Sunday, December 18, 2005

MahaRajasthan




MahaRajasthan



It was indeed a sad day to be leaving our beloved Nepal where the three of us had had such a fantastic time but although our tour of Rajasthan, a north-western province of India, was not to entail quite so many adventurous activities, I for one was pretty excited. Rajasthan was such a melting pot of Mughal, Hindu and British influences and cultures and I was very much looking forward to seeing the lands of the Maharajas that I'd read about in school. Sure we'd heard horror stories about touts, litter, beggars, smog, ridiculous traffic, mosquitos etc (and that was just describing Delhi airport), but I was keen for some real culture and history.


Red Fort in Delhi


Everything started out so well, we landed in Delhi no problems, a relatively uneventful taxi ride (no dead bodies roadside this time) to the tourist mecca of Pahar Gang and enjoyed a nice day in Delhi organising our train tickets and checking out the Red Fort, the old palace from which various Mughal emperors once ruled their Indian empire. We were soon on our first train journey (the only way to travel in India), which was delightfully comfortable and speedy; we soon arrived in the Sikh heartland city of Amritsar.

The beautiful Golden Temple in Amritsar.

The trains I would think are one of the biggest legacies of the British Raj, you can pretty much travel from anywhere to anywhere in India via their incredibly extensive rail network and all in reasonable time, great comfort and at affordable expense. That is of course if you manage to book one of the air-conditioned classes before the tourist quota is exhausted; if you are forced to travel coach/cattle class, well that's a completely different story.



The slightly kitsch machismo of the border closing ceremony in Atari.

The good times continued as we checked out the magnificent Golden Temple in Amritsar, the most holy site of the Sikh religion and then it was over to the football atmosphere of the ridiculously camp and over-the-top Indian-Pakistani border closing ceremony, surely the inspiration for many a Monty Python sketch (or vice versa), 30 km west in the town of Atari. Yes, India was fun, fascinating and remarkably comfortable up to that point.


In a tight one, I think the Pakistanis in all black were slightly more intimidating despite the imposing red peacock frill, long white gators and frilly cumerbun worn by the Indians.

From here on in, things started to go a little pear shaped. We had no set-in-stone itinerary at this stage and all we knew at this point that we wanted to head far south-west to the fairytale desert town of Jaisalmer within the next few days. We were literally handing over the money to book our trains back south to Delhi and then express to Jaisalmer when a seemingly friendly gentleman pointed out that we could catch a bus to Jaisalmer, a far more direct route with the added "bonus" of stopping in the "interesting" town of Bikaner, supposedly home of the eighth wonder of the world which I shall explain shortly. So off we bustle to Amritsar bus station for what we thought would be a comparitively short overnight journey to Bikaner.

I look back upon this decision and wonder what might have been had we not been so naive, so raw, so trusting, if only we'd known the difference between a tourist bus and a government bus. I should have known when we bought our tickets for only 100 Rupees that it was too good to be true to expect any level of comfort. You see, on government buses, they don't exactly sell seats, they sell alotments, tiny little plots within which you are required to perform all sorts of contortionist feats for hours on end to remain within. The three of us were squeezed into our tiny bench seat, knees crushed against the driver panel in front with any leg space that may have been assumed to be ours taken by evermore Indians convinced that there was room for at least 3 people in that space my right leg was taking up.


8 hours...


I can't begin to describe how painful that trip was. Despite the fact that it was 2:00am, the driver continued to blare abhorent Hindi pop music at full blast through speakers not worthy of servicing a Tandy AM radio. And although the idea of genuine sleep was but a fart in the wind, dozing with eyes closed was a far better prospect to opening your eyes occasionally to see huge trucks, horns a-blarin' bearing straight down on us before we madly swerved at the last minute off the essentially one lane road/goat track. Tim in the aisle "seat" had it the worst however, at various times he had an a gentlemen sitting on his lap, a hefty woman's bust resting on his shoulder and at one point a man's genitalia within centimetres of his face. Laughing at Tim was in fact the only thing that kept me sane for that eight hours of torture. And the bus trip was just the start...



Typical roadscape of Rajasthan as taken from the much more comfortable rooftop "seats".

