Alex's travel blog

Southfields, London

On 13th July I caught the bus to Leh - the journey was a 2 day epic. Leh is in a region called Ladakh, in the far far northern tip of India, right up in the Himalayas.

The journey was achingly slow progress: the road was mainly formed of switchbacks, allowing us to get up and down the steep mountains; it could take an hour of zig-zagging just to descend a single slope. As we progressed, the land became more and more barren and sparsely populated.

The highlight of those two days was when we got to stop for food. Periodically there were tiny groups of shops and cafes, to serve the users of the road. Despite being remote, the road is actually well-used as it's an important strategic link to the North. India maintains a large military presence up there: Kashmir is to the west, and China to the east. There have been problems with China in the past and there are a few areas which China control that are claimed by India. We could see the evidence of this as we kept passing army camps. They were surreal places: rows of metal huts plonked in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but bare rockey mountins.

Another surreal sight was the men working on maintaining the road. Every so often, miles away from any kind of civilisation we'd pass groups of men toiling away. They didn't seem to have any motorised tools, and were mostly using pickaxes to chop up lumps of rock.

The journey dragged on for longer than planned, and we were still driving for several hours after it got dark. I wasn't really concentrating on the surroundings by now, but at one stage I was surprised to look outside and see snow. We spent the night in tents, permanantly set up for passing travellers. It was very cold.

On the second day we travelled through the remotest stretch of the route. The landscape was totally barren: not a tree, blade of grass or patch of moss in sight. The mountins were just brown and dusty - it looked more at like the moon than the earth. It was an incredible place. A lot of people get to Leh by flying, but I was really glad I'd done it the hard way and got a chance to see this.
We saw a surprisingly large number of overturned vehicles like this one. On some of the more precarious bits of road on the sides of mountians, there were shells of vehicles resting below the road halfway down the mountainside. You tried not to think about what happened there.

Later on in the day, we had another food stop. The location was a line of tents in the middle of nowhere. I tried to imagine what life must be like there, and failed. The people must arrive there at the start of summer...then for 6 months, that line of tents in the wilderness is their entire life, and all they do is serve food to passing travellers.

Towards the end of the journey we drove through the 'second highest motorable pass in the world' - that was at 5328m, smashing any previous altitude record. I got out, was very excited, took some photos, felt a bit sick, and re-boarded the coach.
Finally we descended, the dusty nothingness gave way to green fields and white Buddist temples. I spent one full day in Leh before heading off. My tourist activity for the day was climbing up to the palace. It was ridiculous - a mystery why it's open to the public or why anyone would want to go and see it. It wasn't just that there was nothing in it: the whole place seemed to be crumbling away. There was no lighting inside: I followed Lonely Planet's advice to bring a torch to spot holes in the ground, and was very glad I did. The walls weren't even painted or plastered, but seemed to be covered with mud like some sort of rudimentry stone age hut. However, the views from the roof were pretty spectacular:
Leh's an amazing place. That's Leh in the second photo: it's not very clear, but I was high up and those houses are far below. It looks a bit shanty-town in that picture - and indeed some places were - but it's also a very popular tourist destination, so there are some pretty westernised bits. But if you walk out of the town for 5 minutes, you find yourself surrounded by stone walls, green fields and gurgling streams running in carefully built stone channels to feed the fields. It's like stepping back a few centuaries.

Bradford on Avon, Wiltshire

On 8th July I finally made it out of the heat of the plains and into the foothills of the himalayas. I'd originally planned to do this as soon as I arrived in India, but it had taken me two and a half weeks. I went to a place called McLeod Ganj. The exiled Tibetan government is based here and the Dalai Lama lives here. In 1959, the Chinese crackdown on Tibetan culture was worsening and the Dalai Lama feared for his life. He took a small entourage and started walking across the mountains. They kept walking for weeks, through hostile and desolate high passes, until they arrived in McLeod Ganj.

That first evening was the first time I'd been able to sleep under a duvet, in a cold room, for as long as I could remember. You cannot imgine how good it felt.

The next morning, I went to see some Tibetan stuff. On the way down I got lost, and it started raining. Soon, I was 100% saturated, as if I'd just jumped into a swimming pool, so I guess the rain didn't matter after that. When I found the complex, I went to see the main temple. It was a Buddhist temple - Tibetan culture is based on Buddhism - but it was a very different style from those in Japan and Thailand. The walls were covered in intricate, colourful paintings, and there were images of lots of scary looking spirits with fiery hair and many eyes. I really liked the style of the art.
Next, I went to the Tibet Museum. Before this, I hadn't known anything about Tibet or the Chinese invasion. As I walked round and read the displays, I became filled with outraged, open-mouthed horror. The Chinese invaded in 1949. This was followed by a systematic campaign to crush and eliminate the Tibetan culture, all in the name of communism. It's a culture that had existed in the region for over 1000 years. In the short time I'd been in the village I'd already been immensely impressed by the quality of the art and the richness of the culture . . . the idea that it could have been lost forever horrified me. After the invasion, Chinese people were forcibly relocated to Tibet to give legitimacy to the occupation, so the Tibetan people became a minority. I read the account of a nun who'd fled and come to live in McLeod Ganj. She'd refused to stop practicing Buddism, and was brutally tortured as a result.

