The Trip
Bombay to Beijing: Flew to Mumbai in March 2004 and backpacked through India, Nepal, Tibet and China for more than 4 months. The trip is all over now, but the photos and blogs are still with us.
Click to open fullsize map of route.
Currently...
Getting ready for my next big trip - a cycle tour across Japan, top to bottom. The plan is to set off in August from the northern tip of Japan and just keep on pedaling south.
More here...
Archives
March 2004April 2004
April 30, 2004
To Nepal
The journey continues here...
April 29, 2004
Bodhgaya: brought to you by Pepsi Cola
Seated in meditation Siddhartha made the determination -'Even if my blood should run dry I will not leave this seat until truth has been realised!' He recalled his innocent meditation under the Rose Apple tree as a child and thought this would be a good way to start. And then ... Mara came! All that is beautiful, alluring and pleasant - and all that is terrifying, monstrous and fearful. 'What right have you to pretend you are sitting on the throne of enlightenment?' Mara boomed, surrounded by his great army.Unmoved, sitting under the Bodhi tree on the full moon of May in his 35th year, Siddhartha became enlightened. Ignorance was dispelled and wisdom arose. He knew: 'Delivered am I, rebirth is ended, fulfilled is the holy life, I have done what was to be done.' He touched the ground calling the earth itself to bear witness.
-- This message was brought to you by Pepsi Cola
According to a sign next to the present day bodhi tree, the Buddha remained seated "unwinking" for a week after that momentous insight - just no one around to wink at, I guess.
As the holiest of Buddhist pilgrimage places, I decided to make my own trip to Bodhgaya a little pilgrimage of sorts, following the oilgrima on their rounds and rising before dawn for meditation. The Mahabodhi stupa was magnificent, if a little tacky on the inside and covered in scaffolding on the ouside. But what I didn't know, and wat would itself be reason enough to come again, was that Bodhgaya is also home to what could be the best banana lassi in India!
Bodhgaya has a very international flavour - something of a Buddhist supermarket: Buddhist countries from all around the world have gone to great lengths to build a representative temple in their country's own unique style. The Tibetan temples were amazing, the Japanese temples extraordinary, and the Thai temple and its exquisite contemporary murals took my breath away. But the Korean temple... well.... it speaks for itself:
April 28, 2004
Cows and Corpses
April 28, 2004I'd never seen a dead body until I came to India. Now I've lost count. Back home, death is something to be covered up, not talked about, sealed up in coffins, and generally ignored to the best of our ability. My second day in India, we saw a black man on the pavement next to a busy street with his face in a pool of dried blood. If he wasn't dead, he's got one hell of a headache.
But it was in Varanasi that death became irrefutably right there. If you're a Hindu, Varanasi is the best place in the world to die. The burning ghats on the shores of the Ganges work 24/7 and go through about 150 bodies a day. The air is surprisingly fresh: a blessing from lord Shiva, according to one of the locals who stood beside us one night as we watched one old man's flesh turn to ash.
Walking by the great river next morning, we see a bloated corpse knocking its head against the banks, while a few metres downstream the faithful are engrossed in their ritual bathing, and a group of young boys in their game of cricket.
Mark Twain said that Varanasi (or Benares as it was known then) is "older than history, older than tradition and older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together." In fact most of the city was systematically destroyed by muslim invaders just a few few centuries ago, but Mark Twain's comments still hold true. Varanasi feels old, and it's not just the buildings.
The narrow winding alleys are the closest I've even been to being in a real labyrinth. The lanes are so twisted and narrow, and the plentiful cows so wide that one cow is all it takes to block your way and send you ducking into an ornately carved doorway to let the holy beast pass, and continue its garbage grazing further down the road.
Varanasi is like the rest of India on steroids. While probably one of the most interesting places in the world, it can also put your head in a spin. Every month at least one tourist is reported to go missing in this sacred, though somehow seedy city. Perhaps abducted, perhaps just lying dizzy in a corner, perhaps they went down to join the corpses floating in the current, or more likely just lost in the labyrinthine alley ways, still looking for their hotel.