After being told to get off the bus at 3:00am in the morning, literally in the middle of nowhere, we somehow miraculously caught the connecting bus to arrive in Bikaner but by that time I had once again ceased to exert any semblance of control over my gastrointestinal movements, primary suspect being a very dodgy roadhouse mid-journey. My bowel was once again functioning more as a second bladder, only its discharge was somehow even more viscous. Now the three of you who actually read my previous blogs would know that I had experienced some fairly decent bouts of travellers diaorhhea in recent times but this one was mind-blowing in its severity. Seven days without so much as a hint of any solidity, literally pissing out your backside really starts to colour your experiences of a place. From here on in I'm not sure what the opposite of rose-coloured glasses are, but I was definitely wearing them. Shit brown glasses perhaps.


Suspect number 2 - Free meals and accommodation is provided for the needy (i.e. me) at the Golden Temple. I have my suspicions about the food...


Suspect number 3 - This crazy dude we shared a taxi with stuck his finger right in my mouth. Don't ask.

Highest on crappy brown scale was undoubtedly Bikaner, a very nondescript desert town with no great claim to fame apart from a small temple about an hour out of the town into the desert, the self-proclaimed 8th Wonder of the World that is the Rat Temple. We had actually been remotely excited upon learning of this temple, images of Indiana Jones and flaming torches flickering in dark tunnels were conjured up but the reality was that it was a small open building covered in excrement with the most decrepid mangled and sickly looking rodents running all around under your feet, which were tragically shoeless (my feet, as well as the rodents) being that it is a holy temple. The whole thing took about 5 minutes to inspect and afterwards your socks had to be incinerated less you transport about 47 infectious diseases back to your hotel room.

Rat temple - Charming. Bikaner did at least have an exceptionally rich Maharaja at least who built this nice little palace, now a fancy hotel.

One thing that I found mildly disturbing about the religious practises of Hindus is their treatment of their holy sites and animals. The river Ganges and various lakes such as that in Pushkar have tremendous significance within Hinduism yet they essentially double as the only form of organised garbage disposal I came across in India, literally everything and everything is dumped into these bodies of water.

The beatiful teardrop lake/watery landfill of Pushkar.

Furthermore everybody knows of how sacred cows are to Hindus, and they literally rule the streets, I once had to wait 10minutes for a cow to move away from the door to my hotel before I could enter (they also provide the only give way traffic rule that is even remotely adhered to on Indian roads). As far as I could see however, nobody tends to look after these poor animals and so they wander about, gaunt and starving, sifting through piles of waste and garbage, eating plastic bags in desperation. In addition, there are thousands of stray dogs and wild pigs running riot everywhere, all fending for themselves in the middle of every town we came across.

For the next week of our tour as we continued our loop back towards Delhi, I continued having a crap time due to my seriously poor state of health. As a result I regrettably have few precious memories of much of the rest of the trip apart from nautiously staring up at the ceiling of our various hotel rooms and watching very strange Indian TV. There are about two actors employed in all of India as far as I can tell, Shah Rukh Khan and a one Amitabh Bachchan, a 63 year old man whose stomach complaint and following treatment made front page headlines for several weeks. He also happens to be host of Millionaire and advertise (I'm not exaggerating) in excess of 40 products. The man has more presence than Big Brother, he's literally everywhere (coincidentally his nickname is Big B, no joke).

One of the more memorable adverts we saw. Perhaps domestic violence has been in decline of recent times...

Inside the walls of the living fort of Jaisalmer (above).

The incredible blue city of Jodpur.

When I did manage to summon enough strength to venture outside, there were some fascinating highlights. Jaisalmer's living fort and surrounding village camoflauged itself within the desert surroundings that stretched on forever, the amazing blue city of Jodphur and its amazing fortress and walls that dominated the skyline and the view over the teardrop lake of Pushkar at sunset from high above, were all memorable highlights that shone out despite my inability to fully appreciate them at the time.

Jaisalmer fort walls (above) and the markets inside (below).



The magnificent and imposing fort above Jodpur.

