills it wasn't apparent that the flood had directly affected them, but I'm sure it must have in different ways and if nothing else they were extremely poor. Our task as I found out then for the first time, was to issue blankets, warm jumpers, wooly hats and gloves to remote families who lived and farmed in different places in the surrounding hills. To keep things simple, each family had been asked to send just one family member and in most cases it was the women, who were all sat by the street waiting when we arrived in their brightly colored saris, trousers and headscarfs, chatting amongst each other, all seemingly ageless to me. We unloaded the contents of the lorry which had travelled behind us into what I guess was the village hall, then it was time for speeches. First from Manish, then a couple of the village leaders, then the local councillor, with bursts of applause at various points, but with all of it being said in Hindi I had no idea what was going on.

 

Village ladies 

 

Village men

We got to work, each of the seven of us performing some small task. Mine initially was folding the blankets in half and passing them on, then later taking mens clothing packs out of the sack when they asked for one. It was very undemanding and really there were way too many of us, but I guess they didn't really know what to expect, and better too many than too little. I couldn't help but be impressed with both how noble the cause was, and how well organised it all was. It was great to be part of, but made me think that if the people were that grateful for blankets, that meant they'd been sleeping in cold beds for goodness knows how long. Such simple things, things we take completely forgranted. All the unnecessary things in our lives we think we need, but really don't, and these people don't even have a warm bed to sleep in. It was therefore touching to think of the hundreds of people here possibly having their first warm nights sleep for a while.

Bundles of goods, fresh off the lorry

Every villager had to sign some paperwork to say what they'd received for charity accountability purposes, and I realised this was the first time in my life I'd actually come across illiterate people. Unable to write, they signed for the items using their fingerprint as a signature by pressing it into an inkpad. It was getting dark and the hall didn't have lights, so the locals found some cables and light bulb holders and lashed it all together; I kid you not, using matches to melt the off the cable ends instead of pliers, all whilst the cables were live! I didn't spot it, but Victor actually saw one of them jump a little as he gave himself an electric shock. After half an hour the lights fizzled out and with no-one bothering to fix them, we were back to torch lights. 

By about 8pm we were done, and with hundreds of people satisfied we went off to the restaurant. Actually, calling it a restaurant is a bit of a stretch of the term, as this was a recently converted concrete chicken shed, still full of building materials and junk, with a few tatty stools with an old bench serving as a table. It was more a case of being some bloke in the village who opened part of his house to the occasional visitor. Until then in India I'd been very careful about where and what I ate, as cleanliness and hygiene in the kitchen is something that doesn't often exist, but here with no other option I was at their mercy. The food was pretty basic though tasty, and the chicken didn't really represent chicken as I knew it, but I awoke alive the next day, always a good thing of course. 

---

Our accommodation was a couple of rooms above the village hall which served as an occasional guest house. Victor and I being the foreigners as they like to refer to us, were given the VIP treatment and given a room with an actual bed each, although when I came to get in I found under the bedsheet was nothing but a sheet of plywood! Some padding out was required. As a testament to how tolerant Indian people are - the four other volunteers - all aged between forty and seventy, and a mix of charity director and teachers, happily slept in the other room all in a line on thick blankets laid on the concrete floor. Something you could never imagine with people of such standing in the western world - no charity money wasted on excesses here.

At 6am the next day I was rudely awoken by a banging on the door - 'good morning sir, chai. hello sir, chai, morning'. I opened the door and it turned out to be the chap from next door, who decided that we didn't need sleep at that time of day, but a cup of tea. I downed it and dozed off again. At 8am as my alarm was going off, he came round again with another one - alI can say is bless him! After sorting out a few odds and ends with the goods we'd delivered, we had breakfast at the chicken shack - a particularly spicy portion of curried cauliflower and potato served with some chapattis (bread). I'm pretty used to spicy breakfasts now.

