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After a short overnight stay in Ramnagar, down from the Uttarkhand mountains, I have a quick but unsuccessful check for tigers in the nearby Corbett National Park, and am ready to move on again. The destination is the western Terai in Nepal, and after three bus journeys I arrive at the dingey border town of Banbasa shortly after dark. I continue in the morning to the border, across the flood control barrier over the wide Mahakali river, and on to the Nepali immigration post. After completing the formalities, a shared rickshaw takes me on to Mahendranagar a few kilometers along the road. I stop for a late breakfast, change some Indian rupees for their Nepali counterparts, and study my unused Rough Guide to Nepal.


Mahendranagar seems to be a bussling and noisy town, similar to the smaller Indian towns I've visited. I decide to continue on to Bardia National Park. As the local bus takes me out of town on the Mahendra Highway (a surprisingly good road), I suddenly notice I'm in Nepal. Rustic, rural settlements and villages pass us by. There are few motorized vehicles, and about 2 hours and 120km later, the bus arrives and stops at the Karnali River, spanned by a modern lopsided bridge.

Changing buses, across the bridge and through a police check point, 20 minutes later I'm dropped of at Anbassa, where the highway contines and an unsurfaced road splits off towards Thakurdwara. Luckily, there is a guy waiting with a motorbike from my chosen guest house. I sit behind him, clinging on to my daypack as we hum along the bumpy road, passing beautiful thatched rural homes, children running out to the road to shout "bye bye" as we pass. As we continue along a small smooth trail through sparse woodland, I fell like I'm in the forest chase scene from Star Wars. Out the other side, across a dry river bed, and through the village of Thakurdwara, we arrive at Bardia Jungle Cottage, a peaceful guest house with individual thatched cottages for rooms, surrounding a beautiful, relaxing garden. A good place to recover from India for a few days and a base for exploring the National Park nearby.

The night is cold, and it is still cool shortly after dawn as I set off with my guide, Sitaram, walking deep into the park. This is a completely different experience from the jeep rides around Indian National Parks. We walk first along well defined trails, through smaller forest trails, along the sides of dryish river beds, and through long grasslands. The deer run away into the undergrowth as we approach, monkeys sit in trees observing us from above. A jungle fowl is startled and flies away clucking. A pied hornbill with it's huge beak flies from tree to tree. Today the tigers are elusive, but pushing through the undergrowth we hear a rhino grunting and stoping around nearby. We try to sight it for about an hour, following it's noises and tracks through the dense wooded grassland, but every time we get close enough to hear it, it runs away. Hot, tired and dirty, we return to the lodge as dusk approaches. I enjoy a cold shower, then sit outside talking with two french lads travelling around on a Royal Enfield from Goa, with a small, incredibly cute puppy. Crazy french.

Day two, after a relaxing morning, the french and I walk around the local "roads". No cars, no tractors, no motors, no tourists, a few bicycles, oxen pulling cartloads of wood, chickens, ducks and buffalos. This place is incredibly peaceful and beautifl. A local family invites us in to their home, a pink clay cottage with thatched roof, dark and coold inside, with large rice silos separating the floorspace into three small rooms. Back at the lodge in the evening, a french family with 3 kids (12, 8 and 5 years old), and a large german shephard, have arrived in a mobile home. 8 months from France through Europe, Turkey, Jordan, Iran, Pakistan, India and now here. Crazy french!


I decide to try one more time for tigers, and on day 3 I walk into the park once more with SItaram. This time the plan is to wait for the tiger to come to us. After making our way through the woodlands to a good vantage point, we sit and wait overlooking a semi-dry riverbed. I sit in a tree looking up-river. Sitaram looks down-river from a point some distance away. Across the river, we hear the warning calls of deer, peacocks and monkeys. I wait. A large mammal emerges from the long grass about 100m away on the opposite bank. It's a deer. It nervously crosses the river bed and disappears into the woodland. I wait. And then it happens. A tiger appears, taking the same route as the deer. A TIGER!! Two minutes later he's disappeared into the undergrowth now on the same side of the river as me. I wait in the tree for a while in case he reappears nearby, but no such luck, and after 20 minutes I jump down and walk to tell Sitaram. He missed it, but he's happy for me and hugs me.


Mission accomplished, I suggest we try for Gangetic Dolphins in the Karnali river, so we walk through the long grass for half an hour towards the river. Taking off boots and socks, we cross a shallow, stoney stream and walk across some muddy river bed to the edge of the Karnali. It's hot, and a swim in the river is inviting. The cold water is refreshing and I struggle to swim against the current to remain in the same spot for a while, then return through the mud and slip across the stones back to the bank to dry off in the heat of the afternoon sun.