Of course everything in India tends to fade in comparison to the Taj Mahal. Pretty expensive to get in (750R for tourists, 20R for Indians...) but worth every penny, or paise, in my opinion. To see the immaculate detail and craftsmanship up close was something that no photo could ever convey, despite the hundreds that everyone has seen of this amazing work of art. Even some 400 years later, I´m sure that it remains as beautiful and in as immaculate condition as the day it was completed. This was common to most mughal buildings that we came across; in my opinion these forts, palaces and towers far exceeded any of their European contemporaries in majesty and opulence.

No description required.

This facade carved from sandstone within the Jodpur fort is just one of the many examples of the incredible detail in so many Indian buildings.

The other great Indian work of art that rivaled the Taj Mahal itself, was of course the magnificent McDonalds Maharaja burger, the Indian Big Mac only with chicken for obvious reasons. One of my happiest memories of my time in India was the discovery in Jaipur of those beautiful golden arches after over a week of being scared shitless (very ironic in my case) to touch any Indian food. Very uncouth and culturally backwards of course and I do regret not being brave enough to experiment more with the undoubtedly delicious range of Indian cuisine but the Maharaja was just that damn good.

Jaipur, capital of Rajasthan and the province's only McDonalds outlet.

Once I started to regain some strength and control over my bodily functions, the things that had started to irritate me beyond sanity actually started to endear themselves to me. In a way its a shame that my two companions decided to cut short our Rajasthan tour in favour of Goa as I was only just starting to enjoy myself. I´m going to miss the haggling EVERY single time you wish to buy anything, playing the game to get the best deal, those madcap drivers of the deathtrap autorickshaws, talking endlessly about Indian cricket with anyone and everyone within two sentences of beginning a conversation, dodging cows, stray dogs and the aforementioned drivers on manic streets, the beautiful sunsets every evening (pollution does have some benefit by giving the sun a beautiful pink haze), having marching bands randomly organising a rehearsal right outside our door, catching trains through everchanging landscapes, and generally being in a land of such fascinating history where there was always something new to discover everyday. Buses not so much.

One of the many beautiful sunsets we enjoyed. All thanks to pollution....

Quite the wakeup call...

It was thus that I headed to Goa with more than a hint of remorse, even a tad of resentment, at lost opportunities in Rajasthan. The discovery of the pristine beaches, palm trees, bamboo huts, gorgeous women, delicious seafood, motor scooters and ridiculously cheap beer was enough however to convince me quite wholeheartedly of the merits of our decision. Mmm, Goa. Awesome....but more of that later,

Til then....


In memory of our good friend Buck

23.11.2005 - 25.11.2005




















Monday, November 21, 2005

Annapurna Circuit Trek

Annapurna Circuit Trek




At last it was time to put to put the horror of Tibet behind us and head into the mountains once again, this time it was the beautiful Annapurna circuit, a 250-odd km circumnavigation of the Annapurna range. Unfortunately even on the day we were to depart my stomach still felt like a natural gas refinery and Pat's regular burping was comparable to farting through his mouth, a persistent and none to pleasant reminder of our Tibetan experience. The wonderdrug that is cipro seemed to be taking its sweet time to take effect and the extremely bumpy 5hr local bus trip from Kathmandu to start our trek was certainly touch and go there for a while. Thankfully however I managed to avert the threat of quite the embarrassing pullover midjourney and the cipro finally kicked in.


Took a while for us to actually hit the trail as following the first bus trip, we faced another 3hrs to the starting town of Besisahar. Whilst looking very tourist like in our confusion of finding our next bus, we were ushered into the back of tarp covered jeep and whisked away in a matter of seconds. So here we were, in the back of a truck, in an enclosed cabin with absolutely no idea where we were meant to be going, and all in the heart of Maoist territory. Felt like were being kidnapped and sure enough it wasn't long until our vehicle pulled over in the middle of nowhere to be surrounded by fierce firebrands demanding all sorts of information and money. And sweets. Sure they were all four feet tall and dressed in school uniform but it was terrifying stuff. And there was no getting around them, what with their impenetrable road blockades of tissue paper and daisy chains.

On the back of the bus roof which we caught as our final leg before the hike began. Pat was in front of us chatting up some American girls whilst Tim and I kept ourselves amused at the prospect of Pat burbing mid conversation.


