There isn’t really anything that can prepare you for the experience that is India; the sights, the sounds, the smells. The dust. The people, lots of people. The stares, lots of stares. And the cows—a lot of cows. And trash—trash everywhere. And the cows eating the trash. It’s a full-on assault on the senses, like being thrown into a whirlwind of color, crowds, and cuisine. It’s not like any place we have ever been.
We landed in Mumbai airport late at night with trepidation and excitement, after a long flight from Bangkok with a short layover in Kuala Lampur (and dinner from Burger King as John had a craving for a greasy burger). I had already made all the bookings possible, from hotels to trains, so we would be as prepared as possible. We heard some bad stories about taxi drivers from a girl we met back in Dalat who had traveled in India alone. We figured we were two, and much more prepared and aware of potential negative situations, so we opted for the airport taxi line just outside the terminal. We had the address for our accommodation, and the assistant at the stand noted our address and gave us a set price, which we paid to them before being given a ticket to hand to our driver. The problem I heard is that many taxi drivers will try to hawk other businesses and hotels, where they get a kickback on an increased rate charged to foreigners. They also try to charge you extra by either running up the meter by driving around, or by deciding later to charge a higher price for their service and refusing to drop you off until you agree to it. By using airport taxis, we avoided any of these issues as we didn’t even pay the driver directly, but it didn’t stop John from worrying about our safety during the whole 30 min drive. However, we were dropped off, as promised, right in front of our hotel in Mumbai. It was already 12:30 at night, but we were able to check in, with the security guard opening the front gate, while a porter brought our bags to our room, where we signed a sheet of paper that said we would pay a $2 tip on our bill at checkout (I had read about his beforehand, so it was not a surprise). The showers were only cold water, but in the Indian humidity, it felt nice, especially after a long day of traveling.
We had breakfast that morning, which was delivered to our hotel room, before stepping out into the morning bustle of Mumbai.
Walking around was slightly overwhelming, and I was just trying to take everything in. The sidewalks were filled with people—sitting, standing, walking, eating, talking, buying, and selling. We passed so many stalls filled with trinkets and food and clothing. The women were decked out in saris of all colors. The men dressed in clothes that looked like they came from the 1970s. The streets were filled with honking cars and vespas—swerving in and out of each other in an effort to cut through the bottleneck that was never ending. Apparently though, honking in India is not a sign of exasperation or anger (ok, well, not always.) Much like Indonesia, the people honk to alert others to their presence, as traffic laws are *loosely* followed, so it’s a cacophony of car horns all day long. We decided just to walk along the main drag, stopping to look at some of the old colonial buildings that remained in the city and stood in stark contrast to the very Indian-like architecture that had blossomed around it. We made our way down to the port, where the “Gateway of India” stands next to the famous Taj Palace (where you can still stay if you are willing to part with some serious rupees.) I thought it was interesting that the security line to enter the area was separated by gender, but everyone could mingle together once they reached the other side.
By the time we finished moseying we were quite hungry and decided to stop for a late lunch at a restaurant called “Khyber” that was considered “expensive” by Indian standards, but was really normal Western prices, and had fantastic reviews. It was a GREAT decision. The restaurant itself was quite fancy, as you had two waiters dressed in suits for each table, multiple sets of cutlery (instead of using your hands), and a menu that looked delicious. We opted for the more “expensive” item on the menu, but also the most recommended, of red masala mutton curry, slowly braised over 48 hours and meant to be shared between 2 people, with garlic naan and mango lassi. I think we spent $35 total on the two of us for that meal, which is actually quite cheap in normal prices, and OMG if you were someone who wasn’t in love with Indian food before that moment, you would most definitely be after a meal like that. It was amazing (and the only time we would eat meat in India) and we walked back to our hotel full and happy and spent the rest of the day relaxing and sleeping off the food coma.
We actually didn’t bother eating dinner that night as we were both still full from the late lunch and had a very early morning the next morning catching our first train.