April 25, 2004
Bull Buggering in Khajuraho
Sex and religion definitely find their most intimate embrace in the stone carvings at the temples of Khajuraho. Nubile nymphs felating fiery demons, bear-breasted maidens groping goddesses, the many muscley men buggering bulls and maidens and horses and more maidens... The sheers acrobatics of it all put the Beijing circus to shame.
Ninth century India must have been a pretty wild place to live. Khajuraho was supposed to have been the capital of a vast empire, but the only thing left now are these mysterious open-air Kamasutra temples, a glut of guest houses and hundreds of tenacious touts all desperately vying for our precious out-of-season business.
April 22, 2004
Celebrity Gurus and Freak Show Alley
Combine 20 to 30 million devotees, one sacred (though breathtakingly filthy) river, thousands of deeply stoned and mostly naked sadhus (holy men), and you've got the Kumbh Mela, the world's largest religious congregation.It was a somewhat inauspicious start to out trip, with our train to host-city Ujjain rolling in four and a half hours late. Even in India, where the lateness of trains is something to be counted upon (they actually make a special announcement if the train is coming in on time!), four and a half hours is a little extreme. But then the Kumbh Mela is an extreme event!
As we walked through the seething mass of humanity, we heard strange stories of mad sadhus chasing people through the streets with large swords, but considering the sheer size of the event, it's actually amazing how few problems there appeared to be.
The faithful gather down by the holy river to strip down and bathe in her vibrant green, washing away the sins of this and countless past lives. And there was no need to feel uncomfortable about being an onlooker in this holy place. The Kumbh Melas’s festive atmosphere seemed only to magnify the usual India exuberance.
“Your good name?”
“Your country?”
(“Ahhh... Ricky Ponting, Adam Gilchrest, Shayne Warne...”
We must have answered these questions more than a thousand times, and shaken ten times as many hands. And it seemed everyone with a camera wanted to have their photo taken with us. We felt uncomfortably like celebrities. Friendliness ad nauseum!
Even the sadhus were often keen to meet us, calling us over for a chat, a photo, and to offer us a smoke (and then expecting a rather generous donation). Down Freak Show Alley (our rather un-PC nickname for the main sadhu hang-out) there were naked sadhus covered in ash and waving their penises in the breeze. There was a mad ranting sadhu, calling us thieves. There was a sadhu who had been standing up for more than one decade, and another who had been holding his hand up in the air for more than two. There were sadhus with dread-locks around their ankles, and other bald with wild eyes. There were biker sadhus and sadhus locked in bizarre yogic postures. But the irony was that for all the exotic allure these stoned and somewhat eccentric mystics had for us, it was when the two white guys sat down for a chat that the crowds of onlookers would materialise. And when we stood up to leave, the crowd would disperse. I guess one man's exotic is another man's banal.
The other kind of holy man/woman was the celebrity guru. These gurus would set up their camps in endless rows. One night we walked down the festivals's main street for more than three hours. We saw millions of poeple and a couple of amusement parks, but no end in sight. At each camp’s entrance was a giant Los Vegas-style gate, replete with flashing neon lights, giant guru posters, blaring music, and dancing dioramas of Shiva and Ganesh. Inside were any number of large tents, plus the big top for dancing and for audiences with the guru.
Despite the friendliness of the natives though, it was hard to be more than just on onlooker in the face of this onsurge of religion and culture. But before leaving this – the mother of all festivals – we decided to join the millions down by the river and take the ritual plunge, submerging ourselves in the smelly greenness (we have the pictures to prove it!). I’m not sure how sanctified I feel by the experience, but perhaps a little wiser. Let me just say that if you’re going to bathe in a holy river, it’s best not to put your head under... I’ve still got the cough and runny nose more than two weeks later
April 19, 2004
McMaharaja Burger
Back home, I'd really rather dine out of a garbage bin than eat at McDonald's. But there's something about being in a faraway country that suddenly makes the banal (and gratuitously unappetising) consumerism from back home seem somehow exotic and appealing.It all started with a McMaharaja Burger at McDonald's, and escalated into a trip to Whimpy's (the poor man's McDonald's) and Pizza Hut, and a shopping spree at the Addidas, Nike, Reebok, Levis and Samsonite stores... among others.