With our job done, we headed back towards Rishikesh down the same sketchy roads, and as we travelled, I saw for the first time a traditional Indian cremation taking place on the gravel and rocks of the riverbed. A pyre of wood is built right beside the waters edge with the body inside, then set alight, with a small memorial service being held a few metres away whilst the body is burnt. We continued on, and being sat in the back of the 4X4 this time where the roof is lower, and with no seatbelts to hold me down (standard), I hit my head quite hard on the roof a few times when we went over particularly vicious bumps which was as painful you might expect. I ended up having to slouch as much as I could to survive! We had a few blankets and clothes left over, and Manish made a few enquiries at suitable places along the way, eventually deciding to give them to an orphanage that we passed. We all went into a meeting with the manager for a while, all in Hindi, and then unloaded the goods. It wasn't too bad a place for the poor kids to live by local standards, and the volunteers there were very grateful for the donation.

---

We continued to the next town, stopping briefly in the local government offices to hand over our paperwork to the disaster coordinater for the affected region, which was all spoken in English, as is all government business. Further on Manish pointed out a farm up in the hills which the local guys told him produced certain items of fruit and veg exclusively for the Queen of England which are flown across. How exotic ma'am. Throughout the journey I chatted with Victor (24) who had once stayed a summer in Torquay, and in his excellent English asked all manner of cultural questions about the UK that I couldn't answer, such as 'how do you spell eye by gum, and what does it mean' - as you can see couldn't answer very well on either front. He also said he thought English food is rubbish (as most Europeans seem to say to me) and that it was weird how we have carpet everywhere in the house, especially in when in bathrooms - 'so disgusting'. Another example of us thinking everything we do is normal, when it isn't necessarily, it's just our way.

We eventually got back to Rishikesh at about 8pm, and after saying our farewells, I headed back to the hotel I'd previously stayed at, greeted at the door by handshakes and smiles from the elderly owners; a lovely couple. The volunteering work, whilst not in anyway difficult, had been a very interesting experience. It's something I'd been meaning to look into doing here and may well do a bit more sometime. It made me appreciate even more what a great standard of living we have (though I'm reminded daily of that anyway) and it was truly a humbling experience.

Think More Differently

Rishikesh, India

So still in Rishikesh, my experiences with the weird and wonderful continue...

Saturday 14th

So being in the 'yoga capital of the world', I'd had a go at it for a bit of fun a few days before. I'd decided the experience was a one-off, but Emilie (the Canadian I'd met a couple of days before) somehow pursuaded me to go to a proper yoga class, saying the beginners class I did wasn't the real experience. This time it was a group of about fifteen of us, an equal amount of guys and gals and was even longer at an hour and a half this time. It was equally as painful as the first time, trying to sit cross legged or flex into various positions, and the instructor had to constantly grab my limbs to put them where they actually should be. The session was more intense, but because it was a proper class instead of for beginners was actually a lot more enjoyable, though the chanting we had to do near the end was pretty weird. It's nice to try these things for the experience, but yoga as expected was not my sort of thing to be honest, though a good experience nonetheless. What I took away from it was that I need to be more aware of my posture generally, that doing stretches is very good for long term health and certain breathing exercises can be pretty relaxing. It was worth doing it for that alone, and there's no doubt that you leave feeling very relaxed and fresh.

I was on a roll with these out-there experiences. Despite having heard genuinely good results of homeopathy when used on animals, I'm pretty skeptical of alternate forms of medicine. But being open-minded to new experiences, and on recommendation from someone I met a few weeks ago, I went that morning to an Ayurveda clinic to have my 'dosha' read. Ayurveda is an ancient form of medicine, practiced in India and based on the idea that everyone is made up of varying amounts of the five elements - earth, fire, wind, water, air, and that you need to maintain the correct balance of these. When they 'read your dosha' they determine what your physical make-up is, what it actually should be, and give you advice on actions and herbal medicine to correct this balance. Yep, I thought the same. For a couple of quid (200 rupees) the doctor, which I'm fairly certain is a term used loosely rather than in the sense we'd normally use it, asked me a number of questions about my health and lifestyle. He then took a pulse and blood pressure reading and compiled a report, telling me I was a 'Vata-Pita', and should therefore among many other foods, avoid spicy and acidic food, and have more peeled almonds and green tea, and take some herbal medicines he listed. I left with a piece of paper in my hand still unconvinced. There was nothing too radical on it and it was certainly something to think about, but I wasn't sold... Maybe it's just our way of needing everything scientifically proved in the west, and indeed eastern practices really do have substance, who knows. 

