Ishallah

Must stop clearing throat and burping in public.
Must stop spitting in the street.
Must stop eating with fingers.
No, I don't want a carpet!

Well, actually I did by a killim yesterday. But it's packed away so I can't show a photo.

India has had a lasting effect on me, no matter how much I profess to hate the place, and it prepared my for the hassle in Istanbul, where the merchants are actually pushier, but there are much, much less of them.

Wandering around the streets of Istanbul, when you can avoid the merchants and the 'helpful' strangers, is idyllic. Take away the cars on the quiet domestic lanes, and it could be 60 years ago or more. It is a great city for getting lost in, and straddling the geographic and cultural division of Asia and Europe, it's a good place to reflect on the surreal dream that was India.

Sean and I went to Mumbai after Ellora, mainly because we didn't have much time left and it was the easiest place to return to Delhi from, but Mumbai won a place in my heart, and my stomach, that Delhi could never achieve.

Thoroughly modern Mumbai is not the prettiest place, but it is progressive. The coffee was good, there were vibrators for sale in the street (although none being purchased). People are more relaxed and the food is divine, especially the seafood. It is the home of Bombay Duck. Delhi has no great restuants to speak of, you get better food at a hill station rest stop, but Mumbai is a galaxy of Michellin and Bollywood stars.

We treated ourselves to one of the best restaurants in Mumbai, tucked away in a dingy alley behind the dilapidated museum. Bought a bottle of India's finest sparkling white, and tucked into delicate Tandoori Pomfret that melted in our mouths, and rich Butter Garlic Crab that tasted so good it seemed like a sin. Gluttony.

We ate and sweated and shopped our way through steamy Bombay, we wanted to end our visit with a first class cabin on the overnight express to Delhi, expensive for India at 8000 rupees ($240 AUD) but it was booked out by fat politicians and their wives, so we tripped in the comfy second class, back to Delhi.

Istanbul

Hi everybody, just a quick update, I've literally just cleared Turkish customs and found my hostel in Istanbul. I was in India last night, but nowhere near Jaipur where the bombs went off. I have wifi access here, so will update my adventures in India in the next few days, including Mumbai, Rishikesh and my stay at a yogic health farm.

Ellora and Aurangabad

We only just managed to get off the train at Jalagon, arriving, at our stop a half an hour earlier than expected. I was very impressed with how quickly Sean could gather himself together and got off the train, I could never move that fast first thing in the morning. We then squashed ourselves on a local bus that we didn't have window seat, because our 3 hour bus trip to Aurangabad was over in 2 hair-raising hours. It's virtually unheard of for a bus to arrive early in India.
We’d come to Auranagabad to see the Ellora caves, a series Buddhist, Hindu and Jain temples carved into stone cliffs from 600 to 1000AD, but we spent the first day luxuriating in aircon and television (Sean especially happy because Tottenham was on the telly), until the power went out. But our first stop was an early morning visit to Daulatbad Fort.Not knowing what to expect, we spent a lovely morning there, wandering around and climbing to the top. We found many treasures. Massive wooden doors with spikes to stop elephants charging, a deep, algae green moat that used to be infested with crocodiles. We met the loudest, laughing Indian man in his seventies, who insisted he was too old to climb to the top, but we saw him there, and it was quite a climb. We found a tucked away Ganesha (my favourite Indian god) shrine where we were blessed with the red dye on our forheads, which trickled with sweat into our eyes. We were led through a pitch black tunnel by a man with a kerosene flame, keen for baksheesh, even though he’d been standing directly below a sign that said ‘Do not tip’.

This high fort, with strong walls, and many defences, built on sheer rock was once overcome by bribing the guard at the gate.

Next day we went to Ellora. An early start again, we were the first people there, but not for long. We took hours to wander through these wonderful temples.

It is now the summer holidays in India and there are many Indian families travelling around to see the sights, much more than foreign tourists. The Indians love to have their photos taken with foreigners, they shove screaming babies in your arms, stand close and laugh away, taking photos and videos on their mobile phones, me red-faced and confused, Sean slipping away to take his own photos of the bizarre scenes. Eventually we started moving away if a family was looking in our direction.



Nice arse!
We got mobbed at the mini-Taj. An unexpected treasure in Aurangabad, the Bibi-Qa-Maqbara is a smaller replica of the Taj, built by the son of the man who built the Taj. Less impressive architecturally, it had all the joy and charm that was missing from the real thing. We were sitting on a ledge near the mausoleum and large families kept coming up, the ladies and children sitting with us like they were our oldest friends and husband and fathers snapping and filming away, capturing my look of confusion for their family albums.