Labels: India, Nepal

After the chaos of Haridwar, Rishikesh sounded like a nice place to relax and replenish energy levels. I stayed in Swargashram, on the opposite bank of the river Ganges, across the ~120m long Ram Jhula suspension bridge, guarded by bands of rhesus monkeys. This place, brought to fame by The Beatles in the mid 1960's, now seems to be Yoga capital of the world: dozens of Ashrams offer cheap lodging, spiritual guidance and yoga tuition to pilgrims and lost souls. Around the town, plenty "westerners" can be observed, although many of them seem to have grown weird hair, donned colourful, baggy garments, and made Swargashram a long-term home.


I missed out on the Ashram experience, and stayed in a reasonable guest house on the southern edge of the town. After four days, two yoga classes, a haircut (including head massage and facial massage), I had still failed to feel spiritually enlightened or meet likeminded fellow travellers, and decided to continue my solitary journey up along the Ganges valley and into the lesser explored regions of the Uttaranchal highlands.

The first stop was Devprayag, situated at the confluence of the Bhagirathi and Alaknanda rivers, and official birthplace of the Ganges. The small town spans either side of the valley and to walk around involves climbing hundreds of steps, almost all of them leading upwards. Weary after the bus journey and the long slog across town with my packs, I make my way down to the river to bathe my feet. A drunk pot-smoking "priest" offers me a puja, which I try to refuse, but I end up getting water splashed on my forehead, repeating strange verses, and handing over my lighter as a "donation".


The following day I take an early bus up to Srinagar, where I stop for breakfast (Aloo Paratha). I squeeze on to another bus to Rudraprayag, where I fail to find suitable lodgings. One more bus takes me up the bumpy winding road to Karnaprayag in time for lunch (Aloo gobi).

Although I'd initially planned to stay in one of the "Prayags", after three bus journeys I decide to make a travel day of it, towards Gwaldam. The roads past Karnaprayag are pretty rough, landslides are common, and buses are replaced by "shared jeeps". I'm quite surprised that 13 people fit in the vehicle, but start to appreciate the warmth of the huddled human mass as the cold air blasts through the windowless vehicle. Three bumpy jeep rides later, I arrive in Gwaldam, freezing cold, and accept a basic room in the nearest guesthouse I find. I warm my hands next to a wood fire and drink a chai. A cloud descends on the village, it starts raining heavily, then snowing, so I crawl fully clothed under the blankets in the hard wooden bed of my room. The "window" of the room has no window pane, just a fine mesh, but I'm grateful at least for the four walls and corrugated iron roof.

By daybreak, the snow has stopped falling, and decorates the foggy village streets. Not a good day for seeing mountains, after the obligatory chai, I squeeze into another shared jeep down out of the clouds, across the valley and up again to Kausani, which supposedly offers some of the best views of the Uttarkhand Himalayas. Though I'm no longer in a cloud, they still cover the distant peaks, Nanda Devi is hiding from me. In the afternoon, I walk around the roads and tracks of the peaceful woodlands overlooking the snow-covered terraces and the valley below, hoping the clouds will clear by sunrise.


My wishes are granted... Finding the courage to emerge from my warm blankets at 7 a.m., I peek out of the window to see clear blue skies. I put on my warmest clothes and head out through the village towards the ridge, still no clouds in sight. When I arrive, the magnificent views of Nanda Devi, Trishul and company stretch 300km along the horizon, lit by a crisp horizontal light. The arduousness of the journey here fades into insignificance, this moment makes everything worthwhile.

Labels: India

Sitting by the side of the main road in Haridwar, Utarranchal, enjoying a chai, back in the chaos, noise and bustle of the India I've been missing in the peaceful mountains of Himachal Pradesh. I arrived late last night after a picturesque 5½ hour train journey on the narrow gauge railway connecting the hill station of Shimla with Kalka, where the plain ends and the hills begin, followed by another 1 hour train journey on to Ambala, and finally a 3 hour bumpy bus ride to Haridwar, the incessant horn of the vehicle placed inconveniently right in my ear.

Arriving around midnight, rickshaw-wallahs competed for my trade. I had to upset them all and walk. Everything is closed, it's dark, and a joyrider screeches his car up and down the road doing 180° spins. About 2km down the road, in the dark solitary alleys, I ask a couple of passing drunks for the location of my chosen hotel, overlooking the ghats. They point me down the same road I'm on. On arrival, waking the receptionist from his slumber, it turns out to be 6 times more expensive than I had hoped, so I continue my search, stopping for a chai to warm my hands in this cold night, many people sleeping covered by blankets by the edge of the ghats.