Nepalis have neverending festivals throughout the year (its one continuous holiday it seems) and strangely enough each festival involves the tradition of foreigners giving money (and sweets) as the main feature according to Nepalis of course. (Got so annoying after a while that we just started asking the Nepali kids for sweets before they got started. Pat actually had some success, I think they were just amazed to see what they obviously thought was a small child with such a thick beard). The only other distinguishing feature of these festivals as far as I could gather was some really bad singing of incredibly repetitive songs that keep you awake well into the night. Anyhow we managed to survive this journey in tact, with all 5 and 10 rupee notes accounted for despite stopping at these damn "checkpoints" every 100m.


Some typical scenes we encountered early on in the trek in low altitudes.


Annapurna is generally regarded as the most diverse trek in Nepal both geographically and culturally as it starts from around only 1000m above sea level and reaches a high point of over 5400m. The first few days were typically beautiful, lots of villages surrounded by rice paddys and terraced fields etc. Found the going very different from the Everest BC trek primarily due to the due to the ridiculously hot climate and the bountiful supply of oxygen we had at these low altitudes. Felt like we were bounding up the hills in comparison which was fortunate because there are a lot of hills as you could well imagine when you ascend 4.5 vertical km.


Joost and Ashley were a fantastic couple we shared many a meal and game of Dutch Uno with along the way. We were extremely fortunate to meet so many great people along the way which really added to the trip. I was getting so sick of the other guys...


Fortunately as we ascended into cooler climates, the scenery seemed to be inversely proportional to the temperature, the sheer spectacle of our surroundings continued to increase every day it seemed. The path basically follows and crosses a large river (whose name escapes me) and is often cut into sheer black rock faces of mountains covered in pine and fur trees with tiny villages dotted amongst them. Awesome scenes all around which seemed more typical of postcards highlighting Canada or Colarado than Nepal. Adding to the beauty of our surrounds was the picture perfect weather we enjoyed, in fact we didn't see a single cloud for the first 12 days of our trek.

More scenes on the way up.

Only detriment up to this point was our little run in with the real Maoists who demanded more than sweets. You know you're in Maoist territory on this trek due to the unfashionably large amount camo pants but you go there expecting to pay some sort of "voluntary donation" and its a relatively painless experience. You do however have to spend some time listening to their communist speal, during which they regulary cite their desire for a "communist democracy". When I tried to point out that this was quite the oxymoron, one guy tried to convince me that oxygen was in salt and that salt was the key to life. Hmmm. Anyways, we each paid 1000 rupee (about $20) and that was that.



The whole Maoist rebellion has been going on since 1996 and has flared up a bit in recent years due to the doubtful circumstances in which the current, very unpopular king assumed power. Seems a very stagnant conflict however, the token army/police presence on the trail claim to not know where the Maoists are, despite their whereabouts being common knowledge amongst locals and trekkers alike. My suggestion to solve the conflict is to take the Maoists to Tibet and see what Mao did to that place.


Some of the more majestic (and frickin cold) surroundings encountered as we really started to get into some altitude (i.e. 4000m +)


Before heading off on this trek, I made one of the best purchases of my life in a down jacket as once we hit decent altitude, it was frickin COLD. Regularly below freezing as soon as the sun passed down behind the giant mountain walls all around us and the thick blankets of snow across the landscape made the tropical conditions of only a few days previously seem a world away. Unfortunately, although no longer losing precious litres through my porous backside, I encountered a quagmire of a different sort as each day the snow melted into the well trodden path resulting in Somme like conditions. By this stage we were approaching the Thorung La, a high pass during which you ascend to the highest point on the trail. A week or so before we arrived, an unseasonably late monsoon storm dumped a huge amount of snow on the pass, the likes of which have not been seen for quite a number of years. The pass was initially umm, unpassable but it had consolidated enough by the time we reached it to make a very slippery and hesitant crossing.

A rare patch of semi dry trail.


