Day 16 AND 17! Yes, that's right, it's 'buy one blog get one free' day today!

Up by 6 am. Said goodbye to the cheeky little peaks-



Straight to the astonishingly punctual jeep for the beautiful ride to Pelling, where one expects mountain views a plenty!

But it was v.v.v. cloudy when we got there. Not a problem - We were assured that at the crack of sparrow fart every morning, without exception, the clouds part to reveal mountain views a plenty! So there was no way we WOULDN'T see the mountains! Hurray!

- Not so. We ran into a person who had been there for 2 weeks, and there hadn't been a cloudless moment in all that time. Oh well. We embraced the fact that we would just be chilling out, sans mountain views, though a little bit of hope was carried with us at all times...

It was still morning after we had chosen and checked in to our digs for the night. So we had ourselves a little breakfast. Tom Omelette. Pat Paratha. Sam Pancake. All with some ever so tasty Chai Masala.

Let's talk about masala chai in some detail shall we?

Just like everything in India, it is region specific. Not only that, it is also vendor specific. So there will be a noticeable difference in taste between two corners on the same street. Masala, as most of you will know from the likes of Garam Masala, means spice mix. So chai masala is tea made with a spice mix. This ordinarily contains some/none/all of these - cloves, ginger, cardamom, black pepper, cinnamon, though there are other ingredients still. Bikaner, in Rajasthan in the West near the pakistan border, claims to be the home of Masala Chai. But i am sure that will be the case for many a proud city. Though whilst there, their vendors were only throwing in 2 freshly crushed cardamom pods and a little grated ginger per cup. A few vendors prefer the powdered mix option. Old biddies create their own powdered masala mixes, and flog them (we purchased many, for educational reasons.)
A fatty buffalo milk is used, and a similar taste can be recreated here in Blighty using full fat milk, though condensed milk is sometimes used (So some books say. We have never witnessed it though.)
They use a strong CTC tea (see previous blog post about CTC tea) which is ferociously boiled in the milk and sugar for a couple of minutes, and turns the mixture that beautiful glossy orangey brown colour, that if they could harness i would paint my whole house with.
Then pass it all through a muslin cloth, then straight into tiny little glasses/disposable clay cups (the latter being the law in parts of India). It's a speedy process, and frantic, but there's usually a kid around to help the master.





It's a marvellous bit of culture. Men stand (or sit or crouch) for hours and hours sipping from their miniature glasses, business men quickly nip out to grab a sugary hit before heading back to graft, you are brought a glass by the wallah whilst talking to shop keepers, which just gets added to their slate. It's not a commitment, because the glass is so small, and it IS VERY sweet, but that matters not, for the same reason. The price ranges from 4 - 10 rupees (5 - 14p).
Tea wasn't big amongst the masses in Inja until only 50-60 years ago after the Tea Association of India pushed tea breaks for workers in coal mines, cotton mills, factories and other industrial places. Tea stalls were set up at these locations as well as in towns, and small contractors were equipped with kettles and tea to sell at major railway junctions. Now it is a part of every day life around much of India. Amazing what a bit of slightly sinister product pushing by a major association can do...

Here in the UK, our idea of chai is of the chai lattes available in those CORPORATE COFFEE ESTABLISHMENTS THAT ARE TURNING OUR ONCE EXCITING CITY CENTRES INTO BLAND CHARACTERLESS CLONES. That is not chai. As they use those sweetened syrups, which are nice, but not used to make real chai. When we finally open the Quilliam Brothers Tea Hoose, please do pop in, and we will educate your taste buds. We will have various masala chai recipes, including some seasonal ones (christmas ones with essence of jolly beard, autumn ones with extract of brisk morning walks, summer ones with powdered knotted hanky and suntan lotion overzealousness, and spring time ones with juice of snow drop and talk of improving weather).

So after this breakfast in Pelling we went for a walk to a monastery. We asked a local and he pointed in a direction. We walked for ages. Then asked another local. He pointed in another direction. We walked for ages. Then we asked another local. And he said it was back the way we came. We walked for ages. Then asked another local who pointed somewhere completely different. We walked for ages. Until we were knackered. So we headed back. Turned out not one of the directions had been the right one. Anyone who spends some time in India will realise that you will never receive a 'no' in response to 'do you know where such and such a place is?' They will always give you an answer even if they haven't a clue. Frustrating, but quite endearing. This is what we did see -


A bush with legs -



Sam being a rugged adventurer and cooling himself in a brook-



A fantastic acronym -



A sign -



Another sign (this one a bit risqué) -




After lunching, Pat slept, Sam had a wander around toon and I gnashed off to another monastery which was a pleasant 45 mins away.