I also learned what a great man the Dalai Lama is. How many similar situations are there in the world where the stuggle for independence is characterised by violence and terrorism? But the Dalai Lama is totally committed to a peaceful resolution. He's also been realistic and accepted that Tibet will never be fully independent, so is advocating a compromise, with Tibet remaining in China but having some autonomy. This is such a big concession and so reasonable that it would only be polite for China to start negotiating with him. But they're totally ignoring the issue. Unfortunately, this suggests to me that terrorism is more effective than dimplomacy and reason to get what you want. Here are some links:
www.dalailama.com
www.tibet.com

I planned to spend just two days in McLeod Ganj, and leave on the night bus on the second eveing. But when I went to book the bus, it was already full up. Never mind: I decided to take the early morning bus, which left the next day at 6.30. I asked one of the guesthouse staff to wake me up at 6. "Yeah yeah no problem. " The next morning I heard a knocking and "wake up...it's 6.30". Damn. I got up, packed as quickly as possible and ran to the bus stop just in case the bus was running late. But it had already gone. So I had to spend ANOTHER day there. (This might not seem like a big deal, but I was so ridiculously short of time that I had each remaining day planned out, and had to rush to see everywhere I wanted). This time, I did manage to get a place on the night bus, but only just. All the seats were already booked, so I had to go in the front cabin with the driver!

McLeod Ganj was unlike anywhere else I'd been in India. In the other places I'd barely seen a white face, and I felt very out of place. Here, it seemed that most people were tourists. The streets were wall-to-wall souvineer shops, western style cafes, internet cafes, hostels and even theatres showing films on big screens (rather too small to be called cinemas). Therefore, although there wasn't much to do, it was quite a pleasant and easy place to stay for 3 days. On day 2 I watched the World Cup final in one of the theatres.

The remaining space in town was taken up by Tibetan organisations; for example the Tibeten Welfare office, the Tibetan Childrens' village and the Tibetan Medical and Astrological institute. There were also numerous charities serving Tibetan refugees, and plenty of opportunites for volunteering, which helps to explain the huge number of tourists there. Obviously, the Tibetan refugees haven't had the easist life, but in terms of the charitable attention they get, they're extremely lucky compared to poor Indians in other regions. I helped the cause by donating some clothes I didn't want, which absolutely incensed my mother when she heard about it.

The village clings to a hillside - here's a picture of it from the roof of my guesthouse:
When I got onto the bus, I found I was sharing the drivers cabin with about 4 other people. Then someone else got on. It was now quite a squash and there was certainly no chance of lying down or getting comfortable - we just had to sit. Then an Indian woman turned up and wanted to come on as well - I assume she needed to travel at the last minute. For a few minutes we refused to move . . . but then gave up. So we were even more squashed. I couldn't even lean back to get comfortable: behind me was the hard, vertical, plastic divider that seperated us from the rest of the passengers. About halfway up, a metal ridge dug into my back. There was clearly no chance of getting any sleep that night. All I could do was sit there, look out of the window . . . and wait for the journey to be over.

We arrived in Manali in the morning. Manali is slightly further into the Himalayas and the scenery is more mountainous and beautiful. It's also very popular with tourists.
I only spent one day there and left the next morning. Apart from general wandering around, I decided I really wanted a lesson on some Indian musical instruments. I was hoping to just have a casual play around on some for an hour. But the man who was teaching me was VERY serious about his playing. He showed me how to play some notes on the tabla (a type of drum). Hitting it with your finger in different ways is supposed to give different sounds. When I tried, I couldn't get the beautiful resonant sound that he could manage. So I sat there, practicing hitting the tabla in two different ways, over and over again, for about an hour.

Bradford on Avon, Wiltshire

After Chandigarh I travelled to Amritsar, which is right in the north west, near the Pakistan border. The main attraction there is the Golden Temple.
It's an amazing place. It's the focal point of the Sikhism: the golden temple is their most holy shrine; also in the complex is where their parliament gathers. You can't quite tell from the photo, but the golden bit is on an island in the middle of the water, only accessible by a causeway.

As well as being beautiful architecturally, the whole place has a special atmosphere. It felt much more like a holy site than a tourist attraction; there must have been thousands of Sikhs there...and I saw 4 or 5 tourists. Within the complex, you're constantly accompanied by music playing over loud-speakers. It consists of wailing/singing with drum beats in the background.

I walked around the outside of the lake, then crossed the causeway to the Golden Temple itself. There were so many people that I had to let myself be carried along in the crowd. At the doorway of the temple, there was a bit of a holdup while everyone knelt down and touched their heads to the ground, then finally I was in. Here was the source of the music: 4 Sikh priests were sat on the floor playing instruments and singing into microphones. The chant is kept up continuously throughout the day, possibly for 24 hours, I'm not sure. Lonely Planet described it as 'the beating heart of the religion', which is exactly what it felt like. In the limited floorspace, a load of people were sitting crosslegged, gently swaying to the music, while the rest of the crowd filtered through and out of the side door. This was obviously a special event for all the Sikhs who had come here.