After two trips and a more than a week altogether, I never saw the Red Fort or Hummayum's Tomb or any of the other grand attractions that Delhi is famous for. But I did get a belly ache from McDonald's and am now the proud owner of a pair of black laceless 'All-Conditions-Gear' Nikes. Just do it!
April 17, 2004
Not Quite Heaven!
Perhaps it was that we’d enjoyed Kashmir so much. Perhaps it was just the skanky black industrial filth that clogged our noses. Perhaps it was the deeply callous tone of the head ticket collector. Perhaps it was that he seemed to be taking far more interest in joining his friends in kicking the shit out of some scrawny guy behind the counter. Perhaps it was that even though we had valid tickets, there were still no seats available for us on the train to Delhi.
Jammu (just south of Kashmir) saw a lot of fighting in the last few decades, and although it is largely at peace now, I’m afraid if we’d stayed any longer, Blair and I would have started our own war. Whatever it was, something possessed us to take another dingy old ‘Deluxe’ bus (having just travelled more than 10 hours from Shrinagar on one) and get the hell out of Jammu.
Even the nicer buses in India would probably not be considered roadworthy back home. This was not nice bus: Even without the seat in front of me being stuck in fully reclined position, there would have been precious little legroom. The bus felt a lot more like a sauna than a bus, as it waited until every last seat was full, before leaving more than one hour late. The guys behind and in front of me were fighting about something or other, and the hindi pop music that blared through the speakers impertinently louder than the speakers could handle, lent new meaning to the word obnoxious.
After one of the longest nights of my life, interspersed with spats of fitful sleep and murderous dreams, we finally drew into Delhi. You can tell you’re getting close to Delhi when the horizon disappears in a cloud of smog, and you find yourself chewing on the pollution. Aaaah... it’s good to be back...
Single in Srinagar
Strolling through the ancient Mogul gardens, lined with massive maple trees. Floating on a shikara though Srinagar's winding canals and her floating gardens. Sitting on our palatial houseboat, surrounded by the snow-capped Pir Panjal range to the south and west and the mighty Himalayas rearing up in the east. Sipping Kasmiri tea and watching the sun setting over beautiful Dal Lake. This must be one of the most romantic cities in the world. Srinagar really is a shitty place for two single guys!
We'd never even planned to go to Kashmir in the first place. Apart from shawls and a rockin' Led Zeppelin song, the only thing we’d heard about Kashmir in recent times was the fighting. But things seem to have improved in the last few years. The threat of violence has diminished; the tourists are slowly returning; and the houseboats are slowly starting to see customers again.
But Kashmir still has an identity crisis. Of the Kashmiris I've met who have settled in other parts of India, having fled their homeland during the dark times, most still seem reluctant to return. There are those that still want Kashmir’s independence, and many others who still wish to see Kashmir a part of Muslim Pakistan. Most Kashmiris talk of India as if it was a foreign country, and I can’t help but notice how few tears are shed as Pakistan thrashes India in the first test match in Multan.
But despite it's problems, I think Kashmir would have to be my favourite part of India so far (if this really is part of India at all...).
April 15, 2004
Better than Heaven
There had been reports of rebel strikes in the east. In the mountains of central Kashmir, a small Indian security force watches over the pilgrims on the old trail up to the holy cave high above the village of Pahalgam. One soldier nods off at his post, accidentally firing a round from his loaded rifle. The security force panics and opens fire on what they take to be a rebel incursion. There are no rebels. Instead thirty-five civilians are killed - pilgrims they were there to protect.An inquiry found that the whole incident was a tragic accident. There was no more violence in Pahalgam. But it was enough to effectively put an end to tourism in the area for the better part of 2 decades.
The Kashmiri people say that Kashmir is Paradise. Before the 'dark times', Pahalgam was one of the hubs of Himalayan trekking: whether day walks, or 3 week walks up to Ladakh. And the area really is beautiful. We stayed in our own little cottage on the edge of the village, surrounded by green meadows and snow-capped mountains on all sides. When our guide, Ibi, took us further into the mountains to his favourite little hamlet, Aru, he told us that this is "Better than Heaven!" And he wasn't far wrong. We did a day-hike from the hamlet, through one of the green valleys. If we had more time, we could have camped, then gone on further to see the glaciers and the blue lakes. But we contented ourselves with a few day walks in the mountains and around the village, and one (and definitely only one!) day of horse ridding.