There was a schooling session going on at the monastery. 30 odd mini buddhists were sitting, books in hand listening to master buddhist man. I expected them to be saintly beings. But a soon as the lesson was over, they piled into the courtyard and started throwing flying kicks at each other, and stealing each others sweets, tormenting me for photos and generally being naughty. Was good to see that you cant take the mischievousness out of kids. This is what i did see -


















And a cat with a wing in its mouth -




The afternoon was spent lounging around, reading, drinking tea and playing poker at a nice cafe. Watched War Inc when returned to hotel. Bizarre movie.

Slept soundly with intermittent dreams of massive mountains. Woke at 5 for the promised views. Walked to viewing hill. Disappointment. This is what we did see -




Bus came at 7 and took us back to Jorethang, and then amazingly a jeep left straight to Darjo, with customary passenger vomit at the border and bouncy bounciness. We arrived way earlier than expected, so made the mega decision to make our way to Varanasi that afternoon.

Quick trip round Margaret's Hope -



Quick tea purchase.

Quick get bus ticket.

Quick lunch.

Quick in Jeep.

And BLEZZ down the mountain.

Bus was to leave at 4. Jeep due to arrive at 4. Jeep got flat tyre. So called bus company. They said that we have to hurry. So we asked the jeep driver to hurry hurry. And indeed he did. Our knuckles were white and our pantaloons soiled on arrival. We ran to the bus, and got there for 4.30. Stressed and exhausted we sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. The bus left after 7.






Me and pat were buggering around with photographicals, whilst sam was on the daddy of all ket runs.

-The word 'ket' means sweets in Geordie (or lollies if you are Antipodean), but has taken on a somewhat sinister meaning since people have started taken ketamine recreationally. Mmmmm, Anaesthetic.-

Anyhoo, he somehow sourced some fruitella, which was pretty much the sole reason morale stayed at a reasonable level during the journey to Varanasi. Those of you who are not familiar with fruitella should get yourselves acquainted with the chewy cuboid.


Now then. This bus journey was interesting. Firstly we had been given the back seats which should hold 5 people. But were actually holding 8 or 9. One of these 8 or 9 peoples was completely wasted and kept screaming at people, then staring at them with the purest of hatred. Sometimes we were the object of this drunken emotion. And of course the bus was ridiculously bumpy. So you would find your derriere slowly slipping of the back seat if you dared to fall asleep. It was stinking hot. And stinking. And we got stuck in a 4 hour traffic jam outside Patna, where we were to change to a train. So it took some 16 hours. Not a pleasant place to be for 16 hours. But it was good craic nonetheless.











Check out the change of colour of Pats t shirt after being in a fumey indian traffic jam for four hours with the windows open -




This has not been fiddled with in the Photo Shop, or in a muddy puddle. This is seriously the filth from dust and exhausts. Mmmmm, clogged lungs.




The train station and surrounding area of Patna is fucking feral. It was so very very hot with flies and dead animals and phlegming and general disgustingness everywhere. It was also heartbreaking to see the naked kids playing in the filth and rubble. With nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Except one of the kids found a plastic bottle, and made a game of hitting his tiny sister over the head with it until she cried. Then he had something. But it wasn't a great something.

We went to a ticket counter and asked for the first possible train ticket to Varanasi. They said everything was full. ARGHHHH. So we asked if there was anything that could be done. He said go to counter 94. Finding counter 94 was quite the challenge. But find it we did. The man asked if we were foreign tourists. I said yes, indeed we were. He looked at his system. And said tourist quota was also full. He said

'wait here.'

We waited here. And he returned with 3 tickets.

He said

'There is always space if you look hard enough', and smiled.

I owe that man a present. My first born, for example. Our hearts couldn't have lifted more than they did when he said that. The thought of spending a night in Patna was not filling us with joy.

So a pleasant 2 hour journey was had to Varanasi. It was one of those gorgeous train rides where you really feel the uplifting wind in your face and the incredible freedom of travel in india. A nice change from suffocating stifling Patna.