One of the great things about the place is that it's freely open to all people, regardless of religion. The only rules are that you have to cover your head, remove shoes and socks and wash your feet before entering. There's a bin by the entrace containing old rags which visitors are supposed to use for their heads; I didn't put mine on very skillfully and must have looked ridiculous (see below). At such a holy place for another religion, I could have felt like an imposter, but this wasn't the case - on the contrary, everyone there wanted to say hello and shake my hand. One very enthusiastic and serious young boy insisted on showing me round. Then he took me to meet his parents, which was slightly embarrassing as we didn't know what to say.

Check out this guy's spear.
ANOTHER impressive thing was the accommodation. To deal with the thousands of pilgrims, they've set up huge, free dormitary blocks. There's even a dorm reserved for foreigners. It was basic: the beds were all pushed together in a long line - no space between them - and the matress was as thin as sheets. But I thought it was very considerate to provide this, totally free, for foreigners and non-Sikhs. We actually were relatively well-off - we had an en-suite bathroom in the dorm. I assumed the dorms for Indians were full - hundreds of people were just sleeping on the floor in the courtyard. In addition, free meals are also provided. This was catering on the largest scale I'd ever seen. On the way in, you grab a metal platter, a spoon and a bowl. Then you sit on the floor in an enourmous hall - I'd guess about 1000 people can eat at once. The servers come round and fill up your plate with lentils and chapatti (a type of flat bread). Someone else comes round with a watering-can type device and fills up your bowl with water. It's the same for every meal. Outside, there are rows of sinks with people washing up, and rows of trolleys stacked with hundreds of the clean platters.

In the evening I decided to have another stroll round the temple. I really wanted to sit somewhere, relax, and comtemplate in peace. But this time the attention directed my way was just too much. A couple of teenage boys actually followed me, then when I sat down sat right behind me, fascinated, but too nervous to talk to me. I couldn't stand it so I had to leave.

Next morning, I went to the post office to post a package home. I had to queue for about half an hour and it was absolutely unbearable - I felt like I was going to die. It was hot - but not as hot as some other places. The problem was the humidity and the absolute stillness of the air - I was sweating profusely, but it didn't cool me down at all.

In the afternoon I went on a tour. First. we visited the Hindu version of the golden temple - not nearly as impressive. Next was another, extremely bizarre, Hindu temple. It was like the theme park of temples. When you go in you're directed up some stairs, then you have to walk back and forth along a walkway at the back of the building, a bit like an area where you'd queue to go on a theme park ride. Then you have to get on your hands and knees and crawl through a tunnel. You find yourself in what reminded me of a hall of mirrors: each wall was covered from floor to ceiling by mosaics made of shiny, coloured metal. Later, there was a tunnel with water in the bottom which you had to wade through. I've no idea what the point of any of it was. This picture is also from that temple.
We continued to the main event of the tour - the border show at the Indian-Pakistan border. Every evening, on each side, there's a military ceremony for the closing of the border. It's become so popular that big grandstands have been put up and it draws huge crowds. The queuing process was predictably farcical. Soon, a dense crowd of men had formed outside the entrance. We thought we should join it or we'd end up going in last. Then all the women appeared, and they wanted to go to the front. Here's how queuing works in India. The men basically fight to get to the front. The women walk straight past this, to the front. Even in organised situations with proper queues, such as airports, the women jump straight to the front of the queue. This infuriated me. It's premised on the idea that women are weak, fragile and vulnerable. This crowd of women clearly wasn't. They wanted to get to the front, but the crowd was packed so tight that there was clearly no way they could get through. So, en masse, they pushed into the back of the crowd, rugby-scrum style and I got squashed. It was very unpleasant.
Eventually, they forced a path through, being more forceful and violent than any of the men. A little later, the crowd got excited and started pushing back and forth in a mosh-pit style. One section of the crowd went down. I barely managed to stay on my feet - I was petrified of being trampled if I went down. This time everyone was fine, but God knows how many injuries they get.

So, even though we tried to be forceful, we ended up being almost last to go in out of, oooh, 1000 people. But then the guards called us down and told us we could go in the VIP area, I assume because sitting with the Indians would just be too intense for foreigners. There was nothing particularly VIP about it - it was just closer to the action, in an even better place than the women's stand.
Above is the scene in the 'arena'. Everyone was so excited. People would get called down from the stands and run to the gate and back, holding a huge Indian flag above their heads. A bloke with a microphone was getting the crowd chanting 'HINDUSTAN! HUNDUSTAN!' and some other stuff I couldn't make out. The show itself consisted of guards stomping up and down, performing ridiculous high-kicking Basil Fawlty walks. They had big feathery plumes on their helmets, and when they stamped they reminded me of cockrels. You can just see one standing up in the above photo. About 100 metres away, I could see a similar thing going on in Pakistan, with everyone having a great time. It was heartening to see that, with all the problems between the countries, this was done in a spirit of fun and cooperation.

I think today may have been a turning point in my opinion of India, maybe because first Amritsar then the border show were so good. Before going back I engaged in some good banter with some Indians. In the taxi on the way back I enjoyed watching the crazy driving and ridiculous road condtions. Before, it had irritated me, but now I found it really funny. I felt I had finally got into the spirit of India.