---

That evening I had a very disappointing email, saying I wouldn't be starring in the paint advert! I jest as I never expected it to actually happen, but he then had another offer - 'anyways wat u say about being a santa in a mall activity for xmas day..24th & 25th dec ..in delhi...let me know'. Another hilarious proposition, but I didn't want to spend Christmas working so politely turned him down - who know what other offers he may send me though next!

Terraces up in the hills where local farmers grow vegetables

Sunday 15th

Having spent a lot of time in Rishikesh just doing small activities and hanging around relaxing, I wanted to get out of town and do something, so had agreed the day before to go hiking with a couple of French-Canadian girls I'd me a few days before. I went round to their hotel to meet them, to find the charred remains of some of their belongings on the balcony outside their door - It turned out they'd had a fire. In the night the electric heater in their room had started shouldering and was slowly burning one of the backpacks - Maude had awoken suddenly, somehow smelling or sensing it and managed to stamp it out just seconds before it burnt her passport and set the room alright properly. Very lucky escape. It turns out that when the hotel owner had originally brought the heater up it didn't have a plug, and he tried to just put the bare ends of the cable into the socket before the girls stopped them! He then bodged a plug on the end using a couple of pieces of wire and some tape which was equally as bad and cause the smoldering.

By lunchtime they'd still not managed to sort everything out with the police etc, so I went off hiking on my own in the hilly forest behind the town. I'd been told by the guy in the next-door hotel room of a route up to the top, and managed to find my way onto what I thought was the right route, but two-thirds of the way up reached a dead end in a very rural farmyard. When I asked the kid there who was herding goats, how to get to the top he said 'not possible, tiger!'. A tiger! I'm fairly sure he was kidding, but I could see no way further up so went back down. I then went to walk to a nearby waterfall instead, only to get half way to be told by a couple of indian hikers the police had shut it indefinitely because of a 'fight and a rape' a few days before. OK... There was supposedly another waterfall the other side of the valley, but this time I got nearby but just couldn't find it. What a crap afternoon! At least my room didn't catch fire I suppose.

Typical small farmyard

Monday 16th

Being in the foothills of the Himalays still, I'd planned to try and join an organised hike through one of the local companies, but just like in Dharamsala a few weeks ago it seemed to be off-season so there was nothing going, and no maps or advice on local routes. I knew one of the treks went to a point high up in the hills - Kunjipuri temple, and managed to find where it was on Google maps, but had no idea of where the path might be to actually get there. I asked around a bit, and a restaurant owner pointed me roughly in the right direction, so with a rough idea I went for it.

Female farmers up in the hills

The first section was up a lane for a couple of miles passing houses on the outskirts of Rishikesh, then as I got further from town, past small farms typically consisting of a handful of cows and half an acre of vegetables. I realised then that at home so little of our food is actually locally produced, whereas here almost all fruit, veg and meat is - they're a step ahead, but only cause of economic reasons I guess. After about four miles, now deep into the wooded mountainous valley, the track narrowed to a rough dirt track then slowly became smaller and narrower until it was just a path. I kept checking with locals where possible that I was on the right track, but at a fork it was unclear which way to go so I took the slightly more obvious looking path. After another mile or so it got narrower and steeper, eventually starting to fade away and become a slope of loose scree. I persisted for a while before realising it was pointless and a bit dangerous trying to persist, so now completely covered in a mixture of sticky things and spiky needles from bushes, went all the way back to the fork and took the other route. 

The end in sight - Kunjipuri temple at the top

After this things became slightly more straightforward, and when I got lost from now on there was usually a local on hand to point the way. I eventually reached the 1600m or so temple at the summit mid-afternoon - slightly bigger that Ben Nevis in terms of elevation gained, not a bad day out! The views were fantastic, and would have been even better if it weren't for the ever-present mist and haze that I've seen for weeks now. I looked at the temple for a few minutes, and realising there was no-way I had time to walk back the same route, took the tarmacked road a couple of miles down the other side of the hill towards the bus stop.