Luckily, 2 minute later I stumble past an open guesthouse, with doors open and lights on. The rooms are still too expensive, but they offer me a bed in a dormitory for 70 rupees (about $1.50). Weary and in need of rest, I take it, and sleep surprisingly well considering the cold, the barking dog and the snoring of the only other occupant (an Indian fellow) of the 20-bed dorm.

Morning arrives, I wash, pack and leave in search of superior lodgings. A bicycle rickshaw taking me to Sadhubela, a village a few kilometers out of town, instead of Sadhubela Road. I take an auto-rickshaw back and find the place, Hotel Deep, a room with hot water and Indian-style toilet for 150 rupees/night. Leaving my packs, I stroll out for breakfast (chai, toast and butter). Feeling energized, I walk through town towards the ghats and the giant statue of Shiva I'd spotted earlier from the rickshaw.

It's getting hot, at the ghats many people wash themselves and their clothes in the holy water of the river Ganga. Haridwar is one of the most sacred towns for Hindus, and location of the Kumbh Mela festival once every 12 years. After Shiva, feeling hot and grimy in the clothes I've been wearing for days (weeks?) I sit at a ghat, stick my feet in the Ganga water, and wash my sweater. People approach me, asking for money in a variety of ways (children gesticulating for food, a priest painting a yellow mark where my 3rd eye should be, a man with an ear-cleaning kit, etc). I hang the sweater over a rail and converse for a while with a 19-year old Indian student while I wait for it to dry. Half an hour later, my sweater is still damp, but I put it on anyway, hoping the sun will do it's magic.


Leaving the ghats, I have a thali for lunch at a nearby eatery, then set off up the hill to the Mansa Devi temple. Along the sides of the stairs up, a multitude of stalls play loud banging electro-Hindi music, and offer prasad kits for weary pilgrims to present at the hilltop temple. Near the top, I leave my shoes, obtain my prasad kit (a red plastic bag containing a coconut mixture, a tinsel ribbon and flower petals), and continue barefoot up to the temple. Here, many Hindu gods look out at me. Hanuman, the monkey god; Shiva, creator and destroyer; Parvati, Shiva's wife; Ganesh, bringer of prosperity, among others. The puja consists of priests paint my 3rd eye with variety of substances, in exchange for the contents of my prasad kit (and monetary "donations").

As dusk sets, I find new ways to redistribute wealth: listening to a blind man playing his sitar with a confident, handsome young boy playing along, rhythmically beating his drum, on the steps of a temple. A sadhu walks past and rubs a round fluffy thing on my clothes, magically generating some kind of sweet perfumed smell. It's dark, I take a bicycle rickshaw back along the main road to the cinema near my hotel. I miss the beginning of the "talkie", Salaam-e-Ishq, but seeing as I don't understand much Hindi, it probably doesn't matter too much. A glamorous, amorous, colourful, emotional, romantic musical. Fun!

Labels: India

The backs of vehicles are painted with "HORN PLEASE", a much obeyed rule. My bottle of Oxyrich water boasts 300% more oxygen - "Recharge yourself". My Spicy Fresh Red Gel Colgate, infused with dissolvable cooling crystals, provides me with a whole new dimension of freshness, although for best results, one must "squeeze from the bottom and flatten as you go up". Two different establishments in two different cities are called "Same same but different". I couldn't describe it better myself.

Labels: India

Between journeys, I stay a couple of nights in Shimla, a hill station clinging bravely to the slopes around "The Ridge", which the main road, "The Mall", traverses. Shimla, much cooler than the plains in summer, was once the seasonal seat of government of the British Raj, who build mock tudor buildings, churches, pavilions with bandstands, a race-course, a narrow gauge railway from Kalka in the plains below, and other homely installations. The Viceregal Lodge, complete with the white Ambassador cars, seems straight out of Cthulu.


But Hinduism has also exercised it's influence. Atop the highest peak (2600m) near the town is situated the Jakhu temple, dedicated to Hanuman, the monkey god. The monkeys must somehow sense this, as hundreds of them congregate around the temple and the surrounding woodlands on slopes below. Apparently they can be quite vicious, and enterprising shopkeepers at the chai shops en-route rent out walking sticks to ward off the beasts. I forgoe the weapon and confront the one monkey that dares to approach me by baring my teath and hissing at it. It gets the message and scuttles away.

