Roaming North

The next town we stopped at was Haridwar, also on the Ganges but closer to the source. A fast flowing canal runs past houses and temples built precariously on its banks. A long evening walk took us past pilgrims bathing in their hundreds, small roadside shrines and flower sellers.

Iron bars formed cages alongside the edge of the water to prevent people getting washed away. Some of the young men had other ideas though, leaping off the bridge and being carried a long way downstream before they made it back to land.

The next day we moved on to Rishikesh where the Ganges flows through the Himalayan foothills. Arriving there, we crossed the high suspension bridge over the river. The bridge is used by humans, humans on bikes, cows and monkeys.

The guesthouse we found was run by a friendly man who had a constant smile on his face, which must have been because he came from the valley of flowers, in the high mountains of the North.
The hills in Rishikesh rise around the town, and are the home of wild peacocks which we often heard calling in the morning.

The Ganges here is icy cold, but fearlessly one day we all swam. For about five minutes. Sitting on the bank to dry we were approached by a baba who showed us the correct way to sit in half lotus position and talked about how busy life is in the West, which of course we well know.
Unfortunately, despite searching, we were unable to see the elusive 'snowy mountains' with Mum and Dad, but had a wonderful climb to Tokunjapuri temple where the views were stunning.
There were few sounds up there, apart from the prayer bell, which it is custom to ring while worshipping, and various unknown bird calls.
On our final day we walked to Swarg Ashram, near where the Beatles stayed on their famous trip to India. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere a storm rolled in and engulfed the valley and we took shelter in a flimsy looking cafe. The storm had epic proportions and it is the only time we have seen pink lightning. When we realised that it was not going to let up and that night was falling, Daddy valiently went out to buy umbrellas and the 5 of us set out.
The water rushed down the pavements and was at times ankle deep. We tried not to think about the surrounding trees and water every time the lightning struck. We made it home to find that half of the town had no electricity and for once on the trip, we were longing for warm showers.
We ate our final dinner together, and the next morning were all quiet when we walked to the rickshaw stand to say goodbye.

"Hello, boat?"

After a couple of days in Delhi, we moved on to Varanasi, about 22 hours away on the train. Part way through the journey we were greeted by a goblin grandfather. He was adamant that we join the wedding party he was attending. Poor Daddy suffered the brunt of it and had to politely refuse this kind but potentially dangerous offer. The man was full of a boisterous curiousity, to the point where he began to read Rhiannon's private diary. He was clearly moved by what he read, even reading out a section for everyone else's consideration. She managed to get it back, and he wished for us all the dubious sounding blessing, 'may your teeth always be showing.'

At sunrise we arrived in Varanasi, tired and hot. After finding chai we took two rickshaws to the Main Ghat. We did not reach the main ghat by rickshaw. The taxi driver was in league with a hotel owner and we'd been scammed, Varanasi style. We escaped, however, and found our own way to the ghats. It was early morning and the light shone brightly on the Ganges. The three of us were very happy to show Mum and Dad a place that we love. The walk to the Main Ghat was long, interesting and hot by eight in the morning. A crowd of children surrounded us and we gave them chocolate Easter eggs, Daddy got them standing in line to stop their arguing.

The Ganpati guesthouse that we wanted to stay at was full, but we waited in their cafe and ate a much needed meal. In the visitors book, one traveller had left the comment, "The locals here are very friendly. They have renamed me 'Boat,' and say hello whenever they see me." Strangely, we were all to acquire the same name.

We stayed in another guesthouse, with a rooftop restaurant and friendly staff. We found out that we could buy beer here, and a fellow traveller noticed our bottles of Kingfisher on the table, looked very relieved, and ordered himself one straight away. Beer can be hard to come by in parts of India, so it's always welcome.

The days were spent wandering along the ghats, and through the busy, narrow lanes that make up the old city. One night we took out a boat and saw the evening Puja from on the water. Our boat was steered by a boy who must have been about 10 years old. After sunset, young men perform Puja which is a devotional offering. In this case it is to the river Ganga, and to Shiva. Varanasi is known as Shiva's city. Incense, torches and candles are used in the ceremony, which is accompanied by music.