Mini Taj
Then, after a large baksheesh to Aman, our very helpful driver, we were off to Mumbai, our last stop before heading back to Delhi.

Jaisalmer

Taking our first train trip together, we had a very comfortable 19 hr train trip to Jaisamlmer. Most people got off in Johdpur at 7am, so the last 5 hrs, crossing the desert in morning light, with big window seats all to ourselves was wonderful.
When we finally got to Jaisalmer, the taxi humbug was horrendous, the touts were extreme, it took an hour, in dusty, desert heat, to work out that I had the guesthouse name wrong and work out where to go.
But then we found the fort. Thankyou Lincoln for recommending it, it was a most amazing place. We wandered around for the afternoon, it was almost like a little, waterless Venice with narrow pedestrian laneways, blocked by stubborn cows.
A living, breathing fort, build 900 years ago, where women walked into fire and men leant on their swords rather than surrender (this happened 3 times). It stands on a rocky hill in the desert, about 100km from the Pakistan border. After checking with the experts, we found out it was ethical to stay in the fort if you were thrifty with your use of water. Overpopulation and excessive water use are damaging the foundations.
It was amazing to stay in this walled town where the same families have lived for hundreds of years, even with a town teeming around them.

In the daytime we escaped the heat in the Moghul palace, the ornately carved (including the karma sutra) Jain Temples, or our cute hotel room. In the late afternoons the sandstone fort turned golden in the setting sun, the temperatures dropped and business slowed down. We wandered through the maze of laneways, snapping away with our cameras and chatting with locals on doorsteps, until the light went and our tummies grumbled.
We saw 3 weddings there, it’s the wedding season, we’ve seen about 10 all over India, the quiet bride in a jewelled red sari, proud groom in respendent in his turban and khol eyes, sometimes on a white horse, and crazy wedding parties with portable generator driven bright lights dancing madly to truck mounted speakers on the side of the road.
Sean and I spent 3 days haggling over the price of a bedspread and a mat. It all got quite suspicious and furtive when we had to meet outside the fort after dark a couple of times, away from his nosey cousin/brother who wanted a commission.
It was a relaxing and enjoyable couple of days there, and we were pleased to have made the effort to go all that way.

Agra and the Taj Mahal

Agra is a hole and the Taj dull,in my opinion. I was worried that one night and only half a day might not be long enough, it was plenty, we couln’t wait to get out of that town.
The streets at night are dangerous with locals drinking from about 9pm onwards, it’s not at all safe to go out alone. I’d wanted so much to see the Taj glimmering in the moonlight, and we’d arrived on the night of the full moon, but by the time we settled in to our accommodation it was 10pm, and all the restaurants with ‘Taj views’ were closing. So we dragged ourselves up at 5 am the next day to see it in the sunrise, but by the time they let us in, the sun was already up.
After paying more than the average Indians weekly wages to go inside (including access to 4 other Agra sites we had no intention of visiting and a free bottle of water that we never got) we saw the Taj. It is lovely and the first glimpse is like a children’s book coming to life, but the water in the ponds is scummy, the gardens threadbare, and constantly dodging helpful fellows who want to tell you the best place to take a photo (for a tip of course) is annoying.

We had to wear funny feet protectors to walk on the platform and inside the mausoleaum, that was about the brightest point in the morning. The precious stones inlayed into the marble are beautiful, but the finest work is in the mausoleum, and it’s too dark to see. Sean tried to take a photo and got whistled at by a security man (I gutlessly disowned him) then the security man dragged him into the inner tomb, pushed other tourists out of the way and insisted he take a photo there! He didn’t.
We tried to drag it out, but 3 hours later we were so over it, and still had an hour and a half until our taxi came to pick us up.
So dodging the relentless taxi touts and keychain selling children, we found Lucky Restaurant and ordered strong Nes-coffees! Lucky Hari (the Indian Richard Gere, in both of their younger years) was a nice fellow, and showed us 10 years worth of visitors comments (many very stoned and very satisfied customers) to prove it. He told us about how Agra and the Taj had changed for the worse. 20 years ago he used to be able to go into the gardens, roll a joint and play his flute in the gardens for the tourists, that’s when we realised the Taj had been souless, one of the most boring and lifeless places in vibrant India. Some singing and music in the gardens, some fresh juices and a few grazing cows would have made the place come alive.
After regaling us with stories of the Brahma creating the world, and mantras for good life, and how fit and handsome he used to be in his day, Lucky gave us a little goodbye present of a piece of sweet smelling hash. And we’d only spent 60 rupees there.