We were luckily right next to the major train station in Mumbai, a beautiful old Victorian-style building, so we were able to walk to our early train. Outside we passed many of Mumbai’s homeless and poor who spend their nights on newspapers and under old blankets near the station, though we also walked by someone who was passed out cold, face-down on the pavement—I think his presence there was for an entirely different reason. We had booked “AC Chair” tickets for that morning, meaning we had an assigned seat, though we quickly realized many people do NOT pay attention to their assigned seat and move wherever they please. This meant that, even though John and I were originally seated apart, eventually we were able to switch so we were seated close together. Our first Indian train experience was relatively quick and painless (though not all of them would be this way.) We arrived at our destination by the afternoon, a mid-sized town called Aurangabad about 350 km northwest of Mumbai. We walked with our bags along the dusty road toward our accommodation. This would be the beginning of many days of inhaling and coughing up the Indian dust, as it was the end of dry season and monsoon had not yet begun. Our main reason for staying here was to visit the Ellora Caves, which were an hour by public bus. The first day we relaxed at our hotel and went out to an internet café to send some e-mails (many places in India didn’t have free wifi), found an ATM to withdraw money, and ate dinner at the hotel restaurant (which was quite typical and usually very good). I don’t think we ever went wrong with the food in India (and, because we were careful with water bottles and went vegetarian, we never got sick!)
The next morning we used public buses to get to the caves. We had to walk to the bus stop, and were quite nervous about using public transport, but I had my knock-off LP guide and we were able to ask about buses in English and the prices we were quoted were usually in line with the guidebook, so that was a relief (though not always comfortable as we were almost always the only foreigners using this mode of transport and bus stations were a popular spot for beggars).
Ellora Caves are a UNESCO World Heritage Site. A series of 34 caves, carved out of the side of a mountain. They were constructed by Buddhists, Brahmans (Hindus), and Janis between the 5th and 10th centuries. Some of the caves were in better shape than others, and some definitely had bats living in them as the smell of guano was quite pungent, but they were still fascinating to walk through.
At one point we started passing by students who must have gone there on a school trip, and that’s when the photo shoots began. Much like in China, many of the students wanted to get photos with the foreigners, everyone taking turns and making various poses, and we obliged for a while until we realized we had to move on if we wanted to finish seeing the sites and make it back in time for our bus. We kept a low profile and kept walking, so we were able to finish seeing the caves. Though, just for fun, John had his own mini photo shoot.
We made it back to Aurangabad to collect our bags that we left at the hotel, before getting a tuk-tuk back to the bus station where we caught a local bus to a larger town up north called Jalgaon. The ride was pretty uncomfortable as there was no AC, was packed tight with people, and there was nowhere to store our backpacks so we had to keep them on our laps for the multi-hour drive. Luckily, once we got to the train station, we had some time to kill so we grabbed some snacks and I found that the bathroom had a shower spigot so I could rinse off before boarding our overnight train!
While we were waiting on a bench at the platform, we struck up a “conversation” with a nice girl sitting behind us with her family. She was from the Punjab region, but had been learning some English in school, so we had a basic conversation and wrote down some information about ourselves in a small notebook I had on me. I learned her name and her family’s names—we had a really nice time interacting. However, the more interesting part came when I looked up after this interaction to find literally a circle of people standing around us, watching and staring. It was quite awkward. I waved to people at first, and that sort of broke the concentration and people started to move away. One young gentleman approached us, however, and wanted to know our names and asked us to write them down for him, so we did. Not sure why he wanted them, but he seemed satisfied and walked away.
I guess people were just super interested in this, apparently rare, interaction between foreigners and Indians at the station, as there were few actually there. The stares were certainly ubiquitous on our tour of India, especially in public places, but they never really felt threatening, just slightly awkward. Most people who did actually approach us were just curious, asking questions about where we were going and what we thought about India.
We caught our train that evening and settled into our AC Tier 2 seats, which were actually beds so we could lie down. At this point our silk sleeping bags came in very handy for the evening—though it didn’t block out the snorers, who could sometimes be heard over the roar of the train engine.