We met a boy, about 14, but insisting that he was 20. He talked at length about the fact that you cannot take anything with you when you die, and he made some very true observations about life. He quickly developed a liking for Elen, and swore his love, and even asked her to marry him! The poor boy was quite embarasssed when she announced loudly in front of Mum and Dad- "I can't marry you! I already have a boyfriend!"

We managed to get a room at Ganpati guesthouse for our final night in Varanasi. The word is another name for Ganesh, and there was a beautiful painting of the elephant headed god on one wall, with butterfly wing ears. We returned to our first hotel for some final drinks, where we were warmly greeted by the staff. They even brought out their best tin goblets to serve our parting drinks in.

Another long train journey was ahead, this time to Haridwar, in the north. Once again we said goodbye to Benaras, feeling that we had barely touched its surface.

Holi Hai

The arrival of Mum and Dad to India was celebrated in Delhi on a grand scale.
The three of us took a taxi to Delhi airport and were followed by another car for the return journey with, if all went well, Mum and Dad IN INDIA! The wait at the arrivals lounge seemed interminable but suddenly, as concern was beginning to set in, we saw them and had a very happy reunion.
All a little distracted, we made our way back to the taxis and Mum and Dad were whisked away in the spare car. Both drivers clearly were on friendly terms and it was probably normal for them to race on the return journey. Weaving in and out of the Delhi traffic, we caught glimpses of Mum and Dad as our driver, grinning in what can only be described as a maniacal way, sped past the other car. The driver of Mum and Dad's car was quick to meet the challenge and the next we saw of them, Mum and Dad were the unwilling accomplices in a car chase on their first night in Delhi. Luckily, they were still smiling.
The following morning was the 'crazy' day of the Holi festival. By the end of the afternoon we were completely covered in all the colours of the industry standard rainbow. Powder dyes were rubbed on our clothes, hair, faces and even in our mouths, followed by water pistols, water bombs and painted raw eggs. The teenage boys and kids had the best time, the boys dancing to Bollywood hits long after everyone else was furiously scrubbing themselves in the shower.
Once clean, we went for drinks at a bar called Piccadelhi's, where the 'London scene' had been recreated, complete with red phone boxes and the life size buses you find in all London bars! The waiters were very sweet, they gave us two free cocktails each, and we all swapped addresses. In the park in the afternoon people were sleeping off a holi hangover.

Kalikata

Kolkata can drain you of energy at times. The constant flow of traffic, people and questions is truly overwhelming. Rickshaws are pulled along by men on foot, the only city in India where this still happens. Not a square inch of the road on which we are staying can be described as peaceful or quiet, at every turn we are offered something, whether it is a taxi, money change, pashminas, juice, jewellery, newspapers or charas. People here are not afraid to shout for your attention long after you have passed them by.

Nearby Sudder Street where we stay is the New Market, and it is here that on a few occaisons Aslam has found us. Quickly he picks up his pace when we turn the street corner, darting in front of us. "You want spices?" He asks, "Pashmina, sari? I am a good boy. I show you the way. No money." He points to his heart, "My wife Moona. I am good boy." Sometimes we follow him into the dreaded market. Usually just as a means to get to the other side of it. There are indeed lots of very intriguing spices in there, but the mid section is a real test for our poor stomachs. There is a nauseating smell of dead, gutted animals, closely confined live chickens and fish rot.

Aslam slowly realizes we are not here to shop, and he disappears into the crowd. Tomorrow, he will find us again, and remind us once more that he is a good boy.

The sensory overload continued at the Kalighat temple. We were met there by a helpful Brahmin who offered to show us around. As usual, we removed our shoes, and looked at the many stalls selling flowers, religious offerings and ornaments. He then guided us among the throngs of people who had come to worship Kali, goddess of destruction and regeneration. The drumming, bells and chanting grew louder, there was some bleating and we were very surprised to see the sacrificial slaughter of a young goat. Blood was washed into the drains, hoofs removed and the animal skinned. We were told that the meat doesn't go to waste, and it was a very quick death. This was a very strange experience and all the more intense when you consider that a few hundred years ago (if that), human sacrifices were made in the same place.

The image of Kali inside the temple can be glimpsed briefly amid pilgrims in a frenzy, her three red eyes glaring above a long golden tongue.