Kunjipuri temple, at last

Walking down the road, I head a car coming from the temple direction so stepped onto the verge, only for the car to come to a stop beside me. The two Indian guys inside, in their forties with proud waistlines and painted spots on their foreheads offered me a lift. They looked like decent guys, and I knew the only reason anyone was coming down the hill was from visiting the temple so hopped in. Chatting away on the journey down, it turned out one of the guys - Manish - was a Director of a charity and was heading north in a couple of days to deliver some supplies to the area affected by the devastating floods back in June, so proceeded to tell me all about it. He stopped at a 'English Wine and Beer Shop' half way back - a slightly odd but common Indian term for the obvious, and I took the opportunity to grab a couple of beers as well, seeing that selling alcohol is illegal in Rishikesh for religious reasons. A few miles more down the road we stopped for a chai (milk tea) which Manish insisted on paying for, and asked if I fancied going along to help the charity deliver supplies - don't think the tea was a bribe but you never know! So one minute I'm just quietly doing some hiking, and the next I'm a potential volunteer. I thought about it for a while, then said yes.

Tuesday 17th

With a day to spare before the trip up north, I spent the day doing an online course I'd been wanting to do for a while, as well as sorting a nightmare of my own making. The night before, I realised my travel insurance was about to run out so called them to extend it, only to find their office in London had closed for the day shortly before. So today I rang to find that because it had expired it couldn't be extended, and also they no longer offered that policy. This doesn't sound like a problem until you hear that almost every insurer requires you to be in the UK when your policy starts, and I obviously wasn't. This was starting to look like a big issue that meant either no insurance, or flying back home to sort it out, but thankfully after about three hours of hunting around I found a company that would take me on, albeit at a pretty inflated price. Top tip - never let your travel insurance run out whilst you're away!

To top off my day, at nearly midnight (and with a 5am start looming) I realised my credit card wasn't in my wallet when I went to pay for said insurance. I turned my room upside down and checked everywhere, but it was no-where to be seen. Knowing I wouldn't have time to retrace my steps around town the next day, reluctantly I called my bank and cancelled it. Thankfully there were no dodgy transactions placed on it, and my suspicion is that I left it in a cash machine a few days before. This particular machine I found later, gave you your cash before your card - the opposite of most machines, and I must have just left it in the slot before it got sucked back in after I'd left. Pretty annoying, but I've still got another two cards to keep me going so not the end of the world.

It was the end of my time in Rishikesh - a very unique week or so of this trip and one I'd thoroughly enjoyed on the whole. I'd been open minded enough to try a broad range of what I call new-age practices, which in reality are mostly very old, but failed to be convinced by any of them. Some might say being open minded amounts to more than giving something a go, but usually the process of trying something, whatever it is, makes me either want to buy into it, or not, and here was mostly the latter. A couple of days of volunteering loomed, and not really having many details to go by - what would the journey bring I asked myself?

Hindu god in Kunjipuri temple

Think Differently

Rishikesh, India

The end of the line was nearing on the overnight journey, so having managed to grab a few hours sleep I went and hung out the train door, taking in the scenery in the refreshing morning sun, passing people walking beside the tracks heading for work and pigs rummaging through rubbish, arriving eventually at the final destination - Rishikesh - a bit of a special town in different ways. I didn't know a lot about it, but it was recommended by a few people as being a bit of a travellers Mecca, as well as having some good hiking, being very new-agey and a big pilgrimage sight for Hindus; so all in all a pretty diverse place to visit. They were right, it's been interesting and thought provoking, peaceful and relaxing, fun and exciting, and led me to try a number of out-there things I'd never even thought about before, let alone tried. I ended up staying over a week which included among other things, another eventful hike, an offer of starring in a TV advert, yoga, lots of chai, and a run in with both some monkeys and a security guard. So it's fair to say it's been the most bizarre week of the trip so far.

