Highlights of Punjab

We have entered the Punjab region for two days only but it is evidently clear when we arrive (by another painful bus experience) by the amount of turbans we begin to see.

The Sikh religion was founded in this region by Guru Nanak who was unimpressed with the main religions of India at the time. He believed in equality of all and campaigned against the caste system and unlike many indian holy men, he married and had children.

We are staying in Amritsar which is an ugly, dirty city with a beautiful attraction.. Like a diamond in the rough. That's my opinion anyway.. I would love to met somebody who thought differently of the city. I prefer Delhi.. Which is a big call to make.

The diamond in this case being the Sikh golden temple. A beautiful golden temple surrounded by a sacred pool and beautiful white buildings. The roof of the temple contains 750kg of gold!!
We went three times as recommended to see the temple lit in all ways - dawn, day and night.. But it was at dawn that we had the most fun.
We arrived with heads covered at 6am and promenaded once around the outer edge of the pool before lining up on the causeway to sneak a peek inside the temple. We gathered with the swarms of people pushing to get in and then morning prayers commenced and it was suddenly peaceful. There was a lot of simultaneous bowing by everyone on the causeway but Hannah and I - leaving us standing awkwardly amongst everyone, until we saw down with them to stop drawing awkward attention to ourselves. Once prays finished, everyone got up and the  pushy indian ways took over again.
Our timing is excellent.

One of the practices of showing equality is langar - where anybody despite religion, race or class in society can come and sit side-by-side and enjoy a free meal at a communal kitchen. After our prayers this is where we went and our timing again proved to be impeccable. There was a big crowd gathering around the communal kitchen which we assumed was normal so we joined the queue. Who wouldn't want free food!?

Suddenly, somebody came out and announced it's opening and suddenly the mad rush was on. Everybody was diving for metal plates and I, who had never seen anything like it, hung back a little and grabbed the back of Hannah's backpack as she took off for the plates. She turned and looked at me, saw my expression and with a huge grin said 'just like the London Underground babes'. What a woman!
A nice Sikh boy grabbed two plates for us and we took them gratefully... And then we were getting plates thrust at us from everywhere as people tried to help the white girls. We decided to wave our plates in the air so everyone knew as we pushed forward in the crowd. The same Sikh boy got us bowls and then spoons.

We followed the mosh pit into a dining room which was a massive room with two long, thin carpets in lines along the floor. We sat down cross legged beside our same young friend and got ready for our meal. I managed to relax a little after being freed from the stampeding, hungry, plate-wanting mob and began to love the situation we were in. Volunteers started coming around with steel buckets full of curry and slopping them on our plates and then somebody came and threw chapatis into our waiting hands. Dig in.

My favourite part of the breakfast, apart from ongoing offers of chapatis, was the water machine. It's hard to describe but it's pure simplicity and brilliance was incredible. It was a big water tank on a trolley with brakes. A waterboy pushed it along the rows and when he pressed the brakes, a nozzle lifted off a well placed tap at the bottom and water came out into our bowls. He did this up and down the rows and managed to entertain us throughout the whole meal. At one point, he was chatting on his cellphone whilst operating the machine. We both agreed that the kitchen ladies at CDHB would lose their marbles over such a machine.

The second pearl being the India-Pakistan border closing ceremony. We rode out there in a shared taxi for eight. The shared taxi translating to a normal sized jeep and eight translating to thirteen.  It was cosy but we got the front seats so we could observe that none of the dash board was functional. Neither were the seat belts but the driver made us pretend to wear them anyway.

It was my first time to a border and it did not disappoint. The patriotism was high and it is easily forgotten in a country so polluted and corrupt, so it was nice to be reminded. There was grown men sporting indian flag face paint, mini flags and little flag sun visors. There was popcorn and drink stalls and the bleachers were packed.. Oh yes. The ceremony is so big they have built stands on either country side to accommodate everyone. The Pakistan side was a lot less populated (possibly due to Ramadan) and the men and women were separated.

Before the ceremony started, the latest Bollywood hits played over the speakers and females from the bleachers ran onto the road to perform their latest dance moves. The uniforms of the border security team were beautiful, brown and red.

The ceremony began and there was a lot of build up. High kicks from the guards, a little fist pumping to Pakistan and a cheesy commentator who seemed like he belonged on a TV game show wearing a white track suit with an indian flag on the back. Finally the gates on both sides were open, there was a salute and the flags hung together to the background cheers of the audience. A show of present harmony against a very rocky history.

I then got diarrhoea, just in time for our night train to haridwar.
Of course.