Bradford on Avon, Wiltshire

I took a bus to Jodhpur on July 2nd. It was so hot, I spent most of the journey in a stupor. After I arrived, I needed to do some jobs: find a cashpoint to get some money, then go to buy train tickets. My endurance level for this type of activity - the time between walking out of the guesthouse door, and the time when I'm totally fed up, exhausted and want to go home - would normally be quite good...say half an hour or an hour. Here in Jodhpur, it took about 2 minutes. It was SOOOOOOOOOOO hot...must have been the hottest place out of everywhere I went. There was no moisture in the air - it was just dry, baking heat, like being in an oven. I was deep in the maze-like lanes of the old city: all concrete and brick absorbing the heat of the sun, no open space, no cooling breeze, no respite. There was a large amount of pollution from the autorickshaws and motorcycles, and also a lot of cow shit about. These smells settled heavily in the narrow lanes, with no breeze to disperse them, and nowhere for the air to go. It was uncomfortable to breathe and it made me cough.

On the subject of cows, I feel so sorry for the cows in India. In most towns and cities, cows roam the streets. I don't know why they're there or if anyone owns them. I know cows are supposed to be sacred in Hinduism, so I guess that rules out killing them...but surely for their own benefit they should be moved into the country. They seem to survive by eating rubbish: not necessarily food, sometimes just bits of cardboard. They're all disgustingly thin and bony. They would stand there, chewing and staring ahead blankly, while around them the chaos of crowds, traffic and beeping horns went on. I often wondered what was going through their slow brains. Surely something deep down inside longed for open, grassy fields. Surely something told them there's a better place.

So anyway, I was looking for a cashpoint. My map didn't seem to correspond to reality and there was no cashpoint where one should have been. Then I found one, but it didn't work. And that was all I could stand: thoroughly defeated, I retreated to the guest house.

In the evening I decided to go and sit on the rooftop restaurant. I thought it might be pleasant in the cool evening air. No such luck: even at this time, the breeze was hot.

The next day I went to visit the huge fort. Here's a picture of some of it...as you can see, it absolutely dominates the city.

From up on the ramparts there were great views of the blue old city. When you stood right at the edge, the sounds of a whole city wafted up: a general hum of traffic and people, with the occasional horn or even voice mixed in. That was cool.
Later on I managed to find a working ATM, and book my train tickets. It turned out that yesterday, I'd been reading the map totally wrong. After this achievement, there was no way I was going to exert myself any more for the rest of the day.

So the next day I caught my train. I was travelling to a city called Chandigarh, which is directly north of Delhi. I was pleased that I'd found a way of getting up north which avoided Delhi. The drawback was that the journey took the rest of that day, and all of the night. The day was pretty dull. In the evening, a little kid came and sat right opposite me and started talking to me in a strange language. He spoke reasonable English, and I told him that I didn't understand. He spoke to me in English a bit, but kept lapsing back into this other language. He couldn't believe that I didn't speak any of it. The people sitting opposite started laughing. I thought the kid was just taking the piss and I started to get annoyed and wished he'd go away. But soon the whole family had arrived, and we started to have great banter - showing photos around and stuff.

I got woken very early, and got out at Chandigarh. Finding a room was a hassle, but eventually I moved in somewhere. Then I had diarrhoea again. I was fed up of it by now, so I considered going to see the doctor. I thought there would probably by loads of forms to fill in, it could take hours, then it would be a huge hassle claiming back the cost on my insurance. I went for it anyway. In fact, it was the most efficient doctors' surgery I've ever visited. I went in, and the doctor saw me straight away. (At Bradford on Avon surgery the other day, I had to wait 45 minutes....and that was when I'd had an appointment!) He did some doctory things like poke me and take my blood pressure, then prescribed some antibiotics. That totally cleared the problem up. As a side effect of that episode, I finally learned how to spell diarrhoea.

Then I was finally ready to go out and explore Chandigarh...and it was still only about 10 o'clock! The interesting thing about Chandigarh is that it was planned and built from scratch, starting in the 50s. Whereas all other Indian cities feel crowded, here was very spacious. In fact, it was slightly too spacious for my liking...it took so long to walk anywhere. I was finding it slightly boring...until in the afternoon I reached the 'Fantasy Rock Garden.' This was just a huge labyrinth, complete with ponds, caves, bridges, waterfalls, and decorated with pretty patterns and statues of animals. In the centre was a large open area, with a line of arches; under each arch was a swing. I immediately rushed to use one. After a few swings it struck me that I was, totally unselfconsciously, swinging in a public place. But everyone else was doing the same, so it was ok. There were lots of Sikhs about with their big turbans and even bigger beards - for some reason it seemed surprising and comical to see them on swings.

On the way out of the maze, these men wanted me to take a photo of them. Check out the random little statues in the background.
I stayed up late to watch one of the world cup matches in my room - I forget which. The next day I took a bus to Amritsar.

Bradford on Avon, Wiltshire

The grand plan for India: get to the cool, mountainous northern region asap. Stay there for the rest of the trip. However, I didn't think I could cope with getting a train straight to Delhi...Mumbai had been intense enough. Mount Abu, in Rajastan, seemed like a good place to break the journey. It's a 'hill station', which just means that it's in the hills and therefore slightly cooler. I decided further that I needed a break for a few days; I'd been pretty much on the move non-stop since leaving Australia. I eneded up staying in Mount Abu for four full days. Here's a picture overlooking the centre of town.
It's not massively beautiful...a bit scruffy and dirty in fact, and there's not a huge amount to do. But I had a very relaxing few days and I enjoyed it.

