But first, a boat -
That is what you do in Varanasi. And at 6 am, we did. It was lovely.
This Stuff Also Happened That Morning-
After a lonnng painful groan, a heifer projectile shitted slightly up a wall and very much on an unlucky person. Ahhh, nature.
We bought 23 silk scarfs without realising it, including a one for the Quilliam Mother that we spent ages umming and ahhing about. We nailed the choice in the end though.
We paid to lock our stuff up whilst we entered the strict strict Golden Temple.
Then we got confused and left about 30 seconds later.
We had the most delicious curry in the world, and badgered the chef for his secrets. He gave away a few, but not all.
We purchased some great spice masalas (for chai mostly) from some dodgy dealers who were anxiously adamant that we dealt with them in the future for all our masala based business.
Sam got some sandalwood oil for his Lady Friend.
We then had a snooze.
Woke, checked out, and headed Ghat-wards.
Said our goodbyes to the delightful Moni.
Got lost again.
And Again.
Before getting the rickshaw to Mughal Sarai Train Station.
The train was late! Would you believe it?! But only 5 hours late, so really not bad on the Indian scale of lateness.
All train stations are rat infested. And have piles of rubbish and human shit and pools of piss on the tracks next to the platforms, which the rodents just lurrrve to get involved with. This particular rat infestation was a good one though, as they were winding up a dog by popping their heads up from cracks on the platform around us before disappearing just before the dog reached them. Like a monster game of Whac-A-Mole. But with a different small furry mammal. And a feral dog, not a stick. The dog was going berserk trying to catch them, intermittently looking around expectantly at people in the hope that they would sympathise with his predicament and give him a morale boost by telling him he was doing a neato job and that he should keep at it; As the prophet Aaliyah (God rest her soul) once said -
And if (r)at first you don't succeed
Then dust yourself off and try again
You can dust it off and try again, try again
Cause if (r)at first you don"t succeed
You can dust it off and try again
Dust yourself off and try again, try again.
He's probably still scurrying around the platform now.
We played a spot of poker again. Sam won. He needed the money anyway after forking out for the Sandalwood oil.
The train journey was very nice, and we had some time to spare, so we stopped by this churchy thing -
IT WAS SO HOT AND BRIGHT WE FELT LIKE OUR EYES WERE GOING TO BURN OUT OF OUR SKULLS AND THE GROUND BURNT OUR FEET COS YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED SHOES ON INSIDE AND WE HAD SOME DODGY FOOD AND FELT HORRIBLE.
But it was pleasant nonetheless. A wonder.
What wasn't pleasant was the wait on the bus to the next train station. For some reason the local government has music time in Agra, where a series of connected loud speakers around the city start BLARING out distorted highly highly highly repetitive Bollywood tunes. These speakers look like cartoon ear trumpets, and only treble escapes from the tiny tweeters. Pain inducing sharp treble. IT IS SO HORRIBLE, THAT WE WOULD PREFER AN HOUR OF U-BOLLOCKING-2 OR AC-MUNTING-DC OR 'METRO, THE FLIPPING MUSICAL'. So that, on top of the tremendous heat, our dicky tummies, train catching anxiety and the trip fatigue, made for an all time low in the Quilliam Brothers India Trip.
Actualllllyyyyy i tell a lie. The bus driver failed to stop at the train station, despite constant reassurance that we were ok. So, 5 minutes passed, and we asked again. He said '5 minutes, no problem' and dropped us in the piss-middle of chuff-where. We were at the mercy of the not particularly pleasant townsfolk. I bloody hate having a backpack. Thrown anywhere with no luggage and my happiness will be comparable to Larry's, but a back pack each and a large bag of tea each plus other bits and bobs (23 scarves for example) makes for a stressful time. So this was even lower - Arguing with the cocky rickshaw drivers that were trying to diddle us, who had power over us as we had no alternative and a train to catch, who then dropped us off at the disgusting station all the while winding us up by purposefully laughing in our faces (not exaggerating for the sake of a good anecdote). klasbhjkahsdkfvasjdbfsad.
Here's 2 pictures that didn't fit anywhere, but i like them. They are from Agra.
But the train was simply incredible. We splurged on the final long train journey. Another Rajdhani Express. A blissful train ride shared with 3 chaps from Delhi that had spent 2 years studying in Leeds. Bizarrely enough. (for those not acquainted with the North of England, Leeds is down the road from Newcastle). Their Muslimy needs meant they kept going to pray with a compass, as presumably being on a train means you never are sure if you are facing Mecca-wards. I have deep respect for anyone who commits themselves to all that praying. I struggle to muster enough gusto to have a wee or eat, never mind enthusiastically worship Allah.