An indian bus experience

I have often wondered since arriving in India why we keep putting ourselves in dangerous positions and often try to rank them to find the most dangerous. Walking down a road in Delhi, flying into Lukla, catching a bus, snaking the street in a tin rickshaw etc... They are all dangerous everywhere you go in the world I suppose but I feel the risk is much, much greater in this wonderful country.

And, I seriously think busing might be at the top. It has to be.

We arrived at the bus station early to reduce stress on ourselves before the 10hour bus ride to Manali ahead of us. We opt to take a 'deluxe' government bus as it is dirt cheap and always interesting.. And it's deluxe!
We find our bus easily because we're white and everyone wants to help the white girls. They show us our bus and we find the conductor who checks our pre-booked tickets and help us load our bags in the back. As we walk along the side of the bus to hop on we notice vomit dried to side of the bus on just under half of the windows. Always a good sign and very common.

We go off in search of breakfast while we wait for departure time and after paying 10rupees to use the most disgusting toilet in the world, we are satisfied with a delicious chai (currently ranked number 1 on our top3 chai list) and a parantha.
We board the bus and find our seats. The bus is dirty and even walking the aisle makes you want to shower. Our seats are right at the back and to our dismay the seat in front of one of ours is broken and in permanent recline mode invading our personal space. I go off to find the conductor and explain the situation. To my surprise, he tells us to take seats 9 and 10 - third from the front. Oh yeah! My seat in the window likes to spontaneously recline and then sit upright as it moves with the bus but apart from that, no complaints.
According to lonely planet 'ordinary buses tend to be ageing rattle traps while deluxe buses range from less decrepit versions of ordinary buses to...' Ours was obviously a less decrepit version.

We start our journey. It is a very vomit-inducing ride as we snake our way through the mountains. Do you think that slows the driver down? Heck no. As we turn around blind corners, we take up the whole road, but the driver sounds his horn before each corner to let oncoming traffic know where we are. I suppose it's a comfort that we are one of the biggest things on the road however when off the side is a massive cliff with no safety barriers it isn't really that reassuring. Out the window the scenery is spectacular however, so we try to focus on that for a while. I take some prophylactic anti nausea pills just in case.

We make our first toilet stop and Hannah points out the girl in the front row who has apparently been vomiting and doesn't look so flash. We check out the toilets.. Not really worth mentioning again. They're all the same. As we board the bus again, I notice the front windscreen has huge cracks all over the bottom and up on side. A comforting sign.. It has also started to rain.

There are no 'slow when wet' signs so we continue on at the same frightening pace. Ten minutes into part B of the journey, the girl Hannah pointed out now has her head out the window - looks like a bit of a meerkat though because while she vomits she has to keep an eye ahead and kept pulling her head in so that it wouldn't get knocked off by oncoming traffic and bushes.

Like clockwork she pulls her head in and the girl on our side of the bus in the front row sticks her head out. Hannah and I pride ourselves on having stomachs of steel after nursing general surgical but even we had to close our eyes for 5 minutes after vomiter 2 managed to splash our window two rows back. Ew.

We decide it's much easier just to keep our eyes closed and avoid seeing all near death driving and vomiting and manage to sleep until lunch.
In the afternoon, we stop at the a bus station for 15 minutes so some of the bus patrons get off. We stay boarded and eat a packet of lays and drink a thumbsup while being entertained/harassed by beggars and popcorn sellers who board the bus.

Our conductors change and we take off again. Five minutes down the road, the new conductor gets a phone call and we stop on the side of the road. Accidentally left four passengers behind who catch another bus and get back on. The Indians are all very excited by this turn of events and they are all talking with a lot of raged enthusiasm. The new conductor merely walks to the from cabin with the driver and closes the door separating the two and locks it. Problem solved. The Indians quiet eventually..

And lastly, when we think no more can occur. We are driving along the side of a big pass with a hefty drop below. We came across some stopped traffic so our driver snakes around the side onto the other side of the road to get past. There has been an accident (NO WONDER!) and the other cars are trying to get past also. This time, we don't have right of way so begin to reverse back up the road in a giant bus getting closer and closer to dropping to our death. The conductor is on board blowing his whistle to signal the driver directions and all the Indians are back on their feet excited by all the commotion. Some even get off the bus to go check out what's happening.

We. Are. Frazzled. But arrive safely yet again.
Is it luck? And when will it run out?
Or is it just that India pulses to its own beat?
One that we westerners are not accustom too. The organised chaos that seems to work... In most cases.