On the first evening I had a cooking lesson at the guest house. This mainly consisted of us watching the woman do the cooking, but on the plus side we got to eat it all at the end. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll be able to recreate any of it. After this, I had a drink (tea) with the others from the lesson: two girls from Holland and a woman in her 30's from Australia. The Dutch girls had been round the town, filming absolutely everything, and we watched the videos. We also looked at the Australian woman's photos. They put my endless set of buildings and landscapes to shame: these were all of people, and were very interesting. I resolved to take some like that myself. Their enthusiasm had a very positive effect on me. Because of all the hassles of Mumbai, I think I'd become more cautious and shut out some of what was going on around me. But that meant I shut out a lot of the charm and the funny and interesting stuff. Speaking to them renewed my enthusiasm for India.

As we were talking, we gradually became aware of a racket coming from somewhere: it sounded like people banging drums and/or saucepans. As this got closer, we went to the gate to investigate. Initially, 4 or 5 children ran up, all going mental with excitment and dancing. I did some dancing with them, which they loved. Then the drummers came round the cornew, followed by a huge crowd of adults. In the centre of the crowd, people were holding the four corners of a square of fabric, and under this was a woman, waving at everyone, who seemed to be the centre of attention. I found out that she was getting married at the weekend...so naturally, they were parading through the town each night for the four nights leading up to it. How cool is that?

On the first day, I walked with the Australian woman to see some Jain temples. Jainism is the religion that refuses to harm any living creature: they won't even eat root vegetables because they think digging them up would disturb the insects. The temples were made of marble, and the walls, ceiling and even floor were covered by the most intricate carving I've ever seen. The oldest one was 1000 years old, but you'd never believe it from how good it looks today.

On that excursion, I got a feel for what the locals were like. Again, everyone wanted to speak to you. In Mumbai, they all wanted money or wanted to sell something...but here they were simply curious, or thought it was funny, or whatever. It was obviously a great novelty for them to see a white person. But it made a refreshing change from Mumbai, and it was fun walking down the street shouting cheery hellos to all these total strangers. The downside to their curiosity was the staring. It was really blatent. In this country, if you sense someone is staring at you then you can look at them, and they'll look away. I tried this in India: somebody, often standing right next to me, would be staring at me and making me uncomfortable. So I'd glare at them, but they wouldn't stop, then I'd get embarrassed and have to look away. And they'd keep on staring!

That night I developed a fever. It was the kind where your mind races out of control and you can't stop it. About 24 hours previously, I'd been licked by the hotel dog, so I was worried it was the onset of rabies. Eventually I managed to calm myself down and get to sleep, but I felt awful the next day. It was the most ill I got on my travels.

So for the next few days I took it easy and didn't do much. I did investigate this spiritual group called Brahma Kumaris. It's a worldwide organisation/sect with branches in 95 countries, and their headquarters was right there in Mount Abu. I visited the university (above) and the museum. When I first read about them, I found they beleive that all religions are equally valid and should be studied because they lead to God. OK, sounds reasonable. But I thought the museum was bloody weird. They seemed to have just made up their own religion, arbitrarily drawing elements from the mythology and symbolism of others. Even if I think some of the major religions are a bit weird, I have the greatest of respect for them. But I don't think much of one that was made up in the 1930s. That picture a few entries back was from the museum, as is the following picture:
There was something about how we're currently living in the end of an 'iron age', and we're about to enter a golden age. It was quite obscure and confusing. Well, if you want to know more, visit www.brahmakumaris.com !

My diarrhoea hadn't quite gone away...it wasn't bad, but I need to go to the toilet a lot. This began to really annoy me simply because it was inconvenient. The problem was exacerbated by the toilet paper situation in India. You can't use it because it blocks the drains. Therefore, after using the toilet, the only option is the left-hand technique. I began to get fed up of doing this after a while. Sorry to mention that...I should only mention diarrhoea...oooh...3 more times before I finish the blog!

India has the most amazing food - the best out of all the countries I went to. Look at this meal I had.
It was all you can eat: the waiters came round with naans, rice and all those sauces and just topped up your plate when you wanted. It was amazing.

Harrowbarrow, Cornwall

Cornwall isn't officially part of this trip. Indeed, the trip is over: I got home safely on 23rd July, and now I'm visiting my grandma. I feel I should apologise to anyone who's checked this blog regularly - I haven't been great at keeping it up to date. I know it seems somehow more pointless to read this now I'm at home, but if I can manage to express just a tenth of the excitement and craziness of India in the remaining entries, they should make interesting reading.

Imagine all the exagerated stereotypes about developing countries you've picked up from watching television or reading the news. The appaling living conditions, the traffic chaos, the lack of hygine, the cattle in the roads, the beggars, the hasstle. India is exactly like this.

My first experience was the driving practices, as I took a taxi from Mumbai airport to my hotel (on 21st June). The only rule is to use your horn. Drive anywhere you like. The taxi squeezed between vehicles into gaps I would never have believed possible, sounding the horn to lay our claim to the space. The scary thing was that everybody else was doing the same. I noticed a lot of the lorries had "HORN OK PLEASE" written on the back. I've worked out that it's definitely considered good practice to sound your horn to alert other drivers of your position. Things like staying in lane or using your mirrors are just unnecessary.