Our train arrived in the industrial city of Jabalpur around 4:30 in the morning. We groggily grabbed our things and made our way out of the terminal, trying to figure out where to get a taxi to the bus stop in Jabalpur, from which we could catch a local bus to Kanha Tiger Reserve. It was at this point that we were basically accosted by three tuk-tuk drivers, trying to goad us into doing business with them and offering us a ride. They were incredibly persistent and followed us all the way to the end of the parking lot, despite John saying “no thank you” at least a dozen times. They would not let up, and it was really early, and we didn’t actually know how to get to the bus stop, so we finally had to relent and choose one to take us so they would let us be. We showed the driver the map and he seemed to know where he was going, but at one point we had to stop and show him the map again and he had to ask another person who was delivering the morning papers, and eventually we made it to the bus depot. It was still very early, and we had about 2 hours to wait for our bus to Kanha—the bus depot ticket windows were still shut and the place was dark. So we found a spot and sat down next to a cow that was munching on its regurgitated meal. John was “keeping a lookout” and I was just sitting around in silence when all of a sudden, in the calm and quiet of the dark train station in the middle of nowhere India, the cow next to us leans over and lets out a loud, (not exaggerating) 10-second fart that reverberated through the whole depot. The absurdity of the moment was enough to break the boredom and tension of the waiting, and John and I both started laughing. Only in India could this bizarre situation happen—only in India.
At another point, a man approached us, and while I think John was quite on edge, the man simply asked where we were going and assured us that there would be a 7 a.m. bus to Kanha Tiger Reserve, information that we already knew, but I think he was just trying to be helpful. Sure enough, around 7a.m. our van came and we were able to buy our tickets to the park. Somehow the man had spoken to the hotel where we were staying, or they spoke to him, either way they knew the name of our hotel (possibly because most foreigners stay there), and off we went.
We arrived around midday, after a decidedly uncomfortable trip as the bus was overcrowded and without suspension on the rocky roads (though this was par for the course in India.) We were able to grab a quick lunch and check into our hotel room, before speaking to the manager about organizing tours into the park. The room itself was decent—a very hard mattress with some blankets that smelled like they needed a wash (silk sleeping bags to the rescue!) though the bathroom was huge and clean with a nice hot shower, and a toilet that required you to pump water before flushing; however toilet paper was not included and had to be purchased for 50 rupees by the merchants along the street—slightly strange for a hotel but it was just for one night.
As for the Kanha Reserve, the reserve tiger tours can only be booked through the official park service, and they provide jeeps which are a set number and price per tour and can be divided by however many people ride in them (though there is a maximum of 6). The hotel we stayed at was definitely the place for foreigners to converge and try to organize tours together so as to lower the price. We met a nice English couple who were driving around India in their Range Rover that they had also driven down the coast of Africa, and who had decided to stop in Kanha for a chance to spot tigers in the wild. They had managed to spot one on their tour that morning, and were keen to go for an evening tour to try to spot another. We decided to join them, along with another French couple, so we would fill a jeep and get the cheapest price possible. It was a bit chilly in the evenings out in Kanha, and it kept threatening to rain, but we loaded up in the jeep and set out for a 2-hour drive through the park. Our guide was very nice, friendly, and really wanted to help us find a tiger. Unfortunately, the park is quite large and there are only about 5 tigers in the reserve right now, so it’s a difficult feat to see one. We headed back to the hotel without spotting one, but had arranged one more morning tour with some other foreigners to make another 6-person jeep to try our luck again. Many of us went out for dinner that night, finding a place just further down, right on the road, who offered to open up their restaurant and cook for us. I ordered an eggplant curry dish, and besides the mutton, it was actually the most flavorful dish I had in India!
The morning tour was also foggy with light rain falling throughout the morning. It was easier to see, however, in the morning light. We were able to see many different wild animals in the park that morning, such as deer, wild boar, monkeys, and birds, but unfortunately no tiger.