So, mid-morning we slowly trundled through the outskirts, past slum suburb upon slum suburb, bringing the intoxicating and addictive smell and feel of Mumbai back to our excitable goose bumped bodies (the goose bumps might've been from the tremendous fever that we were rocking, it was hard to tell).
The plane departed that evening. So we had hours to kill. There are 20 million + people in Mumbai and surrounds (don't let Wikipedia fool you). I know 4 people there, and i had seen 3 of them by the time we had dumped our bags at the hotel. That left 1 person, called John who is a student from Kerela. A delightful chap with a wonky eye. You can appreciate that i was a tad flabbergasted at seeing him in a park. Bloody amazing.
Here is 1 of the 4 people we know in Mumbai, in all his moustachey greatness -
We spent the time wandering, drinking tea, dreaming of hobnobs, never being more than a 50 metre dash from a toilet, before taking the hour long taxi ride to the airport as we sat in silence, staring, reminiscing about the trip whilst the wind through the open window ruffled our hair, and a movie sound track played in our imaginations.
And thus, a year ago to this very day, we completed the near 3 week circuit. Some thoughts -
India is the most intoxicating travelling experience. If you hit it with the right frame of mind, you will be rewarded with some of the most amazing times of your life. As soon as that frame of mind gets warped though, you will have some of the most un-amazing times of your life. There is so much variety in the country. So much life and soul. For a country that runs on deceit and exploitation there is an overwhelming feeling of pure human honesty. No frills. No beating around bushes. No concealment.
At times as a tourist it's hard to judge how much of a fuss to make when you have been taken for a ride, that's if you ever do realise you have been taken for a ride. It's hard to know how much to haggle down the cost of your ride, and to work out whether you actually wanted the ride in the first place or have been tricked into it. But you can guarantee that the ride will always be an experience, and there aren't that many things that can count as a bad experience whilst travelling. If you are left naked in a ditch with only half a chapati and an HB pencil to your name, at least you will be telling or thinking about the story for years to come, and it is something that has happened to you, and you alone. Something you can cherish as a unique experience. It may've felt slightly shit at the time, but treasure the shitness, bask in the shitness. For at least you are not stuck in an office, fully clothed, with a prepackaged salad (as you're on a diet because all you do is sit in the office), asking to borrow your colleague's (who pretends to like you) HB pencil because yours just snapped whilst writing 'Fish Fingers!' on a Tesco shopping list that you have to purchase before you get in and watch X Factor. That is true shitness.
It's been written about loads n loads, the guilt and inner turmoil felt whilst being a tourist in a developing country. People roughing it whilst you are tucking into your 3rd massive meal of the day, and all that. We can but second those emotions, take it as life education, and make sure it effects us in a positive way; a way that pushes you to help the world, not stick your fingers in your ears, scrunch your eyes closed and sing 'God Save The Queen' loudly.
What is always on the mind though, when riding the number 1 bus through Newcastle, sitting in the garden with a cuppa, waiting with fish fingers in the Tesco queue, reading 'Cosmo' before nodding off at night or at any other time where the mind is free for a moment, is that the world doesn't stop when you leave: that the lady that breaks little rocks into littler rocks by the river in Jorethang for 50 rupees a day is there now breaking little rocks into littler rocks, that Moni is sitting on the Ghat in Varanasi befriending foreigners, that the Rhinos in Kaziranga are happily munching their way through the thick grasses oblivious to the fact that they are a species dangerously close to extinction, that the chai wallahs are pumping their little gas stoves, that the rickshaw drivers are beeping their horns, that the tea pickers are picking, that the monkeys are monkeying around, that the cicadas are creaking, that the rats are probably still pestering the dog, that the homeless Mumbaikars are staring at the stars in their cots in the stifling heat near a banyan tree, that the millions upon millions of Indians are in their incredible country, doing whatever they do to make it the bloody amazing place it is.
It's not a radical observation, that the world doesn't stop, but it is so easy to disconnect yourself from somewhere as soon as you leave. To think of it as somewhere that performed for you, and as soon as you left, it stopped the show. But India, you have most definitely made an impact - there is no way we will stop dreaming of your cool velvety sugar cane juice, your hot hot Mumbai Wada Paw, the fresh Himalayan air, the rush of travelling on ALL forms of transport, the chaos, the stress, the excitement, the beauty, the filth, the generous hospitality, the cheating conniving taxi wallahs, everything good and bad, everything, everything.
It was a marvellous trip, and as far as companions are concerned, you couldn't wish for better.
Here endeth the India Trip Saga