The taxi driver had just got in and drove off. We hadn't exchanged a word so far. I was desperate to break the silence, and all I could think of was the very British "So, what's the weather like?" He said "heh" and forced a smile, then asked "Where you go?" - he hadn't understood at all.

The road didn't have a definite edge - it just merged into an area of people, shoddy looking stalls and piles of rubble. It was fairly late at night, but there were people EVERYWHERE. On the way, we drove through what can only be described as slums. Along the side of the road, huts had been rigged up with scaffolding and plastic sheeting. Men, women and children were sitting out on the pavement socialising, cooking their dinner on little stoves, or washing in the gutter.

I was staying in an area called Colaba at the very south tip of the peninsula. This is the posh part of the city, so the buildings are more...well...permanent, but it was just as busy. My taxi driver didn't know where the hotel was, so I had to get out and walk. This petrified me. The hotel I'd booked hadn't actually saved a room for me, so I went to find another one. It was a big relief when I was finally able to collapse onto the bed. I must have been suffering from what they call 'culture shock': I think it's an actual condition, not just an idea. All the experience and confidence I'd garnered over 6 months had suddenly disappeared, and I lay there worrying about everything. I wouldn't be able to leave any valuables in my locked room - they were bound to get stolen. And I shouldn't trust the hotel safes either. I was taking antimalarials, but I could still theoretically get malaria. Mosquitoes could come in through the window and bite me at any moment - maybe I should buy a mosquito net? And I had some broken skin from where I'd been picking insect bites - when I washed all the disease in the tap water would infect them and I'd probably die.

I woke up very early the next morning. I thought I'd have a walk around while the streets were nice and quiet. No such luck: even at 6.30 there were tons of people about. The area where I was staying was built by the British colonialists and is filled with grand old buildings. At pavement level it there was lots of mess and rubble, but when I focused above this, it reminded me uncannily of London. It wasn't just the buildings - it was also the stately wide streets and pavements, and the big trees. I walked along the waterfront to the 'Gateway to India' (below). Here, several people offered me boat trips or city tours. I returned to my hotel room and took refuge there for the rest of the morning.

Another Indian passtime I have to mention is the spitting. This is done a) all the time and b) loudly. A spit is always preceded this a noise I can't quite describe - I'll have to demonstrate it in person. Imagine you're trying to clear a hair from the back of your throat, then amplify this 10 times. It was so loud. I would be sitting in my room, which was a few stories up, with the indistinct sounds of the city drifting through the window, and every so often an almighty HWWACCCCHHHHHHH would cut over all the other sounds. They weren't at all embarrassed about making the sound - in fact, sometimes they'd do it while staring straight at you. It felt like you were about to be spat on.

By the afternoon I was feeling confident enough to venture out again, so I walked to the train station to buy a ticket. (Incidentally, the station in amazing: see photo below). There I was treated to another lesson in local customs: queuing. I tried to use an information window to find out where the hell I was supposed to go. On the first attempt, the man was talking on the phone with his feet up, and was waving everyone away. On the second attempt, I joined the jostling crowd. You really do have to push people out of the way to make any progress, and even when you get to the window, people crowd around you and lean in from both sides. Then I needed to make a phone call. I went to a little hut with two booths inside. The only people waiting were me and one other man, so we formed a queue of two just outside the door. Another man walked up and without any hesitation stood directly in front of me, in the doorway...so he went next. I needed several attempts at the phoning because I couldn't get through; on a later attempt I had learned my lesson and stood directly under the doorway. This time a man came up right behind me, and when the booth on my left became free, he barged in. I made a half-hearted protest. He said "Please. Please," in an indignant manner, as if that made it reasonable, and went in.

Later I saw a news report about a survey of the rudest cities in the world. Mumbai came top of the list. It was hilarious: the Indian news channel had sent a camera out onto the streets, and everyone was shocked and indignant: "I don't agree with that at all." "There must have been a problem with the survey." I felt like emailing in and putting the record straight.

Some of the other things I did: I visited the Ghandi museum. I learned a lot I hadn't known about him, and realised he was undoubtedly one of the great men of the 20th century. I took a boat to 'Elephanta Island', where there were caves with 1500 year old rock carvings. These were incredible. The largest image was of the god Shiva looking infinitely calm and serene. I visited the museum and modern art gallery - the museum had an excellent audio guide with a very enthusiastic and patronising narrator. I also spent some time walking around the nice part looking at the colonial architecture. There were some really fantastic buildings. This is the railway station.

Being white turned out to be a bit of an impediment. You got bombarded by shouts from all angles. I would be walking along, minding my own business and would hear "Yes Sir?" or "Yes please?", as if I'd walked up to that person looking expectant. The one which has always annoyed me is "Yes friend?" when I don't even know the person, far from being their friend! The waterfront by the Gateway to India was the worst area. It brought to mind zombies: I would be walking along and people would appear from nowhere on each side, and kind of lurch towards me moaning something indecipherable. The other Indians weren't getting this treatment - it was just me. I tried a few differnet routes through the streets, but for each of these there were people lying in wait. I wished they'd leave me alone! I began to dread venturing outside to make the simplest short journey. In Britain, you don't appreciate how amazing it is to be able to walk down the street and be totally ignored.