We rode the uncomfortable bus back with the French couple to the same town as before, Jabalpur. It was the one place where we didn’t make a booking, as it’s not really a tourist destination; hence the hotels didn’t really have reviews and had no online booking possible. However, along the way we met a pair of nice Indian boys who were very keen to chat with the foreigners. One called himself “Sunny” and asked for our names and said that he would add us on Facebook . . . yeah, I don’t think he realized just how common both of our names are in the Western world, and we weren’t about to inform him of this fact. He made for a memorable trip companion, however, and once we arrived in Jabalpur it was back to pestering tuk-tuk drivers.
As soon as we got our bags there were 3 to 5 of them shouting prices and promises at us. Eventually we settled on a man who had a pedal tuk-tuk and was only going to charge us 20 rupees (or like .50 cents) for the ride. We just chose a hotel that had the most decent reviews in our LP book and asked the driver to take us there, which he did straight away, though we felt bad because he had to pedal with both ourselves and our backpacks, which added significant weight and took some effort. Once we arrived at the hotel, we decided we would pay him more for the ride since he was so nice and took us straight there. However, we only had large rupee notes and wanted to break them into 100 rupee bills so we could pay the driver one. There was some confusion at the hotel desk, as the driver was worried that we didn’t want to pay him, and the man at the desk was told the ride was only 20Rp, so he didn’t understand why we needed change. When we managed to explain our intentions, the man was perfectly nice and gave us the change and we handed the driver the 100Rp note, 5 times the price of what he had charged, but pocket change for most tourists in India; the driver himself was incredibly grateful for what amounted to a $1.50 tip. He kept saying what nice people we were, which was a kind sentiment, but when you think about it, this man was so happy to have this sum of money that to us was almost inconsequential—I didn’t feel like we were being that nice—we just thought it was fair for the distance and effort he had to make to take us to our hotel. Just a further reminder of how lucky and fortunate you are if you grew up in situation in which you didn’t have to live on less than a few dollars a day.
We once again had a nice dinner at the hotel restaurant, where we ran into the French couple who had also decided to stay at the same place, as opposed to another hotel they looked at further down the road that was in worse shape. The bed was fine, though the sheets had some stains on them, but thanks to our handy dandy silk sleeping bags, this was no problem! We had a hot shower in our wet bathroom and had some bottled water to brush our teeth that night, as in some places we were okay brushing our teeth with the tap, but this city was not particularly tourist-friendly, so we didn’t risk it.
The next day was the long trek to Khajuraho, an old temple complex town south of Agra, also a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which has some well-preserved temples within walking distance of the town. Some of them were meant to be slightly . . . scandalous, so we thought we would check it out for a night to break up the trip.
We started out by taking an early morning train to a bus station in Satna, a short distance away, where we had a few hours wait. The place was crowded and dusty, including all the cows roaming around, and at this one particular stop we were approached by beggar children. We read before coming that while tempting to give them money, it often does not go to the benefit of the children themselves and often encourages them to beg more on the streets as opposed to going to school. Many people provide pens and stickers in the place of money for the children. We grabbed a quick lunch at a local place nearby. There was a young boy training to be a waiter. He was nice, and when he brought a pitcher of water to our table filled with Indian tap water, we politely thanked him and ordered two cokes (never touching the water).
We hopped on our bus, which was a bit crowded so we had to hold our bags in our laps for the several hours drive to Khajuraho. Luckily the breeze from the open windows kept us cool. On the way, we passed by a river as the sun was starting to set, casting off beautiful reds and oranges in the sky. It was a beautiful sight . . .until the person behind us in the van threw his trash out the window and John spotted a man reliving himself in said river. Oh, India.
We arrived at another bus station where we had to switch buses, though luckily the initial price we paid was honored. It was a shorter ride to a major intersection outside of Khajuraho where we had to take a tuk-tuk to the center of town and our hotel. Luckily the man was very nice, though his driving was a bit erratic. At one point we were just riding across a dirt field, but he told us it was a short cut. We arrived unscathed at our hotel for the evening and paid the driver a fair price. The hotel itself was clean and spacious and had a nice courtyard and restaurant where we could enjoy dinner.