April 11, 2004
Gateway to Kashmir
The only road into Kashmir clings to the sides of steep mountains, and the remains of recent rockslides litter every bend. Stopped to repair a puncture, we sip sweet Indian tea in the mud, watching huge convoys of brightly painted trucks competing for roadspace with goat herders taking their goats up to Kashmir's summer pastures.We drove for 10 hours through the night. A vicious storm raged around us in the mountains.
I can't resist. I switch on my mp3 player, and Robert Plant wails:
Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace
Like thoughts inside a dream,
Heed the path that led me to that place
Yellow desert stream,
My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon
I will return again,
Sure as the dust that floats high and true,
When movin' through Kashmir.
Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails,
Across the sea of years.
With no provision but an open face,
Along the straits of fear
Ohh.
When I'm on, when I'm on my way, yeah
When I see, when I see the way, you stay-yeah
Let me take you there. Let me take you there
[Led Zeppelin: Kashmir]
April 2, 2004
Those aren't clouds...
Maybe you have to have grown up in a really flat country to have the same experience, but as our small-gauge train slid up through the shear gorges towards Dharamsala, and it suddenly became apparent that the wall of clouds rearing up in front of us wasn't a wall of clouds at all, I understood all at once the impulse to climb mountains.Don't worry mum, I'm not about to go out and climb Everest just yet... but I guess now I can at least understand why you would. The Himalayas - even these little mountains here on the outer rim - are spectacular.
We've been staying in McCleod Gange for more than a week now. This is the headquarters for the Tibetan Government in exile, perched up in the hills above Dharamsala proper with the Himalays in the distance. It is also home to the Dalai Lama, or The Big 'D', as he's affectionately known by Blair and me, in line with the almost rock-star status he has around the world.
I've been reading one of his books while I've been here, and he really is an extraordinary human being; one of my personal heroes. But at the same time, the Big 'D' hype can get a little nauseating at times: Dalai-mania.
photo by Franka Bruns
Big 'D' sightings have been reported among some of the tourists in the past few days, but unfortunately, Blair and I haven't been lucky enough to see him yet. Given that our bus leaves for Kashmir tonight, and He leaves for his North American tour tomorrow, The Dalai Lama may have to remain the most amazing man I've never had the pleasure of meeting...
monks debating (with attitude) at the monastery in McCleod Gange
April 1, 2004
The Eighteenth Curry
RICK: Well, why don't we play a game?VYVYAN: Oh, boring!
RICK: Oh, come along now. What about Bottcelli, where you have to guess the identity of the famous person?
VYVYAN: What about Jelly Botty, where you have to eat 18 curries?
[quote from The Young Ones: Summer Holiday]
I guess I finally ate the 18th curry!
It all seemed pretty funny at first: actually getting Delhi Belly in Delhi!! But there wasn’t much to laugh about for long. I can't ever remember feeling so totally and utterly crap... and jelly botty was just the beginning: fever, headache, projectile vomit, cramps, dehydration. I think vomiting into some rank gutter in a putrid little back alley next to an open sewer was probably the low point.
But a few jabs and a few pills from the friendly doctor had me up the next day, and well enough to decide to get out of hell Delhi and push on up north to Amritsar... an overnight train away. Amritsar is the most sacred place in the world for Sikhs, and home to their Golden Temple. Perched in the middle of a lake, it is one of the most sublimely beautiful temples in India. Or so I hear...
Amritsar was also home to one of the most brutal massacres by the English during India's long struggle for independence, and I, coincidentally, was also home to my own brutal massacre of sorts. My virus was back with avengence, along with the jelly belly, and the whole gamut of attendant symptoms. In total, we spent just over 4 days in Amritsar, and I never saw anything but the inside of a few lousy hotel rooms, and their skanky porcelain.
Fortunately memory is kind: the whole ordeal is just like a bad dream now. The Amritsar massarce is once again history, my immune system stronger; and I’ve once again made peace with my bowels...