I ended up staying there for 5 days. On the fifth day I woke up needing the toilet surprisingly badly. I made my way to the toilet sleepily...then more urgently... and nearly made it in time. It was diarrhoea. I'd been in perfect health for five and a half months, but I suppose when travelling in India, it was inevitable it wouldn't last. The only problem was the inconvenience - I was scared to go out anywhere because I thought I'd need to be near a toilet all the time. Actually, my anti-diarrhoea tablets worked wonders and I didn't go to the toilet for days! I had an unashamedly easy day, spending my time in restaurants, cafes, internet cafes and the cinema watching Mission Impossible III.

In the evening I set off for the station to catch my train. A man struck up a conversation with me while I was walking along. I've got used to what people sound like when they're trying to con you, and this man didn't sound self-assured enough. My gut feeling was that he was being friendly. I kind of lost him...then at the station he appeared behind me in a queue saying "so, we meet again." I had to catch a local train to another station, then walk a few hundred metres to finally reach my departure station. He implied that he was going the same way as me, and offered to show me the way "Then you'll have a friend to wave you off." I didn't really want him too, but was too polite/pathetic to say this. He asked me to buy him a ticket for the local train. It's this point that I should have told him to bugger off, but for some reason I complied. I hate it when you know someone is up to something, but you can't work out what, so you don't know how to deal with it. So I sat on the train, feeling uncomfortable, replying monosyllablically to his attempts at conversation, and wondering if him and the others seated around were going to conspire to steal my bag. We got off at the appropriate station, and he led me through a crush of people down some stairs and on to a chaotic street. We were into slum zone - there was hardly space to move because of the people and rickshaws, and it wasn't at all obvious which way I should go for this other station. But the man led me there no problems. I was now sure that he'd be asking for money; well that was fine, I just wouldn't give him anything. But then I began to think....hmmm....maybe this was quite helpful....I wouldn't have fancied making the journey on my own. Maybe I should give a bit.

Sure enough, he asked for a 'tip' at the end, and I gave him 20 rupees. He said "Wh...what's this?" Hah! I think he may even have been properly shocked, rather than just acting. He demanded more. I refused, telling him that he'd implied he was just guiding me as a friend. I may even have delivered the cutting line "I'm disappointed with you." He finally gave up and I headed to the platform, absolutely furious about being conned like that, and hating India and all Indians. If I'd been in a more reasonable mood, I might have considered that I'd 'won': I'd paid 20 rupees (25p) for a guide all the way to the station; he'd earned a fraction of what he was expecting and was now in the middle of nowhere.

The train was an overnight job to Mount Abu. I didn't think I'd get any sleep, with the uncomfortableness, the anger, and the fear of my bag being stolen (it was just loose under my bed). But I did...until I was woken in the middle of the night by an old man with a turban repeating "37, 38. 37, 38." right outside my curtain. He was trying to work out where he was sleeping. I was in berth 37. The curtain was then uncerimoniously pulled back, leaving me dazzled and confused. But he'd got the wrong carriage and went away, so I slept well after that.

McLeod Ganj, India

I arrived in Bangkok just one day too late. The whole country was in the process of celebrating 60 years of the King's rule. This was an absolutely huge event. The evening before I'd arrived, there had been a procession of the royal barges along the river. This would have been cool to see. But the festivities were still very much in evidence when I arrived. The official colour of the celebrations was yellow, for some reason, and there was yellow everywhere! The city looked fantastic. Yellow flowers had been planted which were now in bloom, there were yellow fairy lights at night, and there were loads of King 'displays', which looked like this.

This isn't a dictator style personality cult thing or anything. The King doesn't have any power, like in Britain...but the public absolutely love him. Everywhere you looked people had created their own spontaneous 'we love the King' displays, and literally half the people I saw around the city were wearing yellow t shirts bearing the official elblem. I bought one for myself to get in on the act, and managed to get a bit of banter from the locals about it.

When I arrived at my gueshouse, the whole atmosphere of the area made me really happy. It seemed less developed, more informal, and reminded me of what it was like in South America. I was staying on a small street tucked away beind a monastry, but in the heart of the travellers' ghetto. From my room there was a fantastic view over the monastey, with its shiny golden rooms. The guesthouse had a cafe on the ground floor that opened up onto the street and the prices were wonderfully low, so that was a great place to sit and watch life go by on the street. There was a stall right below my window selling bootleg CDs: this provided entertainment for me by pumping out music all day - quite a good mix actiually. There were loads of food stalls selling interesting and unidentifiable foods, including one I'm sure was selling insects. There were funnily dressed women wandering around trying to sell tacky souvineers to the tourists. There were bars and restaurants all along the street with outdoor seating. My only regret was that I was on my own and didn't have anyone to share the experience with; it would have been awesome to sit outside, have a drink and take in the atmosphere.

Whereas in New Zealand I'd happily go out in the morning and not come back until the evening, here I had to conduct my sightseeing very differently. The days were structured around ways of keeping cool, and I really looked forward to taking a cold shower, sitting in the air conditioned internet cafe or having a cold drink in the cafe. I had thought it was hot in Japan and Hong Kong, but this was way worse.