The next day we enjoyed the temple complex a short walk away. Indeed the temples were well preserved, and the detail of the sexual acts depicted were still plain for all to see. The Kama Sutra originated in India, so the explicit sexuality of the temples should not have come as a surprise--but even I underestimated the . . . imagination . . of the creators. Two-somes, three-somes, orgies, acrobatic poses, bestiality--the temples had it all in clear relief carvings.
Still, it was an interesting site to wander and we were able to enjoy a delicious lunch with some of the BEST tandoori roti we had in India at a local restaurant.
Touring took just the one day, and the following morning we were up and out to make the trip to Agra and the Taj Mahal--the must-do of anyone’s trip to India. Luckily we had made arrangements with the same tuk-tuk driver to take us to the train station that morning and had agreed on a price of 100 Rp. That morning, the hotel clerk leads us outside to help load our bags on the tuk-tuk and informs us the driver will take us to the station for the price of 150 Rp. “Hold up!” we say, letting him know we had already settled on a price of 100 with the driver, who confirmed. Sneaky front desk guy wouldn’t pull one on us at that point! We were becoming tuk-tuk negotiating pros.
We arrived at the bus station and caught the train to Agra. It took almost all day, about 8.5 hours, but luckily we had an AC 2-tier car this time, which meant we had an assigned bunk thing that we could sit and lay out on, and there was also a plug for our electronics. We were able to buy meals from the cart that passed by on occasion, making sure to take the vegetarian option!
We arrived in Agra in the evening and had a prearranged tuk-tuk to our hotel, which had come highly rated on Trip Advisor. The young guy who ran it with his mother spoke excellent English, was well-acquainted with foreigners, had really nice and clean accommodation, and helped make secure bookings to tour the area. His mother was extremely kind as well, showing us pictures of the the wife she picked out for her son, who was to be married that year. He was way more interested in where to purchase the newest X-box console. We were able to grab dinner that night at a Southern-Indian style restaurant and it was just a delicious as the Northern food!
The hotel arranged a driver for us for the following morning to take us around the area. He dropped us off in the morning outside the Taj complex and warned us not to listen to the touts who claim it is a long walk to the Taj, as it is only a few hundred meters. We arrive at the ticket office where there is a special, and shorter, line for tourists, where they get their special, more expensive ticket to enter the complex. It really wasn’t that expensive anyway, so it didn’t matter, and they gave us a bag for our shoes (to carry them so they didn’t get stolen) and a water bottle (which we checked thoroughly for signs of tampering) and entered.
The complex already had a lot of visitors, as many come for the sunrise, I suspect. However, it was still beautiful in the slightly hazy (it’s India, it was always a little hazy) early morning light. We snapped a few photos at the front of the complex, but not those dumb ones that so many people take of themselves placing their finger on the top of the dome. The place is so beautiful, no need to ruin it with a dumb tourist photo. We made our way along the pool until we reached the marble steps leading up to the building and took off our shoes to place them in the plastic bags. The marble work up close is truly beautiful, and there is actually some color here and there. From all angles, it is truly a beautiful monument.
We stayed maybe 1.5 hours at the place, walking around and through the mausoleum, enjoying the highlight of India, before heading back out to wait for our driver. We had agreed upon a time and place, and stood there waiting for quite a while, maybe 20 minutes after our arranged time, worrying that the guy had ditched us for the day. Luckily, he showed up, and drove us to the next place to explore: The Red Fort. It is another UNESCO Heritage site located a short distance from the Taj. Indeed, legend has it that the Sultan who built the Taj Mahal was imprisoned by his son at the Red Fort and was forced to watch his beloved structure from across the river. This place, too, had some nice architecture.
At one point we stopped at a small marble/mosaic factory to watch men make mosaics with pieces of colored marble. Our driver also brought us to his recommended restaurant, where prices were a little higher than what had been usual in India. The food was good, but we understood what was happening.