Crossing the Ganges as the sun was beginning to set -



That is a very good example of what makes travelling so very addictive, as is wittered on about here


Here is the journey, just for those who want to know. You can zoom out n stuff to can get the full idea of where in the world we were n that yeah -


View Larger Map

Arrival in Varanasi was chaotic. It was dark, and we got straight in the first rickshaw offering a reasonable price. Varanasi is heavily pedestrianised so rickshaws can only take you so far. You have to then walk 20 minutes to the centre. We were all fatigued by now after nearly 40 hours of continuous travel. So i had a sit down at the first hotel that said it was full while the glorious Pat and Sam went on a reconnaissance mission. 4 hotels later they found the one for us. i.e the one with space. It was our last hotel that we would be staying in, so we splurged on an air conditioned room (get us) with 3 beds in (well, 2 beds and a cot).

After dumping stuff we eagerly went to their much advertised roof top restaurant. We had low blood sugar. We were tired. And our bodies were aching. So, a nice curry would've been well received. BUT THERE WAS 'CLASSICAL MUSIC' PLAYING IN THE CORNER REALLY LOUDLY. This consisted of some tabla a harmonium and a man with bells on his feet who was singing and stamping. I love me a raga or two when played by wonderful musicians in a place suitable for the genre. Not in a tiny restaurant played by people who couldn't give a shit. The food was delicious though, especially when they packed up and left half way through.

Sleep was so wonderful. So very wonderful. Dreaming of the many delights that Varanasi has to offer. And it has MANY….

Day 15 from April 2010

Day 15

In Yuksom, Sikkim, the day begins when light appears. Sort of 6 am-ish. And after going to bed at 8pm, this wasn't too hideous. In fact it was lovely, as we were greeted with views of some of the highest Himalaya. And, cradling cups of hot chocolate as a warming aid, we sat outside looking at the view of Kanchenjunga, and breathed the slowly warming crisp, clean air as the village came to life. Yak passing, bells clanging. Kids running, giggling. Men loitering, smoking. There's a different kind of silence up there. A true silence that makes you glow with pure happiness. People are shouting, yes. Birds are tweeting, yes. Pots and pans are clattering, yes. But this all seems to only exaggerate the calm, as the noise seems pathetic compared to the vast miles of nothing in every direction. There are generally no mechanical noises. Until the jeeps arrive for the day.

It's quite the spectacle when the jeeps arrive. The owners of the vehicles are the village heroes. More valuable than doctors or teachers. They bring supplies, news, tourists, and the adventurous villagers back home. So there's always a good turnout. Shopkeepers, hoteliers, cafe owners, gawking children, relieved relatives, busybodies, and nosey parkers all gather for the daily ritual.

Yuksom sits at an elevation of around 2000m, and consists of a few shacks, a few concrete buildings, a few shops, a road and a few quaint eateries. It's main tourist draw is the fact that it is the starting point for the Goecha La trek. This is a 8 day (± 2 days) hike to the Goecha La pass. At 5000 metres, you are greeted with truly jaw dropping views of Kanchenjunga, and other large mountains. Apparently. We had no time to do it, but it remains high on the list of want-to-do hikes. Otherwise, Yuksom is just a lovely lovely village, with friendly people, and beautiful mini walks to various Buddhist monasteries.

We did one of those mini walks to Dubdi Gompa, up the very steep, but amazingly well kept cobbled path.








Lovingly tended gardens and fantastic views (when the clouds parted) greeted us at the top of the hill. And again, silence that allowed one to feel at one with one's inner one.












At the bottom of the hill, we had lunch, and played (=sharked) a spot of poker with a friendly Aussie man.
Surveying the scenes of men standing around, women nattering, and kids playing a serious game of marbles (which involved innovative use of your fingers to catapult the marbles at scary speeds), one of us piped up with -
'I wonder what people do here all day, everyday'
In all his Aussie wisdom, the man responded-
'Root.'

(That's Australian for having relations)


After lunch, we walked again, this time with the INSANE Tassi as company and as guide. Using the word guide very loosely. We went to another couple of monasteries and the birthplace of the Sikkim King. It was just delightful -

















After this nice walking, we dinnered with a person who's name i cant remember, but i think it was Beardy McKnowitall, and a couple of annoying french Buddhists that had previously patronisingly scolded Sam and Pat for walking the wrong way around the prayer bell house thing. Yes yes, you are westerners that have adopted a religion that is not usual for westerners, and yes, Buddhism is probably the best of a bad bunch. But if you would please get off your high horse and hang with us down on earth, or at least on a less obtrusive equine, everyone would be oh so much happier, you pompous swines! I have great trouble with the self righteous swagger adopted by those that think that they have found themselves. Those that have truly become close to finding themselves must surely know that every single person, including themselves, is occasionally a twat, can therefore dissect, analyse and learn from their mistakes, learn from others mistakes, apologise, and forgive if necessary. But this changes you. So you can never truly find yourself, because yourself is constantly moving and changing, with every conversation, thought, experience and exchange it evolves. It is a big enough challenge to vaguely keep up with yourself, and nigh on impossible a challenge to find it. So those that walk with the air of being a better human than you because they KNOW who they are, are embarrassingly mistaken.