Tuesday 10th 

I arrived in the suberb of Laxman Jhula at about 9am, and immediately settled straight into a different frame of mind; that where traveling is more about watching, talking, relaxing, learning, reading and trying, thanks to there being so many other backpackers around for once. I found a nice place for breakfast beside the famous holy river Ganges, and had a bowl of porridge with chopped banana and honey, a new favourite of mine - not exactly typical Indian food, but then this is no typical town. There's so much accommodation and therefore competition available in the town, that I soon found a hotel with a decent but basic double room overlooking the Ganges, set back against the wooded hillside, for an unbelievable £2.50 (250 rupees) a night! A whole en-suite room with balcony, hot water (not always included) and WiFi to myself for that price - how is this even possible?!

One of the larger ashrams

After a morning catching up with a few things I set off to look around town, and was instantly captured by the calm and reflective mood of the place. I was surprising to see how clean the Ganges looked, roaring past in a deep shade of turquoise ready for people to pollute it further downstream. Hindus consider the river holy, and throughout the town you see many hanging out on the ghats - sets of wide steps down to the river, bathing in this 'holy water' and filling small containers to take home. As far as foreigners go, the town seemed to be dominated by hippies - I've never seen so many. Some in the stereotypical brightly patterned clothing with dreadlocks, some in traditional loose fitting Indian plain white cotton gowns, and a few in orange Hindu robes, strolling around often looking a bit spaced out. The town seemed to be dominated by various Hindu temples, ghats and Ashrams - walled complexes where mostly Westerners come on intense ten day Yoga and meditation retreats, where they hope for some sort of enlightening spiritual experience. I strolled through the well-kept public areas of a couple of these compounds, seeing statues of Hindu gods, manicured gardens, people sat meditating, and locals chatting. 

 

Local saddhus

Inside an ashram complex

Wednesday 11th

It's certainly not something I'd normally consider doing - I mean Yoga is this eighties fad which girls use for fitness and toning, isn't it? In India it's considered very differently, and practiced equally between sexes without stigma. So whilst in the 'yoga capital of the world' and always open to new and interesting experiences, I gave it a go to see what it was about.

I was the only person at the beginners class at 'Om Shanti Om' and it was just as well as it would have been hilarious for anyone watching. I mean I could barely cross my legs - the last time I remember really doing so for more than a few minutes was at primary school! The lady first taught breathing exercises designed to relax the mind, then gentle stretching exercises, building up over the hour to some of the set moves. Surprisingly, doing the session made me realise that last year the coach at my gig rowing club at home sneaked some yoga exercise into our fitness training without us realising, cheeky. My back ached, my hip joints hurt, and I had no flexibility at all, but I left at the end walking very upright and feeling extremely relaxed.

I spent most of the afternoon in one of the many cafés in town catering to backpackers, most of them following a similar theme of beach hut type decor, alternate music, free WiFi, and offering a variety of worldwide food. Not exactly authentic Indian obviously, but great places to spend hours relaxing, reading and meeting other travellers, and I chatted for a couple of hours to an Australian lad called Shaun who I ended up hanging out with a few times over the week. Strangely, I think he's the only other long term traveller I've met on this trip until now, him having been away well over a year so we shared a few stories from our trips.

That night I went for tea, and a couple of minutes after sitting down the waiter said 'that guy over there would like to speak to you', pointing to a business-like Indian guy. Intrigued, I went over and he introduced himself as a casting agent who had been working in town on a German movie that had been filmed here the past few days (I'd spotted them earlier), and said he was now casting for a project next week which he thought I looked suitable for! I couldn't help but laugh. He said 'Would you be interested in in starring in a paint advert, you'd only have a few lines to say and we'd pay you, as well as your expenses to get to Kerala (south India) and stay'. He took a photo of me on his phone and sent it to the director, who immediately replied saying 'send more pictures' which he did. I was told to wait and see for a couple of days...

Statue of one of the Hindu gods

Thursday 12th

I was reading my book on the roof terrace area of the hotel by my room that morning, when I spotted a group of about eight monkeys congregating, first on the area down below, tearing apart a bin bag scattering it everywhere and scavenging for food, then being shooed away by the guy on the room above. So when one of them started moving towards the bin near where I was sitting, for some reason I went towards it waving my arms, and shouting to usher it away. Bad move. It stood upright with teeth snarling and started running towards me. I panicked, not really knowing what was happening or what to do so I just shouted at it and started running. Thankfully some Indian guys close by heard the commotion, and chased the whole group off with a stick, so all was ended up fine. Slightly terrifying, especially as they're sometime known to bite, and can carry rabies. I really should have known better!