The first time I ventured out for a walk, I had about three different men trying the same trick on me. He would ask where I was from and be all friendly, then suggest a list of places in Bangkok I should see. Then he'd say I could get a cheap tour of the sights on a tuk-tuk (those 3 wheeled scooter/taxi things). But only a certain type did the tours. He'd scan the road "Is that one?....no....". Then he would notice the tuk-tuk that had just pulled in right next to where we were standing. "Oh look! There's one." Finally, the tuk-tuk driver would come and shake my hand and try to usher me in. This got really frustrating. It would be fine if they asked me straight up if wanted a tour, then I could refuse. But instead I had to go through the tedious process of trying to be polite while they make idle chat, when I just want them to leave me alone. I got the hang of ignoring them, though.

I hadn't really known what there was to see in Bangkok, but I was amazed when I saw some of the buildings there. The temples made the those in Japan look positively plain.
There were also some slightly cheesy attractions, like a 40 metre high standing Buddha, and a...it must have been 50 metres long...reclining Buddha. The top attraction, however, was undoubtedly the Grand Palace. When I approached this, another 'friendly' man told me it was closed until the afternoon and offered me a tuk-tuk tour. This made me really depressed - damn Thailand with its erratic opening hours. It also messed up my plans for the day. I thought I'd walk further along the outer wall just to make sure...I came to the main entrance which was very much open and very busy. What a nasty man. But inside the palace...it was like a fairytale wonderland. Huge buildings with gold and colourfulness and glitteryness everywhere. It looked more impressive than the above photo...but there wasn't really one shot that would have captured it all. But I could have pointed my camera in any random direction, and the photo would have been amazing.

There were monks everywhere in Bangkok and they certainly stoood out with their orange robes and shaven heads. As far as I understand, every male is expected to train as a monk for at least 3 months, kind of like military service. Some do it for much longer.

On one of the days I decided to go and check out the modern, commercial area - I thought it might be quite nice and provide a contrast to the less developed areas. To get there I took a ride along the canal. This was an experience. It wasn't a proper boat - more like an enlarged canoe with a motor on the back. You had to sit on the bottom and there was next to no leg room, so you had to tuck your legs right up to your body. Therefore my spine was curved outwards and pressed painfully against the wooden divide. The canal absolutely stank - you noticed it as soon as you got near it. Worse, as the boat skimmed along, spray flew up into the boat. Luckily, they provided some pads which were just adequate to fend off the water from your face.

When I got to this area, it wasn't nice in any sense of the word - just more modern and on a bigger scale than the rest of Bangkok. While I was here I decided to watch X men 3, which I'd been considering doing for a while. I thought it was good...but the most exciting part of the experience was the cinema itself. By chance, I'd booked for the showing in the luxury cinema. My chair was literally an armchair, and I got a pillow and blanket. I found some buttons which electronically reclined the chair. I kept the button held down...suddenly a foot rest sprang up, and the chair just kept going back...until it was almost a bed!

On 16th June, I took a night train to Chiang Mai, in the north of the country. Chiang Mai is a pleasant historical city, with a moat around the city centre. At the first temple I visited, I saw a poster advertising a Buddhist meditation course. It started that afternoon, included an overnight stay in the monastery, and finished the next day. I realised I really wanted to do it. I'd been exposed to so much Buddhism that I wanted to learn more about it; and it would do me good to clear my mind and do a bit of meditation. So I phoned up to book a place. In the afternoon I walked all the way over to the monastary in the heat, about half an hour (I could have got a tuk-tuk for about 75p, but I was still being ridiculously cautious about my budget). When I arrived, I was told that poster was out of date, and the course was now at a different time of the week. They hadn't mentioned this on the phone and I was really disappointed - I'd been looking forward to it.

After that I was in a funny mood - there was loads I could have done, but I couldn't be bothered to organise it/was worried it wouldn't be very good, and I was also feeling a bit lonely. So I was very indecisive and didn't get much done over the next 2 days. I visited some really nice temples (although there's only so many temples you can visit without tiring of them.)

My last day, however, was very busy. I'd booked a one day excursion to the surrounding area. In my negative mood, I didn't expect it to be very good...but it turned out to be great. We visited a couple of indigenous villiages, which probably now survive solely on tourism. We then had a ride on elephants, which was incredibly unstable and scarey. They went up and down such steep muddy slopes, I was sure they'd slip at any moment.

We also did some bamboo rafting. The rafts were literally bits of bamboo lashed together. So there was nothing at all to stop water coming through and wetting you. We went through some fast bits, I did a bit of punting which is always good, and the guides splashed everyone with their punt poles. It was fun. And as a bonus, it was a great group of people doing the tour with me.

Back in Chiang Mai, I had a couple of hours before I had to catch the train. I squeezed in a visit to the night market to buy some souvineers, then a traditional Thai massage. I was short of time, so I negotiatied a half hour massage instead of the usual hour. Thank god it was only half an hour. At first it was quite ticklish and I found it hard to stay still and impossible to relax. Then she started putting her hands on my back and applying her entire weight...and she wasn't a petite woman. I felt my ribcage slowly being crushed. So not at all relaxing, but a fun experience. I caught the night train back to Bangkok; but cunningly I didn't go all the way into Bangkok and instead got out at the airport. I then had about 5 hours to kill before my flight to Mumbai - this wasn't a problem.