Picturesque as it is, after one cold night and a day seeing sights, I haven't seen any travellers in town, and I'm yearning for a bit of like-minded company. My second evening in Shimla, and last evening in Himachal Pradesh, I spend packing again before having dinner and playing cards with some Kashmiri men who work for the hotel in exchange for their "cozy", a tiny room cum kitchen in which they live.

Labels: India

Arriving in Manali in the early evening, after two consecutive days of long and arduous bus journeys, I'm eager to find a peaceful place to stay for a few days. Avoiding the touts at the bus station and the city centre, I instead take a rickshaw to Vashisht, a nearby village on the hillside across the river. The guest house I'd chosed in my guidebook turns out to be closed, so I investigate other options. After seeing 3 more, I come to the conclusion that Vashisht is TOO isolated and sleepy, so start walking back to Manali.

A rickshaw passes by 20 minutes later, which I share with a couple of locals. The city centre is too noisy, grey and unattractive, many hotels in sight, but the ones I see are grotty and/or expensive. Fed up, I walk up the street fully laden, at a loss. A friendly looking chap appears by my side and offers me a guesthouse in Old Manali, which sounds reasonable, so I accept the offer. After a chai, we trudge 30 minutes up hill, across a bridge and into the peace and quiet of Old Manali. "Shanti Shanti" indeed; except for my host, Sanju, I have the guesthouse to myself.

Looking forward to a hot shower, I'm dismayed to discover there's no water (the water tank is empty!). Instead, Sanju provides me with a bucket of freezing water and assures me that hot water "morningtime coming". Morningtime arrives and still no running water, let alone hot water. It appears one of the main water pipes in Old Manali has frozen and cracked. It's winter here, off season, and freezing cold at night. Sanju offers me another bucket of cold water and a heating element, which dangles out of an electric socket and into the bucket of water for about an hour, the water remaining cold. Eventually I settle for a cold wash, and head into town for breakfast.

Wandering around town, confirming my suspicions that new Manali is quite ugly, I discover I'm the only non-Indian tourist in town. I'm not tempted by any of the Kullu shawls, caps or other wares on offer in the bazaars, so I question a few tour agencies about possibilities of trekking in Lahul, to the north and over the Rohtang Pass. I'm informed that the pass is closed, despite there having been little precipitation this winter. I finally walk back up the hill to Splendour guesthouse, and spend the afternoon trying to decipher Hindi script from a children's book Sanju kindly lends me. Written Hindi appears quite complex. He prepares Alu Gobi and chappatis for dinner, which I gobble up whilst watching the full moon rise over the mountains.

Next morningtime, still no hot water, I decide to check for myself the status of Rohtang Pass. In the early hours after a chai, I hire a Yamaha 125 and take Sanju with me as company and guide. The bike deals well with the uneven, winding mountain roads. My extremities cope less well with the freezing air in the early morning mountain-shade. We stop at a breakfast hut in the middle of nowhere (Khoti, 2500m above sea level). I enjoy an omelette and butter toast. Our hosts seem Nepalese or Tibetan, but are in fact from Lahur.


Out, on and up, Sanju takes the drivers seat for a while, but we soon change back as he can't figure out how to change down the gears! Soon there are icy patches on the road, which become increasingly frequent until there becomes more ice than road. It no longer seems prudent to continue on the Yamaha, so I park it next to a row of jeeps parked neatly along the roadside, continuing by foot. Opportunistic salespeople with makeshift stalls next to the road offer wellington boots for hire to the Indian tourists (occupants of the jeeps). A few of them are trying to ski, although there's no piste in sight, just an icy stretch along the road. We climb above the road to escape the crowd, an when we can ascend no further, we stop to take in the views of the snow-capped mountains adorning the opposite side of the valley.

Having confirmed Rohtang Pass is, effectively, unpassable right now, we head back to explore Vashisht. Leaving the Yamaha at the end of the road, we continue on foot along the path, through the rustic part of the village, where women were washing clothes in communal washing place. Beyond the village, we continue beneath the pine forest on the slopes towards the waterfall, stopping on the way back at a beautiful old stone temple on the hillside, full of energy. I take some time to meditate. Back in the village, we have chai with a friend of Sanju's, in a small wooden building, the single room incorporating a stove, a small kitchen, a bed and room to sit around the stove. One final surprise awaits me in Vashisht... the local stone temple houses some communal bath tanks of hot sulphuric spring water. I begin to remember the joys of hot water, and enjoy it profoundly, despite being the object of attention to the local bathers.

Labels: India