And so from monkeys to Beetles. Back in the sixties, the pop group The Beetles famously went to India for a couple of months inspired by a Hindu guru they met in England, and stayed in his ashram here in Rishikesh, supposedly doing spiritual stuff but in reality doing a lot of drugs and writing songs, including the whole of The White Album. The place they stayed at, for various reasons closed down long ago, and when the lease ran out in 1997 was abandoned and left for nature to reclaim. I'd read and heard a lot of different stories about how fantastic it was, and despite being officially closed and fenced off, how lots of people just bribe the guard or jump the wall around the side. Not the sort of thing I'd normally do, but I figured if so many people were visiting and doing no harm, one more wouldn't hurt. Even my Rough Guide book hinted it would be fine. It sounded well worth a chance so I walked to the outskirts of town, and after asking around a bit found the place. Following the wall of the complex around through the woods, out of sight I climbed a crumbled down half meter high section where other people had obviously done the same. Inside I was instantly enthralled - all of the original paths and buildings remained, although stripped completely back to their concrete bones, and were completely entangled with trees and bushes that had grown over the past couple of decades, reminding me of the lost temples of Anchor Wat in Cambodia. I walked around looking in the meditation huts, into the old accommodation blocks, kitchens and various other outlying buildings, trying to work out what their purpose may have been, and which buildings The Beetles themselves would have stayed in. I imagined the place full of life, and wondered how such beautiful buildings could just have been abandoned like this, now rotting, rusting, peeling, broken, fallen and decayed. 

 

Former medidation huts

On the rooftop, with mosaic clad domes

It was so quiet, the only sound being the Ganges flowing nearby and a dog barking far away in the distance, and I stepped into the large hall where the Maharishi - the guru - would have given his lectures, now with walls covered inside by some great artwork and inspiring quotes. I then went up a concrete staircase onto the rooftop patio of one of the nearby accommodation blocks, and found a couple of American guys there so chatted away for a few minutes. A local sadhu (wandering monk) arrived a few minutes later and waved his stick ushering us out though not in a threatening manner, and we thought we'd better oblige. Down on the main path, we came across about six other people who had also been looking round and 'caught', standing solemnly by the security guard. Busted. He marched us out and that was that, a couple of hours in an amazing place with a lot of history. OK so strictly speaking I shouldn't have been in there, but from what I understand half the visitors to Rishikesh seem to end up visiting at some point so they can't be too worried. I'm not sure if it's a shame it's not officially open, or more exciting because of it. 

 

Inside the main hall 

Friday 13th

'Excuse me sir, I am schizophrenic, give me money' - one of the more imaginative lines I've heard from a beggar, as I walked to breakfast that morning - it's a complicated and widespread issue in India and I'll discuss it in a separate blog sometime, but in this case I rightly or wrongly put him down as a chancer and walked on.

Apart from hanging out in some cafés and reading, my only proper activity this day was something I never thought I'd do. Now I'm pretty skeptical generally of a lot of the new age practices you hear about; I guess I'm just a bit scientifically minded. But I'm also of the belief that you shouldn't dismiss things without trying them, so out of curiosity I decided to go and get my palm read at one of the many places in town. It lasted about quarter of an hour, with an old Indian guy carefully examining both palms with a magnifying glass, telling me things as he went. I won't tell you the results, but all I will say is that I left as skeptical as I arrived. It was all positive, and a couple of things were interesting (let's see if they come true) but I can't help but think a lot of it was generalisations he could have applied to anyone my age by just looking at them and picking out the obvious. 

I met up with Shaun again that night as well as Emilie - a French-Canadian friend of his and went to East-West, a very relaxed restaurant that turned out to be a proper hippie hangout, and the only happening place to go in town of an evening. Being a holy city, Rishikesh is completely dry - alcohol is illegal in town, and I looked around at all these people chatting away for hours and playing bongos and guitars, and given the age and type of people, thought how unique it was for such an evening not to be fueled whatsoever by drink. 