Our last stop for the day was the “Baby Taj,” a rather small and inconspicuous building, built with the same white marble and mosaics inside, but this one was significantly more underwhelming than the real thing and very much in need of repair. Down below the building, along the river, we watched Indian women shape and dry cow dung in the sun in order to sell them for fuel. Apparently seasoned cow dung burns quite well.
Our day in Agra was nice, but John I agreed all the extra places were not really necessary (and the whole tour cost significantly more than what just visiting the Taj ourselves would have cost), but it was an enjoyable day. However, the inescapable and pervasive dust was starting to irritate my throat and give me a nasty cough. We had to stay at a neighboring homestay-like accommodation that night, as our initial place was full. Apparently it was members of the same family. When we arrived, we were sat down in the living room while we signed in and this older couple’s young daughter went to make copies of our passports. They were nice, but it was just a bit awkward. There were random moments of silence and they asked us questions about the other place, as I guess in some ways they compete against each other for business. However, they helped us arrange for an early morning taxi the following morning (the driver we used that day wanted to charge us an exorbitant amount) and went to relax in our rooms.
We had a late lunch that day, so were not very hungry, plus my throat was killing me from coughing up all the dust, so we decided to stay in and rest and skip dinner. However, around 7 p.m. the father comes to check on us as he noticed we had not left our rooms to get food. John tells him that we were not hungry and that I was feeling under the weather with a sore throat, so he comes back with some honey and hot water for me, which I felt was very kind. The following morning we had to wake up quite early to catch our 5:30 a..m train to Jaipur, for which we had booked AC chair seats. The lovely couple even got up early with us to prepare a simple breakfast before we left and made sure the taxi driver knew where to take us.
We got to the crowded station just fine at around 5:00 a.m., only to discover, to our horror, that our train had been cancelled. We booked reserved tickets 2 weeks in advance, as they can fill up quickly, and so had to go to the ticket office to try and book seats on the next train. Unfortunately, all the reserved seats for the next train had filled up, so we were given “general admission” tickets for the next train. People with these tickets just have a free for all in the last few train cars--no reserved or assigned seats. As the train pulls up, many people run and launch their baggage through the windows and climb aboard while the train in still moving, just so they can get in the car. As we saw people do this while our train approached I looked at John and said “no way.”
I had read that people without reserved seats could find a train conductor on board and upgrade to a reserved seat in the cheapest tier, “sleeper car,” for a small fee.We decided this was our best option, so we got on a random train car and took a walk down a few aisles, but didn’t have luck finding a conductor or empty seats--even though the benches went 3 high on either side. When the train started to move, we found an empty space in the galley between cars where there were “toilets” and sinks where many Indians brushed their teeth with a strange black or red paste.
At the next stop, we got out and ran a few cars down, hoping to find a train employee to enquire about getting seats. After the train started moving again, we finally found a train conductor for that section, checking seats and tickets in the sleeper car. We approached and told him our dilemma--that our previous train was cancelled so we were given general admission tickets for this train but wanted to upgrade to a reserved seat. He checked his list and walked us to the other end of the car where 2 seats were meant to be empty. Unfortunately, there were already people there, but when he asked them to produce tickets for those seats and they didn’t have them, he kicked them out and gave us those seats instead. We paid our upgrade fee and spent the next 3 hours or so sitting awkwardly while the fellow travelers around us stared at the strange foreigners sitting in the “cheap” section of the train. Our neighbor was a nice man, who tried to chat with us a little and assured us that we were their guests.
We were quite relieved to arrive at Jaipur that morning, though once again had to fight off tuk tuk drivers as we made our way out of the station. We were approached initially by a young tuk tuk driver, but we politely declined and headed toward the stand in the middle of the lot where you could give your destination and they would charge you a flat rate and assign a driver. We were assigned a middle aged man who spoke great English, said his name was Don. He told us that he had a large family but his sister lived in America and helped them out and gave them advice to attract more business from tourists (use official channels, be honest and reliable, get feedback) etc… I don’t know if it was true or if he was just savy, but it made us trust him more so we managed to arrange a tour with him the following day around Jaipur for a price that suited us.
