After a long and eventful journey that I’ll expand on in a moment, we have reached Darjeeling, the most eccentric and eclectic place I’ve ever visited: imagine that somebody decided to build an English seaside town 2900 metres above sea level (tea shops, shops, teddy bears, donkey rides, a bandstand, chilly weather) , then somebody else dumped India on top (water towers, stray dogs, riotous colour, dilapidation, curry houses), then somebody else threw around a load of Buddhist prayer flags and invited Tibetans and Nepalis to run the show. We absolutely love it, especially the views of seven of the ten highest peaks in the world, including Everest.

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Since reaching Northern India numerous travellers had warned us that Agra was the least appealing city on the Golden Triangle route so, considering our feelings about Jaipur, the Taj Mahal had a lot of pressure on its beefy marble shoulders to justify our two night stop off.

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That’s the anti-booze campaign slogan in many parts of India; I don’t know about family but the shenanigans of the last two days have temporarily ruined my health and James’ life since he has had to put up with me throwing up and whinging all morning.

Until we reached Jodhpur we’d been back on enforced detox in Pushkar, one of the holiest towns in the Subcontinent (Nehru and Gandhi both had their ashes scattered in the lake) where we spent several days recovering from Jaipur and communing with the hippies, some of whom seemed to have been there for a long, long time. Pushkar’s principal attractions are its relatively peaceful streets (no rickshaws), its holy lake, whose ghats teem with Brahmin priests, and its bhang lassis, designed to make spiritual fulfilment a little bit more achievable. We could have spent longer there slurping spiked lassi and watching the cows head-butt each other but we decided to head to Jodhpur in search of beer and meat for James’ birthday.

 

Jodhpur is ace – far more interesting and organised than Jaipur with a beautiful, blue cubic roof-scape overlooked by the imposing medieval fort. Our hostel is nestled on a tiny backstreet halfway up the steep ascent towards the fort: killer views and a whiskey-loving owner.

On James’ birthday we took a village safari out to a handful of Bishnoi villages on the outskirts of the Thar desert. The Bishnois were the world’s first tree-huggers: in the 18th Cebtury the Maharaja sent his troops to fell a load of trees outside the city, but when they arrived a local Bishnoi woman put her arms around a tree and told them they’d have to go through her to get to the sacred wood. So they cut her head off, then they cut her daughters’ heads off, then for good measure they slaughtered an additional 363 protesting Bishnois before the Maharaja heard and put a stop to it (he also put a protection order on the trees). We were able to watch the villagers weaving rugs, using pottery wheels and generally going about their business – they are still nature lovers and hold the trees and animals in high reverence. One old chap brewed us some opium tea and showed us round his mud and cow dung hut, where we were fed and watered before returning to Jodhpur.

With the cultural appreciation out of the way we proceeded to the hotel roof for beer, and they did a lovely cake and buffet for Mr. James’ birthday – he even got a flower garland and a bindhi. But it was last night that did the damage…after the world’s most frustrating day trying to book a train to Darjeeling we hit the Kingfisher rather early and ended up seeking out Jodhpur’s premier nightclub with the rest of the hotel residents. When we got back, Mr Joshi was waiting in ambush on the roof with a bottle of paintstripper disguised as whiskey which I hold entirely responsible for my poor health today. Assuming I’m still alive in the morning we are Agra-bound. There’s supposed to be quite a nice building there.

 

Jeannie’s got a theory about the Delhi-Agra-Jaipur ‘Golden Triangle’.  She thinks it’s called ‘golden’ due to the sweet stench of fermenting piss.  I thought she was been cynical, now I’m inclined to agree.

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Forgive the frantic blogging of late, we are fed up of talking to each other and have resorted to any other means of communication. Only joking, it’s just been a busy few weeks and our rather surreal pit stop in Mumbai warrants a mention.

Following the epic train journey we arrived bang on time at 4.35am and staggered off the train into the bustle of the CST terminus, which was even at that hour littered with sleeping bodies (a fixture I guess), commuter trains and chai sellers. We didn’t have the energy to face the taxi drivers so we whiled away two hours drinking tea and people-watching. As the station began to fill up I realised it was one of the scenes of the terror attacks in November and tried to imagine the chaos of all these hundred of famileis suddenly starting to run in all directions under hails of bullets: it was a really, really unsettling thought.

So began a very long and action packed day which included keema mince and fried egg for breakfast in a greasy little Muslim cafe, a visit to the magnificent Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, a trip round a cathedral (lots of British relics in the bayside area) and the piccies! There was a wonderful art deco cinema opposite our hotel which was showing Slumdog Millionaire and we jumped at the chance to see it in its home. I came out of the cinema an emotional wreck although there was some light entertainment when the film was interrupted for an interval which consisted of a series of quick-fire public service messages by the Mumbai Police – here’s a small selection (paraphrased but rleatively accurate):

‘Keep the peace – don’t honk horn.’

‘In event of explosion, follow instructions from staff.’

‘Always report suspicious opjects or persons.’

‘Wearing helmet saves life.’

Terrorism and traffic violations: the scourge of Mumbai.

That night we went out for a few beers on Colaba Causeway but sadly couldn’t afford the cover charge for the bars where the Bollywood Glitterati hang out. The next day though, we did get the chance to see how the other half live by visiting a former colleague (our old big, big boss) at the glittering, swanky new HQ of Vodafone India. Kyle was on very good form and the air conditioning was just out of this world.

Generally speaking we both far preferred Mumbai to Delhi althoughwe seem to be in the monirity on this, and we can’t really be fair to Delhi until we go back for longer. I’m very glad we stopped by though, being one among 18 million people in a city which should really hold about 4 million is quite exhilarating, and it was nice to hear and see how thoroughly it has bounced back from the most recent atrocity it’s had to face.

Next stop Jaipur, a mere 18 hour train ride away.

 

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks – we’ve been busy exploring the wonderful green state of Kerala and Matt (my bro) has also been here for a week. We’re now sitting on a train for the next 40 hours (en route to Mumbai) so we’ve finally got time to scribble down our exciting tales of elephants, monkeys, pigeons and leeches. Read the rest of this entry »

From Varkala we moved inland to Kumily for the last few days of Matt’s visit. Kumily is a great little town, perched conveniently close to Periyar Wildlife Reserve in the beautiful, fragrant Cardamom Hills on the border of Tamil Nadu. Thanks to the proliferation of coffee, tea and spice plantations most of the town smells wonderful and, at 1900m it is far less stifling than the coast. 

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James has grown incoherent with rage over the Prawn Incident again so I’ve taken over. Varkala is a little seaside resort characterised by fresh seafood, beautiful red cliffs and a multitude of Sunday Times reading ‘hippies’ practicing yoga on the beach and sampling Ayurvedic medicine.

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Kerala is perhaps best known for its backwaters, where vast inland stretches of palm-lined canals serve as the main transport between hundreds of small villages. We charted a converted rice barge (complete with crew and chef) for our two day adventure. Read the rest of this entry »