Funny Children Adventures

In Varanasi we were sitting watching the world go by when a group of children cam to talk to us. After lots of talking about our sunglasses and which country we were from they started talking about how short our hair was. A few minutes later, two of them started to discuss my hair quite intensely. They were looking, discussing, then laughing. Thinking of how many times people have laughed at us for being white, I wrongly assumed that they were bedazzled by any stray blonde hairs that I had. A few seconds later and they had delved in and were scratching around as if I had nits. By now I was feeling a little uneasy. More laughing. Erm? One of them plucked. Ouch. I'd say about a ten year old girl was stood in front of me, laughing and displaying to me one beautifully grey strand of hair. So I travel half-way around the world and people are still laughing at me for going grey this early in life. The two children then continued to laugh and pull grey hairs out of my head and brandish them in front of me, as if I needed to be reminded that there really are that many on my head.

All about the Jam

I've been feeling a bit rough lately and I'm inclined to blame the Jam. I'm not ill. I just feel a bit hot and weak all of the time - like I did when I first went to Seville. However, instead of blaming it on the heat, the lack of sleep, or the constant moving about, I am blaming it on the Jam. When we are on the move, our diet consists of bread and Jam. But not just any bread, crumbly-goes-all-over-you and has-probably-been-out-of-date-for-a-while bread. We eat this because it is the only thing that we can find that is easily transportable and can do breakfast, lunch, dinner and then breakfast, lunch, and dinner again. It is the only thing that is spreadable and the keyword: cheap. I'm staring to hate Jam. We thought we'd go a bit wild by changing our jar of 'Mixed Fruits Jam' to 'Pineapple Jam', but to no avail. It's still slowly sucking out my will to live. Even the brief fling with rolls yesterday didn't help. I need to find some philadelphia or some dairylea soon.

My new appreciation for the sleeping bag

I feel completely enlightened. The sleeping bag is actually amazing. When I think back to all of the bus/train/plane stations (plane stations are technically called airports, I grant you, but it didn't fit in with my forward slash transportation combination) that I have slept in, desperately trying to make a blanket out of a flimsy scarf, a pillow out of a bag and covering the remaining gaps with a fleece, I feel a prize fool. I have never traveled with a sleeping bag before and I can conclusively say that it is brilliant. I used to think that it was a bulky and unnecessary item. Oh, how my opinion has changed. I have a bed wherever and whenever. I've said a definitive goodbye to drafty shivers, so-long to cold marble floors and a smirky whatever to dirty benches. Train station sleeping has never been so bloody comfortable. We left Varanasi on Wednesday at 5.20 on a 24 hour train. This train accidentally became a 32 hour train, meaning that we didn't get to Jodhpur until 2 am. Thus another train station sleep was in order. I set up my sheet on the floor, lay my sleeping bag down, placed my donkey cushion next to it (one of those squidgy cushions that you get from the market that has also revolutionized my sleep) and stood back and admired. Instant bed. Truly brilliant. If only sleeping bags had some kind of rat repellent, they'd be perfect.

Back in India - Straight to Varanasi

A few days ago, I don't really remember when, we bounced along on a Nepali bus, a Nepali rickshaw, an Indian bus, and an Indian overnight train back into India, straight to Varanasi. The Holy City. We did a lot of wandering, a lot of sitting and a lot of watching. We took a night boat along the Ganges to watch the night-time ceremony. The boat-man sat next to me so that I could ask him a gazzilion questions about what was going on, why they do this and why they do that. I learnt about the ceremonies and the different offerings and then I asked questions about the things that had been bothering me. Basically I found out my answer to almost everything was: good luck. Why have those women had their head's shaved? For good luck. Why do some women have red on the sole's of their feet? For good luck. Why do they mate cows next to the river? For good luck. It's a strange place. Between all of the ceremonies, the offerings, the cremations, there were little oddities. The weighing of the wood and testing of the quality of the wood to decide how much to charge for the cremation. The taking of the jewellery from the ashes of the cremated bodies. The fishing with magnets for coins that people had thrown into the Ganges for good luck. The fact that, although it is one of the most polluted and toxic river in the world, people were everywhere drinking and bathing in it. And above all of it, above all of the spirituality, the offerings, the cleansing of sins and the funerals, there was kite flying and cricket. Cricket played between the Ghats and Kites flown above them. I'm writing this because we couldn't take many photos, so I thought I'd like to remember it a bit. We barely got hassled because people were too busy doing their own thing. I would just like to mention at this point also that I did get to row on the Ganges. That makes me cool.

A brief summary of interesting tit-bits

We saw a Bollywood film being filmed in Jaipur and a Kollywood film in Khatmandu.

Our cheapest meal yet was an Indian Thali (a set meal of two curries, rice and naans) for about 25 pence in a train station outside of Agra, but paid for dearly in fear pennies (fear for our bellies and my own personal fear for the vulnerability of my neck - thank you Fog) as we ate the entire meal being stared at and circled by two giant rats.