Apart from Hari, we were desperate to escape Agra, our taxi never turned up, so we had to walk to the gauntlet of persistant, overcharging taxis leading away from the Taj, until we found a lovely man on a cycle rickshaw (personally my favourite way to travel) who pedalled us slowly and happily back to our hotel, to gather our bags, tick the Taj mahal off our list and escape from Agra.

Happy to be leaving!

Sean and I left the cool surroundings of Mcleod Ganj, for Delhi, and other pleasures. On the way we got sidetracked by some Delhi belly and ended up in the Hotel California. It was a stop on the nauseating and stuffy 12 hr bus ride to Delhi, and point where we couldn’t hold it in anymore. The staff were nice, the food ok, the cable tv was my first in weeks, and when we wandered down to the river, there was weed growing like weed.
After a days recovery, we took the morning bus to Delhi, a local bus, it was packed, hot, uncomfortable and stopped constantly but 10 hrs later we where in Delhi. We stayed in the notorious, but not so bad as all that, Paharganj district.
Very close by was the New Delhi train station, we wanted to book some train travel. 3pm in the afternoon, 38 degrees and 100% smogidity, we approached.
Trying to go up to platform one, a man asked us for our ticket, Indians were walking past us at a super rate, so we asked where was his ID. We asked security where the Tourist booking agency was, he said, ‘right and upstairs’.
We head right and look for stairs, we look lost. The same man as before comes up to us, ‘Now do you believe me?’ he says, ‘You need to go to that building across the road.’ Finally we are dragged across the road, well away from the station, into an office where a man is intense on his pc playing solitaire. Feeling dejavu I reach for the LP, then pass it to Sean, it says…
“At the New Delhi train station touts may try to stop you from booking tickets from the upstairs International Tourist Bureau and divert you to one of the (overpriced and often unreliable) travel agencies over the road. Make the assumption that the office is never closed, isn’t being renovated and hasn’t shifted.”
Still we went back and caught again, told by a considerate man that most people were crooks, and we should take this taxi, go to this place and buy a ticket. Accepting his idea that we should go to the official tourist commission, but not in the taxi he recommended, he was (pretended to be) highly offended, accusing us of not trusting anyone. I know, it seems so obvious now, but when it’s 38, dusty and noisy, it’s hard to think straight!
This ‘helpful’ man got very bossy and upset (read – aggressive) when we did not take his advice. Eventually we decided that the official tourist beareau was the way to go, but not in his taxi! After a 20 minute moto ride, the tourist office told us they couldn’t book train tickets, but exactly how to get upstairs back at the New Delhi train station. Once we got back there, we couldn’t believe how helpful and nice (and not expecting tips) everyone was.
And I haven’t even mentioned getting something posted from the post office. What a frustrating, but accomplished day that was.
So then we took a 19 hour train trip to Jaisalmer.

Leaving Dharamsala

The long awaited day when Sean arrived in Mcleod Ganj was lucky, I didn’t have to go to work, the kids were meeting the Dalai Lama. This is common, usually after 3 weeks at Art Refuge, but mainly whenever the His Holiness has the time to spare.
But as Sean and I were having dinner on that first night, at my not favourite, but quite convenient restaurant that overlooks the bus station, I was surprised to see my kids getting on a bus, with backpacks, and looking lost and worried.
Tashi on the bus, normally loves the camera and has a huge smile.