Whilst it may sound like it was an action packed week from the above, in fact it's been pretty leisurely, those things only taking up an hour or two each day. Throughout this trip I've kept pretty busy, trying to make the most out of every day, but Rishikesh has a certain calmness about it, and for once I felt it was actually OK to just sit round chatting and reading - things I could do anywhere, rather than having to see and do stuff. But that only lasts so long, and the place slowly went from energising me to draining me, so it was time to get out and do something - a spot of hiking. More tomorrow.

 

There are two common types of monkeys in India. These are the slightly nicer ones

 

This guy was sat outside a restaurant as some sort of living advert

India photos

First batch of India photos are now online - HERE

As ever you don't need a Facebook membership to view them.

Back To the Future

Chandigarh, India

Chandigarh is unlike any other city in India, because it was built as a planned city - it's clean, green and organised, with wide roads, nice buildings and big parks - and was created from scratch in the fifties by The French-Swiss architect Le Cobousier as a new state capital. I guess you could call is India's version of Milton Keynes, the dull planned city in England. I had no plans whatsoever to visit the place at all, I'd never heard of it, and it was just an insignificant changeover point for trains as far as I was concerned beforehand. However I met an English architect a few days before in Shimla, and after he praised its virtues for a few minutes, I was persuaded to stop over for a day.

 

 

The journey down from Shimla in the mountains to Chandigarh in the plains, was a bit special as I took the 'Viceroy's Toy Train' - a small, slow and rattly train on a line that the British Raj built a hundred-odd years ago. Cut into the contours of the hills with lots of bridges and tunnels, it was more like a bike ride than a train ride; gently cruising down the hills through nice woodlands, stopping at loads of small stations and only averaging about twelve mph. An Indian guy in his forties sat and chatted to me for a while - an IT systems architect for Siemens, who was coming home from holiday with his family, including his young daughter and niece. The girls were very cute, asking me all sorts of questions about where I came from and why I couldn't speak Hindi, and challenging me to a science quiz on the planets. I asked him how their English was so good, and it turns out schoolkids in India are now only allowed to speak English at school, not Hindi. Which means I guess means in, say fifty years time it will pretty much be the main national language. 

It was a beautiful sunny day for the journey, and the temperature turned from fairly cool to nice and comfortable as we descended from about 2000m to 400m altitude. I spent the last hour or so hanging out the open door of the carriage, holding onto the side rails just like you see in movies - admiring the great valley views and watching locals and and rail workers walk alongside the tracks. I've never had the opportunity to do that before and it felt so liberating and carefree to be able to; just fantastic.

 

The nice side of India

 

And not so nice

At the other end at Kalka, I had to get twenty miles or so to Chandigarh which seemed straightforward, and I joined up temporarily with a couple of recently retired British guys who were also on the train. However the bus station was nowhere near the train station so required a rickshaw ride, and once there the bus timetable apparently was nonsense so we had to ask about five different people until getting the right story. When it turned up it then didn't take us into Chandigarh but another stop on the outskirts, which required then running along a verge and hopping another bus, which even then stopped a mile or two from where I was staying... never simple here. On top of this, because it was an affluent city there was little budget accomodation, so I ended up reluctantly staying in this weird place in the suburbs, some sort of hostel/shopping outlet/function venue, and the worst place I've stayed on this trip. A huge white room with walls covered in scuff marks and coffee stains with nothing but a bed and a smashed up wardrobe, no bedsheets or pillows until I asked, a window pane missing for the air conditioner, and hot water to the sink but not the shower. I was reluctant to take it but had little choice, and decided to spend as little time there as possible and leave the next day.

The hassle continued the next morning, with what would normally taking an hour at home, taking an entire morning here. Firstly just finding somewhere to get some breakfast, then buying a train ticket, funnily enough from a bus station. This involved going to the desk to find out that the only train to where you want to go is at 3.00am, deciding which of the seven classes of seat to choose from, filling out a pointless form saying this along with your details, and standing in the line whilst locals jump the queue and push from behind. Then after twenty minutes whilst the staff all have a tea break, speaking to them to find you have to wait another ten minutes for something to happen on their system, and eventually receiving a ticket leaving not from your city, but the next one along! Draining.