Either way, I feel the lonely planet doesn't really prepare you for what is going to happen so this is our uncut version.
Enjoy! X

Himachel Pradesh

Is anyone still there? It's been a while. We have been busy dodging everything India has thrown at us in the past two weeks. So far, we are coming out trumps. Well...were still alive and smiling.
Tummy bugs, bus rides from hell, train rides and odd concerts. Not to mention our daily fears of being hit by passing cars and rickshaws on the street.

Our first big stop in India was Manali but as we arrived on the end of peak season lots of places were closing down and it was all very quiet. Infact there wasn't much for us to do really except sit in Dylans cafe and eat the best chocolate chip cookies ever. In order to get them fresh out of the oven and gooey, we would visit 2-3 times per day. Ah home comforts!!

We also got to visit Solang Valley in the area and whilst there was no snow as this time, we could indulge in watching Indian holiday makers enjoying the summer activities - Paragliding, Zorbing, Horseriding, Extreme tramping and general wahoo'ing.

Leaving Manali was interesting as it involved a night bus - The bible AKA lonely planet had told us only to take the night bus as a LAST resort but it turned out to be just that so off we went - on our last resort. The driver was the nastiest little man who's anger showed in the way he drove. He abused Hannah for a good few minutes before then trying to kill us the rest of the night with his erratic driving. We watched him have the same argument with an Israeli couple (later, whom, became our new friends..). After downing the maximum dose of anti-nauseas I could safely close the window without fear of throwing up out of it but there was, of course, no chance of sleeping.

We arrived at a dark bus shelter at 4am, an hour before our ETA and when nobody got off the bus initially we again got abused and shouted out to get off the bus. Our bags were dumped and the bus took off.

No more night buses - Pact.

Mcleod Ganj. Lovely, relaxing Mcleod Ganj.

We have been here seven days now and are really feeling at one with the place. We recognize the local expats, other tourists, the usual beggars and even the odd monk.

Mcleod Ganj is home to the Dalai Lama in exile and a large number of Tibetan refugees. Its a hillside town brimming with culture, losses and hope. There are so many community projects here to help Tibet and Han and I really feel we have made a difference with the large amounts of money we have spent at the local shops and markets. The pack is ever filling.

On our first night, our Israeli counterparts took us to a local concert at the school showing traditional Tibetan dancing and much more. MUCH MORE is what we got and some would argue all we got. It was not the local school kids concert we were expecting but instead a one man concert which started with technical difficulties and ended in a song where with no explanation, the Tibetan performer went around the audience and completely invaded everyones personal space in a staring competition for about a minute. The background music to this was trance. Very traditional?

Today, we went to the fifth annual Tibet Film Festival at the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts (TIPA). After one of the movies about Tibet and what it was like to go back there, the director came out to see the crowd and answer questions. One young Buddhist monk stood up and asked a question in Tibeta. During his question, he began to cry but continued on with such deep sadness. It was so real and touching, despite not knowing what was being said and I think everybody in the room felt his grief.

The Chinese invasion has destroyed so many lives and so much culture and the people here are wearing that loss and burden every day. The last movie and finale of the film fest was The silence of the holy stones which was a nice but kind of odd Tibetan film about a young monk living in a monastery. Luckily for us, there was another monk seated behind us who sang along to all the songs and laughed enthusiastically to all the jokes that we managed to miss. Every joke.

India is forever pulling me in. 

I don't know that I will ever quit coming back here.

Statistics

Leaving Nepal so a statistical update...

 Statistics

Necklaces in situ: 3

Sunburn: 1

Bumwees: Uncountable.. but nil currently

Vomits:1

Lizard encounters: too many! 

Giant rocks climbed: 2 (counting the trek)

Marriage proposals: Still 0 - losing my touch. 

Planes: 9

Number of days without showering: 9

Number of Frisks leaving Kathmandu airport: 5 (including one very personal one)

We are back in India... and loving it. 

After spending last night on the floor of Delhi train station amongst Indian families all staring at us, rats, pooey smells, hair balls and homeless children trying to get our money, we eventually boarded a very late train to Kalka, and then the toy train to Shimla. 

We are back in the mountains and shaking off the last 24 hours with Kingfisher.

Getting excited for the next 7 weeks.

SO-SO

So-so meaning 'we are here' is what is said in Nepalese as you go past or give a gift to a buddhist shrine or stupa to let the gods know of your presence.

This is also what we delightfully shouted from the bottom of the top of the world as we reached our goal - Everest Base Camp. WE ARE HERE!!!!!!
Everybody says reaching base camp is anti-climax because there is nothing there but a field of rocks. I disagree. It is an emotional and exhilarating experience after trekking for 8 days in the cold and altitude.
Yes it is a field of rocks, on top of the Khumbu glacier with the Khumbu ice falls right in front of you. There are pray flags and a Russian expedition team camping out. When you shout, it echoes down the valley. Every 20 minutes you stop what your doing because the roaring sounds of another avalanche takes over and you look up to scan the surroundings for the cause reminding you that this environment is unstable and dangerous. It is cold and the air is thin. And the biggest draw card.. you are at the bottom of the top of the world where there have been many a people triumphant and even more devastating losses.