I knew, they had seen the Dalai Lama, and now they were being sent off on their last journey, a 3 km bus ride to the Tibetan Children’s Village, a boarding school for the many Tibetan children who were sent to India from Tibet, without family to look after them. Their last stop in a very dangerous and emotional journey, but they didn’t realise that. The place where I worked was always a temporary thing, a time for children to adjust to their new surroundings and have fun, before they settled in to their new school until adulthood.
But, because there were so few refugees coming from Tibet (China being super-vigilant on the borders due to the upcoming Olympics) we had thought that the kids we had would stay with us a little longer. I thought I was lucky, usually the kids only stay 3 weeks, but I was going to get to know Kunga, Tashi, Jonchu, Yeshi, Betsmo, and Namgyl a little longer.
Sitting there, having finished my dinner, Sean having just arrived in McG, looking out the big window at all these faces, that I’d seen happy and carefree at school everyday, now looking so unhappy, I was upset.
We’d shared a beer, Sean and I, and he urged me to go out and say goodbye, but I didn’t want to, with beer on my breath. He pestered me and 10 minutes later, unable to think of anything else, I went out. I got on the bus and Yeshi called back to the others, ‘gela’. I’d never been called gela (teacher) in class, I think my official title was ‘hello’. ‘Hello, tizi (ruler)’ or ‘Hello, bappa (paper)’ or just ‘hello!’. I was touched to be called guru, that was always the title for real teacher, Lhamo. I looked for my favourite, Kunga Wugamo, she wasn’t there, but all the other students were, looking so worried. I gave them a squeeze and a kiss, then the bus started to rumble and I had to jump off, and they were gone. I went back up to the restaurant and felt better for having been able to say goodbye, and grateful to Sean for pushing me, if we’d been having dinner somewhere else…
Even Lhamo, the teacher, didn’t know they were going so soon, I called her the next morning, asking if school was still on, since we had no kids, and she said ‘Yes, we have kids.’ Then I got there and she had only just found out that we had no kids to teach, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye, not for the first time either.
After that there was only finishing the week tutoring Kunchok and finishing my adult English classes. Teaching the adults was very rewarding as well, but not as emotional. I only spent 50 minutes a day with them, but they came because they wanted too, they wanted to learn English. One girl would constantly come to me after class with newspaper articles about the protests in Lhasa, wanting to understand what the western press were saying about Tibet.

Kunchok who I tutored privately.

Kunga, my unashamed favourite at Art Refuge.

Lhamo, the teacher at Art Refuge.

One of my students from English class.


Sean having breakfast at the restaurant across from school.

Prayer stones at the bottom of the temple.
I met exceptional people in Mcleod Ganj, and I got so much more back than I gave.

Hotel room noodle soup recipe

Sometimes you just can't be bothered leaving your hotel room to have a meal, eating by yourself in a crowded restauant, or just want something simple for dinner. Here's my traveller's hotel room soup recipe, especially good on cold, wet nights in Mcleod Ganj

Need:
Boiling water, a bowl, something to cover bowl

Ingredients:
bunch fresh coriander
fresh ginger
fresh baby spinach
1 egg
2 minute noodles

Lightly beat an egg in the bowl. Throw in coriander, ginger and torn up spinach. Break up the noodles and add them and some of the flavouring.

Pour hottest boiling water over the lot, give a decent stir to break up the egg, cover and leave for 5 minutes. Yum.

Life in McG

The protests are less frequent now, only in the evenings, and Tibetan businesses have reopened. They were closed for 10 days in sympathy with Tibet. There is still a great deal of political activity, it will not stop until the Olympics are over in Bejing. I fully support the Tibetans in this.

My days are busy enough. In the morning I go to the Art School, these kids are lovely as is Lhamo, their teacher. Today we're going to make teddy bears!


At lunch I tutor Kunchok, a 25 yo Tibetan man, in reading and understanding English.
In the afternoon I teach an ever expanding class (perhaps they've heard how great the teacher is) of adults Pre-Intermediate English. They don't have the teacher manual, so I'm often puzzled myself, trying to explain why it's 'think' and not 'thinks' or why the 'y' in frying pan changes to an 'i' when you add 'ed'. The sadist in me loves setting homework.

Lincoln visited for a few days just after I arrived, and I took a 24 hour bus trip Rajistan to say good-bye to him last weekend.

Lincoln and I spent a night in peaceful luxury at Naddi, 20 mins from noisy McG.

I took a walk up the mountain with Lhamo, the teacher I work with, but she forgot to tell me it was 18 km return trip. It was gorgeous though, and we hung prayer flags on top of the mountain for our, and our families' future success.

Lhamo and I 2800m above sea level. That's 1000m higher than Mcleod Ganj


My drink bottle after I walked back down.

Sean should be arriving next week, we haven't seen each other (except on Skype) since early January. I'm going to be mentaAnd India's so much easier with a man around.

I'm loving the volunteer work, still trying to remember how lucky I am, but after 4 weeks I'm still trying to work out the answer to a seemingly simple question. Do I like India?

Indians going to work at Naddi.



On the road in Rajistan

Just after this photo the they charged and I was cowering in a shop doorway.

Hindi Holi Day paint wars. Tourists make great targets. It wasn't as crazy here as in other parts of India as there aren't many Hindus, mainly Tibetans and Muslims from Kashmir.

View from my balcony.