We sought peace in the Botanical Gardens after that, where even the car horns faded away, and enjoyed wandering about aimlessly through the neglected but beautiful plants, including one of the largest Banyan Trees in the world. With young couples courting everywhere, lazy yellow clouds of dragonflies and the milder temperature of the late afternoon, this was a wonderful place to be, a world away from the mad streets.

Despite the noise, pollution, dirt and chaos, Kolkata is an amazing city. It is known as Kali's city, just as Varanasi is known as Shiva's city. The reputation is deserved.

Sometimes Tom, Sometimes Jerry

The only train with seats available leaving to Kolkata is on Tuesday afternoon, and so we have a few more days to explore Hampi before this huge journey from east to west begins. The ride is 31 hours on the Howrah Express, two top bunks, and one in the middle.

The river in Hampi rose overnight, there is a dam upstream we are told, and now when the ferry (a small motorboat) drops us, there is a short wade to the shore. We have also been swimming in a reservoir nearby, jumping off rocks into the water and drying off on the back of an Enfield!

We climbed to the top of a hill, up 600 steps to the Hanuman temple, a summit with smooth rocks, a couple of lone trees, families of monkeys, and stunning views.

We have spent the last few nights at Shesh Besh, run by gracious Gopi and his charismatic friend, Udai. At the end of the night, they often wind down watching Tom and Jerry cartoons, to which Udai astutely observes, with much laughter, "Sometimes Tom, sometimes Jerry." He refers to the nature of life ofcourse, not just the cartoon.

A little note to Mum and Daddy- you will be arriving on the main night of the Holi festival- an auspicious time, no doubt, but expect madness!

The Lost City

We are now in Hampi, which is in the state of Karnataka. The nearest big town is Hospet, a busy place with ox carts, pigs wallowing about in the dust and a lot of rickshaw traffic. Hampi itself is quieter, and consists of one main bazaar, a few little side roads and is surrounded by the ruins of Vijayanagar. Founded in the early 14th Century, Vijayanagar flourished for 200 years but was finally sacked by Muslim invaders and abandoned by the remaining inhabitants.
The remains lie in a magical, boulder strewn landscape, that is unlike anything we have seen before. It's not difficult to imagine that you are looking at the ruins of a far older civilisation. Think of the world that is described by H.G. Wells in The Time Machine, in which the Eloi live, and you'll have some idea.

A good way to get around is by pushbike, which costs R.20 per person (30p) per day! And so, after waking early and wading the small river between our guesthouse and Hampi, we took to the road. In the morning we saw Laxmi the elephant from the temple, who will bless you for a rupee, but her day had just begun and she was bathing in the river. We were amazed to see her walk up the narrow steps of the ghats, very close by us, surrounded by excited children.
As the heat worked its way into the day (one rickshaw driver said to us "you must come for a tour today madam, each day gets hotter and hotter" and it seems he's right) we climbed up the rocks on uneven steps, to a small Hanuman shrine. Here we were blessed and then shouted at by an old woman, who guarded the temple fiercely, which after all represented her income. We payed for the blessing, but then had no money to pay for the photos she encouraged us to take! Some passing Indian boys argued with her, and it all ended in laughter.

We've only seen a tiny portion of the ruins which were beautifully carved with everything from swans, to yogic postures and some cheeky monkeys.The temptation is to stay here far longer than intended, since there is so much to explore, when even just sitting watching the landscape could occupy you for years.It's very dreamlike here and if we were suddenly to wake up with the sound of the sea in our ears, in Goa, we would not be suprised.

Happy Birthday Mum!

Today we found ourselves searching the hardware shops of Mapusa for tarpaulins and string which signifies the end of our stay in Goa. We are packing things down in the appartment since there will be no-one here until after the monsoon.

Goa is always partying this time of year. Arambol feels like the centre of the live music scene here and we found an open mic night at the Loeki Bar with musicians both bizarre and beautiful. Lots of the songs were improvised and the audience's enjoyment made it even more special. The party moved onto the beach where everybody sang and played instruments together. Later on, a bottle of cashew feni was unleashed onto the crowd.

We've had lots of fun riding on the back of motorbike taxis, its thrilling to fly through the Goan countryside past whitewashed Portuguese churches, palm-fringed beaches, forested hills and small market villages.

It's Feb. 26th today, so happy birthday Mum! We wish we could be there or you here, but soon you will be! Love you lots, Bethan, Elen & Rhiannon xxx