The best toilets so far were in the Observatory in Jaipur (a collection of giant sculptures and what-not to tell the time and read the stars) because they were not only very clean but had a deluxe shower head instead of a jug. The vote for the worst toilet is still out. The rat infested (same train station as the cheap Thali) ones could be peeping ahead.

Our best hotel has been Pokhara. Three pounds between us and it has the most amazing hot shower. Though luke warm when the electricity is down.

The best (it is so brilliant it truly has to get a second mention) saying: "Don't wurry chicken curry"

Our longest bit of travel: 43 hours

Longest time without changing underwear, showering, or brushing teeth: 50 hours

The longest time to travel two metres: 20 minutes. An Indian man insisted that we posed for photos with every single member of his family.

Amount of times we've been conned: 1

Amount of times that people have tried to con us: Thousands

Amount of people that have physically laughed out loud at how white we are: 2

We've been invited to one wedding, which we couldn't go to because we were in the middle of our 43 hour trip, couple with the fact we were invited after about a two minute conversation and added to by the fact we weren't sure whether the man on the train with a gun was friends was a part of the wedding party or not.

We have an invite to the house of a the first couple that we've met that seemed in love. They were extremely cute together and equal, despite the fact that they were niece and uncle. We're hopefully going to stay with them to learn how to make curry in Goa.

I've tried twice to pretend I know something about cricket to blend with the locals. I failed both times after about 5 seconds.

I think I've eaten Fog-friendly doughnuts, but I think the only way this could be confirmed is if he ate them.

We've risked a few fruit smoothies - bellies are both fine.

I like going to the toilet by candle-light ( a frequent occurence in Nepal). It makes the whole experience a lot more romantic. I'm not so keen on going to the toilet in the dark.

I think that Pokhara is a crazy mix of a beautiful landscape with a paphos-like touris town attached.

I think it will be a shock to go back to India.

From India to Nepal and back again

Follwing Delhi we went to Jaipur, then Pushkar, and Agra, and from Agra we did a mammoth 43 hour trip up to Khatmandu, which included about 15 hours of waiting in train and bus stations, 12 hours on a night train, 6 hours on a local bus and 12 hours on a night bus. Apparently taking a night bus in Nepal is the most dangerous thing you can do here and, after seeing the drops the next day and all of the burnt out buses along the sides of the road, I'm glad we couldn't see them at the time and we definitely won't be doing it again. Nepal is awesome, and just so relaxing in comparison to India. You're hassled but with about a tenth of the ferocity. Most of the people still want to talk to you to sell you something but we have managed to have some geniune conversations before or after the selling process. My personal favourite being with a Nepali man (who chatted to us pleasantly for about twenty minutes before trying to sell his services as a guide) in Khatmandu who taught us that the english needed to relax a little and we needed to follow his motto of: (this has to be said in a Nepali accent, preferably from a short Nepali man who is grinning inanely and wearing a silly hat) "Don't wurry chicken curry" and the slightly dodgier rhyming pattern of "Wurry not coco-nut". Brilliant. Nepal also has its benefits in that it has no urine smell. This has to be a bonus. Khatmandu was just so calming, and we actually stopped in some shops long enough to buy a couple of things. In Pokhara now and, although Amy claims that we've just been for a few walks, I've definitely decided that we've been trekking. I think that any walk in Nepal, especially one that involves walking boots should count as a trek. We've also decided to brave a few salads and fruits whilst it's available and looks cleaner than in India. This could be completely false but no illness has hit us yet. There is a paragliding competition going on here and, as we were watching, we were very quickly surrounded by ten or so children marvelling at my camera and Amy's videocamera. My camera now has about twelve photos of each child wearing my sunglasses and about thirty photos of their fought-over, finger-on-lenses photos of the paragliders. We are doing another trek, yes trek, tomorrow morning to see the himalayas (that definitely qualifies it as a trek) and then getting the morning bus back to India. Going back to chaos.