The hotel we stayed at in Jaipur was great, clean rooms, a nice courtyard, and delicious food. It was close to the major attractions. The following morning we were told by another guy in a car, not a tuk tuk, that he was in the same family as the original guy, who was unable to take us around that day, but that he would give us a tour in his car for the same price. He called himself Ali Baba, which was kind of fun. He even explained the whole schtick of being required to take us to a few merchants as part of the tour in exchange for promotion of business between the two--but he told us that we didn’t have to buy anything.
He was a generally nice and straightforward guy, though I was just a bit weary that they had simply learned to tell tourists what they wanted to hear. The first place we went was a co-op garment factory where you could have your own sari or tunic made. This was something I really wanted to do, and I was able to pick out the fabric and the trim. Apparently the ladies that work there would be able to sew it that day. He assured us they paid their workers fair wages (and I hope that was true).
However, during the fitting, it was clear I was losing my voice from all the coughing and dust. He gave me some special drink that I was supposed to gargle to make it better, and told me that he could tell right away that my chakra was blocked. My chakra, huh? He offered to take me to see his guru, so that my chakra could become unclogged so to speak, but I told him that I would manage . . . I did gargle the drink, but in the end it didn’t do much.
We were able to check out some of the great tourist sites in Jaipur that day, including the monuments around the Pink City, an old observatory consisting of an equinoctial sundial (had to look that one up) called Jantar Mantar, the Amer Fort, Hawa Mahal, and the Water Palace. The day was quite relaxed without any hustling, save for the children who offered to take our picture with the water palace, provided we paid them. We also politely declined.
I was indeed able to pick up my hand-made tunic at the end of the day to take with me!
The following morning we used the same family of tuk-tuk drivers to take us to the airport. We were on our way to our last city in India, Varanasi, but the trains I looked up would take a long time and didn’t seem promising, so we opted for a flight to Lucknow on a budget Indian airline and would then take a few hours train from there.
The Indian airport was not the most pleasant experience. While we had booked our flights and had our booking reference and ID, the airline required a receipt, which we had to pay $4 for them to print it out. During security, the workers ended up taking apart my bag for absolutely no reason. He took out a pen and my round hairbrush, yes, HAIRBRUSH, to inspect it and send it back through the scanners. I was not at all trusting of the men, so I made sure to keep a keen eye on all my belongings while they looked through everything (unnecessarily). The flight was a little wonky as the captain kept changing altitude suddenly, but luckily it was a short flight and we landed (safely) in Lucknow in less than an hour.
It was raining when we arrived and we grabbed a tuk tuk from the airport to the train station. While we waited for our train at the station, we noticed that this one played host to monkeys hanging in the rafters and a man walking around trying to sell hasheesh to everyone. Having not eaten anything all morning, I looked for snacks at the station but nothing seemed appetizing, so I thought I would wait until we got on the train to get one of their pre-made curry meals. However, it turns out that there was no food on the train, so we had to wait another few hours until we arrived at our final destination of Varanasi.
We had arranged a pick-up with our hotel, and luckily it was a car as it was raining (though the car was very old and had no windshield wipers). We had a bizarre experience of touts trying to convince us to leave the car and use their tuk tuks, saying our driver was terrible and an alcoholic. The guy drove fine, though the back alleys of Varanasi with no streetlights in the rain was not an easy commute.
We finally arrived at our hotel, but were famished after going a day without eating anything. Our hotel manager gave us a name of a good place to go where we could find Indian/Nepali food. We walked there in the rain (I in my flip flops) but the dirt and . . . other things . . on the street had turned to mud and were getting my feet quite dirty. We arrived at a simple restaurant that was packed with foreigners--the hippy kind who have dreadlocks and wear Aladdin pants (we would find them all over Kathmandu). We ordered food, which ended up being delicious curry, but having to wait over an hour to get it was further torture for our empty stomachs.