Open-mindedness is a term fraught with contradictions and misunderstandings. Mostly because those that accuse people of being closed-minded and fling the term open-minded about are usually so hell bent on opening their mind that it actually does the reverse. They do not let anything considered normal/usual in and automatically believe the unbelievable and follow the unconventional with great vigour lest they be witnessed going against all that they stand for. Consequently they shut their noggin off to a huge percentage of life. It is these very people that are the ones that usually find themselves. And i suppose it's easy to find yourself with a closed mind - there's no where for it to run and hide. The great Tim Minchin nicked this off some other great person -

'Open your mind too much, and your brain will fall out.'

Unfortunately, this mentality is very much intertwined with a specific breed of traveller. And this specific breed makes up a fair few of those knocking about India. Some examples of the sort of folk i'm on aboot -

Example 1-

'Chaps, I'm just heading down to the main Ghat to play on my Authentic Indian Bamboo Flute, as i know there will be a tremendous amount of people sitting there enjoying the ambience who cant help but listen to my vague attempt at correctly playing the Indian scale that my good friend Vimal from Goa taught me over christmas. I will occasionally sneak a glance to my force fed audience, to see that they are watching/listening, and hopefully a mental sadhu will come and talk to me and i will take a photograph so when i get back to England i can tell everyone who cares to listen about the day i was hanging out at the Ghat practising my Authentic Indian Bamboo flute and a sadhu came and sat with me and we philosophised, smoked a bidi, meditated and stuff, yeah. So I'll see you all later for some Chai Tea, yeah? '

Example 2-

'Oh my godddd, Lucy, how are you? I havent seen you since Osho's Ashram. It's sooooo, great seeing you again. I'm fine yes, just been experiencing life for the first time, you know? Life. Yeah, i knowwwww, it's amazing isn't it? Really? Well, this morning i woke up and did my exercises, and the VIBRATIONS! Oh my god, i've never felt anything like it. What? No, but what i felt was real, you know, 100 percent. I was in touch with every atom. It gets stronger every day. The world has so many colours now. I don't want for anything, i need no material items, only my inner self. Me and Gouri? Well i gave him a rose when we said good bye at Osho's as a symbol of our love. He tried to get my number and address, but that's just weird. I had to explain that my love for him was deeper than anyone else could understand, and what we had at Osho's was so magical that it shouldn't be forced. He cried. He cried a lot. But that's because right now he's a youthful being - he will grow. I love his soul, and i am forever connected with him now, you know? And our souls will meet again if it is written…..'

*access internet on expensive mobile device*

'Shit, he's found me on facebook.'

Example 3-

'I'll have the cheese toasty and some chips please. Oh, and a Chai. Thanks. Can you tell me if you think this is good Julianne? I get so insecure about my poetry. Oh my god, i'm so nervous. I'll have to read it quietly so only you can hear, not so everyone in this small cafe hears my words of self discovery.'

*In a VERY LOUD VOICE*-

'Candles glimmer
Behind, father moon shimmers.
A cloud of souls forever balloon to the sky,
With open arms, welcomed for a while.
The bosom of mother earth
A mantra of re-birth
Inside myself, i search readily
Awaiting the moment of discovery....'

*Friend says it was lovely behind clenched teeth, repressed cringes and embarrassed glances*

-'you really think so? Oh, thankyou so much, it means a lot. Sorry to have to ask you, i just needed reassuring….

…This fucking chai tea tastes of cow.'

Side note -
What do Chai Tea, the River Tyne, the Sahara Desert and Mount Fuji have in common? - Answers on a postcard.

But these 3 examples were all people in their youth. Which is fine, and very forgivable. These 2 french buddhists were being preachy and annoying, and they were using their adult-ness to give greater weight to their statements. Which is verging on unforgivable. Like Matilda's Dad.
Pointless, hopeless people. Except to each other.

Rant rant rant rant rant. (that's a cross between a rat and an ant, thus-)




Back to Yuksom -

We wandered the 300 metres back to our sleeping place.

We saw an ant pulling a butterfly wing -



And a vicious snaggletoothed dog, that growled.



Bed by 8 pm again. zzzzzz