I'm rubbish at blogs

So far at I have been beyond rubbish at this. I managed to write two blogs before even leaving the UK, and one in the first stop at Delhi, and since then, well, zero. I haven't even written in my diary thing. Though, I've decided that this is not going to be somewhere where I write things, more where I lovingly pritt-stick in all my tickets/leaflets and maps so that they don't end up in another shoe-box, under my bed in my to-do section. I can write this down proudly as if I've been doing this all along but the reality is I first did it this morning. So now my book is beautifully leafleted up and I can make out like it is because I've been super organised and on top of all these things. It does look very pretty though. Following from updating my diary thing, it becomes the turn of my bloggy thing. But, I have a minor problem. I already can't remember stuff. It turns out that my supposedly young, fresh out of university brain can't even remember the events of the last two weeks clearly enough to write them down in some kind of comprehendible, linear order. Oh dear. This situation is further exacerbated by the fact that my brain is put under enormous strain with the pressure of Internet Cafes. An organised person would pre-write and plan a documentary of events that would unfold to allow a dash of wit and charm to stream through the words. No such luck. I rock up to the internet cafe and, plagued by the ticking clock and disappearing rupees, use my time invaluably by updating my facebook status and looking at a friend of a friend's photos from their latest visit to see their sister-in-law (depressingly, although not recently, looking at a friend of a friend's photos from what I think was a sister-in-law's birthday party has happened to me). Therefore, owing to this lack of time and lack of funds, and apparently appaling memory, it looks like this bloggy thing will be few and far between event with just a smidgen of details about what I'm actually up to. I'm hoping that a brief glossary now will somehow ignite my currently dorment brain to remember everything in eight months time. I grant you, something that is not hugely likely.

learning things

So far I have learnt lots of things. How to shower with a bucket and jug. Though, in truth, this wasn't really a skill I had to learn as such. In fact I'm quite confident that even without Delhi I would know how to do that. So maybe I should write, putting in to practice how to shower with a bucket and jug. How to go to the toilet with no paper and just a jug. This one I definitely did not know how to do beforehand. Though I picked it up quick (no pun intended) but I really think it is one of those skills that I'll get better and quicker at the longer I am here. A life skill, but not necessarily something that I will boast about and perform at parties. I've learnt that urine really does not have a good smell. This I've learnt is true of urine during the day, afternoon, or night, up the wall, on the pavement, on the grass, on the sand, in designated toilet holes, or whether it is adult, child, horse or cattle. None of it is nose-pleasing, or, let's be honest, toe-pleasing in flip-flops. I've learnt that I could never drive in Delhi. Imagine all of the cars, bicycles, motorbikes, rickshaws and pedestrians that you possibly can and put them all into the same roadway, all going in different directions. The roads tend to have three lanes but apparently this means five, not three, vehicles can use them. It reminds me of a child playing with toy cars - zooming the cars here and there, bashing into each other, and crossing, turning and reversing in possibly every spot not recommended by the Highway Code. It's a giggle. I have, however, also learnt that I really don't want to get ill. I spent most of last night listening to someone, or I hope more than one person otherwise I seriously worry for the future of this probably now frail, nothing-left-but-skin-and-bones individual, vomitting around every 5 minutes. It did not sound an ounce of enjoyment. I am, therefore, being extremely liberal with my poncey anti-bacterial hand wash that I was a bit scoffy of bringing.

Anyway, it's all going well and it's just getting used to the hustle an bustle of it all. We are leaving Delhi tomorrow for Jaipur.

finally making it

So we finally make it to Delhi after our five day delay. I didn't sleep. I have a sneaky suspicion that years of getting used to Ryanair's budget policy of 'breath too much air and pay twice your flight cost' made me extremely excited over all the free things: free food, free drinks, free ear plugs, free headphones, free toothbrush, free toothpaste and free socks (I was so excited about these that another passenger offered me his pair as well because he didn't think that they would give him quite so much enjoyment). I, therefore, couldn't sleep. Turning up in Delhi at 6am, I though this would be disatsterous. It turned out it was one of the easiest airport to city transfers ever. Bus to road. Road to Main Bazaar. Nice man, who I was rude to because I thought he was trying to lead us astray but luckily Amy was nice to, direct to hostel. Check-in. Immediate nap. Excellent.

and the trip goes on...

The first few days of this trip haven't exactly gone to plan.  At first, the news that our trip was to be delayed by five days made me think "ooh I'll get loads of little jobs done that I didn't have time to do before I left".  So, I have uploaded facebook photos, and have a clear camera memory card.  I have more music on my mp3 player and I've invested in a day backpack.  After those jobs, however, the reality is unfortunately that instead of Delhi, I have daytime TV.  Instead of sauntering around India in flip flops I'm curled up on the sofa, wearing the only warm clothes I have, wrapped up under a blanket watching episode after episode of daytime soaps.  Neighbours is followed by Home and Away, which is followed by Hollyoaks and then Eastenders.  And what is worse is that these soaps are broken up with the rediscovery of Jeremy Kyle.  I'd forgotten that such titles as 'did my boyfriend sleep with my daughter' even existed.  The highlights, and the exercise, of the day are the hourly cups of tea.  Life has seriously sunk to a new low. 

Monday 2nd of Feb - First Day of Trip

Amy and I at Heathrow Airport after a three hour (should have been 90 minutes) journey to the airport, shortly before we joined a four hour customer services queue, followed by a five hour (still should have been 90 minutes) trip back to Amy's house in Hertfordshire.  Eight hours of travelling and four hours of queueing all to end up back where we started and literally nowhere near India. Possibly the best start to our trip, only added to by the fact we won't even get to try to leave the UK again until Saturday. Truly awesome.