Taxiiiiiii!

My rucksack was full to bursting with various things to post home that I'd collected along my travels, so the next point of confusion was the Post Office. I got a cycle rickshaw there and queued up to find they don't sell any sort of packaging, and was referred to a man who sat on the street outside. He told me to take a seat on a polystyrene box and he ran off, returning a few minutes later with a cardboard box which he appeared to get from a skip. He carefully packed it with my things, then cut the box down to size, taped it, wrapped it in cheap cotton (standard practice), roughly stiched up the sides, and taped it again. Back in the Post Office, I then had to write out three identical sets of custom forms (photocopier anyone?) detailing exactly what was in there, weight, value, everything, and then go through another long queuing process. My patience had been thoroughly tested that morning, and this time when a couple of guys were constantly pushing as-if to make the queue go faster, I finally lost it, holding out both arms and blurting out 'PLEASE stop pushing and give me some space'. They did! When it was my turn, I then found out the Post Office had discontinued their cheap sea service and didn't have enough cash on me, so had to go on a trawl  around the area to three different cash machines before I found one that worked, before joining that queue again and eventually completing this seemingly simple task! 

Those slightly over-detailed descriptions sum up the process of doing anything in India. Everything is so beaurocratic, clunky and unnecessarily overcomplicated. Once they find a system just about works that's it, it'll never change, never improve. Or that's the way I see it anyway.

I was now able to actually do something with my day, so walked to the city museum to find it shut because it was Monday, and instead grabbed some lunch and walked through a nice park - a bit of a rarity so far in India. Being a nice sunny day it was full of people sat around chatting and playing cards, but most noticeable was that they were almost all men. On the streets in India everything is dominated by men, as tradition dictates as they're still the breadwinners in India, but doesn't explain why women can't go out and enjoy the sun as well. I continued on along the wide tree-lined streets, and passed the complex of government buildings, bemused that nothing here is like the rest of India, but instead more like America. The planned approach obviously works as it's the most affluent city in India, but was it all fake, or a glimpse into the future I mused.

My final stop was the main thing I actually came here to see - The Rock Garden. A kind of garden and sculpture park built secretly and illegally in the sixties, it was created solely by a local guy called Nek Chand, using only building waste from when the city was being originally built. It was so clean, so clever, a relaxing and so beautiful - the first such man-made thing I'd seen in India. The council eventually found about about the place and tried to shut it, then decided they quite liked it and got involved themselves to extend it and open it to the public. But as with many things when the creator looses some control (and where the council get involved), the newer bit seemed to loose it's edge completely, and was dull, drab, dirty, noisy, and unfinished.

 

 The rock garden

As I mentioned previously, I had a 3am train to catch so spent that evening as leisurely as I could, eventually taking the rattly local bus to the next town of Ambala, being dropped off near the train station. This was to be my first experience of Indian Railways proper, as the previous train was a bit of a tourist special. It was now about 11pm and I made my way in the station entrance which was absolutely packed with poor-looking people with huge piles of luggage, with many just lying sleeping around the entrance area, the lobby and platform floor. It was just a sea of people, most of whom I guess were waiting for late trains, but some I guess who were just homeless. I wandered about, feeling a little uncomfortable and confused amongst the chaos, and eventually came across the 'Upper Class Lounge' which I found my second class ticket gave me entry to. In reality it was just a concrete room like you'd see in an old British station, but was much quieter than the platform allowing me to get a couple of hours sleep lying across a row of seats; partly on my bag to stop it getting stolen. At 2.30am my alarm sounded and I found the right platform and chatted to a local guy who was a bit confused as to why I was traveling. The train turned up just ten minutes late, and to my relief I managed to find my carriage and bed fairly simply, and whilst simple - a vinyl bed in a four person compartment - it was quite neat and clean. I went to sleep, heading for the Rishikesh - a holy town on the Ganges river, and a supposed backpackers Mecca.

Chandrigah had been a bit something-or-nothing. I was pleased to have visited to see a futuristic India and a bit of art, but if it'd skipped the city I probably wouldn't have missed it.