Lukla..
Lukla is the small town which is the main gateway to the Everest Valley and the beginning of your trek.. It is also home to the worlds most dangerous airport. The runway is a mere 450metres on a gradient of 12%. Yes that may seem small but when the end of the runway drops off the side of a mountain taking off and landing is a heart racing, frightening experience.

Landing: As you begin to descend the Nepalese passengers on board all do the sign of the cross. Comforting? No. Whilst still a good kilometre from the runway and metres above it, the engine will be cut. Never fear. The next stage of landing is just gliding in towards the runway at a fairly fast pace but, just before hitting the runway the engine restarts, you land and as you are going up the runway the plane stops with ease.. well ours did anyway.

Taking off: 100% scarier. You sit at the top of the runway and can only see 5 metres of the strip ahead as it then drops downhill. You begin to go and then you go over the edge and are on the downhill stretch and you are racing down the side of a mountain where you know ends with a vertical drop. Looking out the front pilots windows you see the white striped paint marking the end of the runway and yet you are still on the ground. Last minute though you pull up, your in the air and an applause rings out through the cabin. Looking around at the faces on board everyone is shaking and crying... except for the beautiful and brave air hostess down the back who has a knowing smile.



I wont even mention when the pilot got out the flight manual mid flight.

The trekking part is hard and while guides say that the day you walk to Namche Bazaar is the hardest hill..they are lying! You can still breathe at this point. As hard as it seems, appreciate it. The worst is yet to come.
You trek through trees and forest and it becomes more and more barren the higher you go - until the point where it resembles Mars. You trek through isolated, remote villages where the people inhabiting this area have never left and therefore never seen a car or even a flushing toilet. There are glaciers and gigantic, majestic mountains.
Porters and yaks fill the track - porters carrying loads double their weight.

Climbing Kala Patthar at 5,565 metres is the end goal and the most physical and mental challenge I have ever faced. You can't breathe and your legs are like iron poles. It is also -15 degrees and snowing.. and therefore sadly for us, no spectacular views. Every time you think your at the top, your not.
We were lucky enough that for a few minutes it cleared around Lhotse and we saw a huge, beautiful mountain towering over us which made it all worth it.

Altitude sickness of course was ever present or though for Hannah and myself only noticeable at the very end climbing Kala Patthar. Our group which started at nine though dwindled to four so if you do the trek, listen to your body and remember it can be fatal.

Also, wear Icebreaker clothing. It doesn't smell and I really tested the theory by leaving it nine days before showering. Still smelt like a dream so I am converted. It is common not to shower whilst doing the trek.. I swear.


Lastly, indulge in your comforts - you need them. Good books, mars bars and hot lemon drinks got us through.

Love to you all..
Your nama-sister.
xxx

Namaste Nepal

Call me slack..

Have been in Nepal for three weeks now and what a great little country.
The lowest point is 60metres above sea level and the highest being the almighty Sagarmartha AKA Mt. Everest at 8,848metres.

I like everything about this country.. Most of all the people but least of all the roads.

Our first stop was the town of Pokhara which is a lazy wee town 200kms west of Kathmandu and the gateway town to the Annapurna Circuit.
Yes, only 200kms.. but it's still a 7hour bus ride. The roads are the worst I have seen.. They remind me of Christchurch post earthquake. The main highway consists of smooth tarmac with intermittent gravelly/potholey patches.. and these are frequent. Let me tell you.. On a non aircon bus, 7 hours is uncomfortable.  We can't complain though because it cost us $5 and we got two toilet stops. Hurrah!

Came down with a slight bug in Pokhara but still managed to do day walks and enjoy the town. A true fighter however after four days and no improvements it was time to get serious because I needed strength for the EBC trek.

Getting back up to Kathmandu was again slow on the bus.
The kathmandu valley used to be run by three shah kings and therefore have three seperate kingdoms - Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktipur. They are beautiful and filled with culture. I would highly recommend a nights stay in Bhaktipur to anyone thinking of coming. It is pedestrianize also so you may even get a sleep in.

The main backpacker area of Thamel is exciting and you risk your life everytime you step onto the street. The people are friendly and kindly offering 'you come smoke with me in my car. marjiuaaaana, haaash'.
The shopping is also AMAZING. Goodbye all funds.

x