On the walk back to our hotel we got lost and wandered through the rain and dirty streets for a while before finally finding our way. We were wet and tired, and I made sure to give my feet and flip flops a good rinse in the shower before we went to bed that night. The next morning it was slightly sunny while we ate breakfast and I was able to get a nice view of the Ganges river from the patio that looked out from the bank.
The sun soon gave way to clouds and drizzly rain, but we decided to venture out anyway.
Varanasi is considered a very spiritual place in India. Many people who die come here to have their bodies cremated and placed in the river. If you die a young child, or a virgin, they send you into the river without cremation. Various sections along the river are divided into “Ghats” and each one has a different purpose. We caught a boat ride that morning from a local man to visit the burning ghats where they bring the bodies for cremation. We didn’t get too close and I only used my telephoto lense from far away in order to respect the ceremonies.
We spent the rest of the day wandering the alleys of Varanasi. I think throughout the day we had no less than 7 funeral ceremonies go past us on their way to the burning ghats. Their bodies were covered with white shrouds (though sometimes their faces showed) sprinkled with bright yellow, orange, and red flowers. At one point we walked past a huge line to visit a local shrine. It was raining so people were packed close to one another, using any means to stay dry. Many did not have shoes. One man clearly had elephantitis in his swollen leg.
We managed to find a cafe to stay out of the rain. It was western food, so we were able to grab a coffee as well. Our final stop was a famous lassi shop we heard about that made real Indian lassi in clay pots. Many other foreigners who also read the LP guide were there, but the lassi did not disappoint.
After that, we made our way back to our hotel along the sea wall steps leading down to the Ganges. The same river where they dump bodies we found people bathing, shampooing, doing laundry--the river itself is considered terribly polluted, this this doesn’t stop the daily tasks of life, and death, from continuing along its banks.
The next morning was our last day in India. Luckily the rain had stopped, but we had to get up very early again to catch a morning train to Gorakhpur in the north, closer to the border with Nepal. We made our way downstairs and had to wake up the hotel manager, who was snoring so loudly while sleeping in the common room I was surprised the whole hotel didn’t wake up. We paid our bill and he called us an early taxi to take us to the train station.
The train was only meant to be a few hours, arriving at Gorakhpur around late morning, but we ended up being delayed over 2 hours. It was so very frustrating because the delay was at the 2nd to last stop, and we just sat there for two hours waiting. At one point John grabbed us some samosas from a street vendor on the platform. They were actually delicious and some of the only street food we had in India. When we finally arrived at Gorakhpur, we had to catch a bus for another 3 hours to get to the border crossing with Nepal. The bus ride was quite dusty and muddy, and we made it to the border town by 5 p.m. I was hoping we would have arrived much sooner in order to arrange a day bus to Kathmandu, as I heard the overnight buses were a bit of a risk. However, we had accommodation already booked in Kathmandu, and as there was nowhere to stay for the night, we went ahead and booked in on the 8 p.m. overnight bus.
The Indian immigration office was under construction and was quite the unofficial experience in a ramshackle office. However, we managed to get stamped out of India and get our Nepali visas (and change money) before walking over the border. Nepal has their own calendar system and a time difference from India, so once we sorted out the correct bus time we were able to grab dinner before beginning our Nepali adventure (and what an adventure it would be!)
India had proven to be a really great experience. Despite the stares, and the crowds, and the dust (I still had a persistent cough at this point), we truly enjoyed the culture. And, most importantly, the food. We never got sick! We learned more about how to negotiate, how to be patient, how to be cautious, and when to be open.We learned how to get by on little sleep, and how to laugh at flatulating cows when it is 4 a.m. and you are sitting in a darkened bus station. India instilled in us a little bit more resilience on our travels, I think. It was certainly a step outside of our comfort zones. For that, I am truly grateful. India is a huge place, and somewhere I would most like to visit again someday, to become uncomfortable again, and see how much more I can learn.