What a day. Due to our time constraints and resultant concerns of developing AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) due to lack of proper acclimatisation, we decided to push from a lower town than is typically done. To achieve this we headed off at 4:30am in pitch black, FREEZING conditions, and as to be bloody expected, a flu just when I needed it least. Was so cold that our water supply had frozen within about five minutes and I soon had massive frozen boogers plastered across my face a`la Dumb and Dumber. Faced a daunting 1200m+ ascent up to the pass, a long arduous process in which we encountered many deflating false summits. We finally reached the top however at around 11am but the moment of triumph was soon dulled with the realisation that the usually gentle downhill path descending some 1800m, was covered in hard ice and compacted snow.


Some views of the ascent up to the path, all at about 7am at this stage. Absolutely awe-inspiring. And buggering.


Basically imagine an ice rink tilted at 20 degrees (at least) and you get some idea of what we were facing. Now Aussies and ice flat out don't mix and Tim and I were hardly Torvill and Dean on the prevailing conditions. Was SO tedious, you had to lean forward and take tiny steps, all the while concentrating intensely. One little slipup in concentration typically resulted in one huge slipup onto your arse. Tim and I realised we were fighting a losing battle and decided to use our backsides as they seemed so attracted to the snow. Was great fun to slide down, particularly in preformed, powdery chutes which you could use your outstretched feet as effective breaks. Hit a section of pure ice however and you were in the lap of the gods, exponential speeds were soon attained and monumental bruises accumulated. Often the only thing to stop you plummeting down the mountain was a large mogill, or, as I found out several times by close inspection at high speeds, a lightly sprinkled boulder. Supposedly there were several cases of broken legs, dislocated shoulders etc (one Mexican we knew slid for over 200m and was only saved from certain mutilation by a huge mogill that exploded like a grenade on impact) and so it was with great relief that we finally made it down safely some 12 hours after heading off.


My preferred technique of descent

A view of the last section of the pass behind us. Most of path was on the same gradient as you can see sloping behind us.


From then on it was a most speedy descent down to the lower altitudes and higher temperatures we were craving. We found ourselves following the Kali Gandaki river most of the way which wound its way through dusty arid plains at the feet of 8000m+ giants. Long days, aching feet, and neverending caravans of mules were typical during this period.

The scenery changed so rapidly on the way down, this was a view just after the pass, within a day we sweating our pants off again in humid thickly vegetated areas.

Just one of the many bridges we encountered whilst trying to pass frickin mule caravans.


Another element typical of the entire trek which I'm sure provides just as many highlights as the surrounding scenery is the unbelievable amount of ultracheap weed and hash that is available on the trail, you could even pick it yourself if you deviated a few metres off the track. Hell, most trail maps even tell you where it is. You could be walking along in a typically beautiful mountain scene when a farmer behind his plough, a woman behind the counter, even a small child no more than six years old new to the family business would rush up to you trying to make a deal for some "hashish". Bit disturbing, I imagine it would be quite strange haggling over the price and quality of the merchandise with a six year old. ("no, no, this is good shit man" etc.)

The three of us preferred to get our kicks the natural and legal way and there was nowhere better to do so than Tatopani, a beautiful village located right next to the river and famous for its hot springs. I can tell you the sensation of drinking an ice cold Everest beer whilst soaking your aching muscles in a steaming hot bath is rarely surpassed. Very much my happy place on the trail.


How's the serenity....


As always on these treks, you may be heading downhill but there are always some nasty sections which you are in absolutely no mood to tackle. Just when you think you're nearly done, you face an 1800m ascent up to the Maoist centre of Ghorepani from which you climb the famous Poon Hill which provides magnificent views of all the Himalayan giants which you have just circled. Certainly a lot of effort to make it up there (I nearly died when I realised I'd run out of snickers halfway up) but as it was the closest any of us were going to get to any of its namesake, Poon Hill was a must and the views at sunrise certainly didn't disappoint.

Views of the sunset from Poon Hill.


Unfortunately we had another encounter with the Maoists in Ghorepani, and this time it was a lengthy discussion for nearly 2 hours as we tried to explain that we had already paid enough (they generally give you receipt but its such a disorganisation that they often don't recognise it in a different area). They claimed that many people try to cheat them (which incidentally we were trying to do) and Tim thought that they said that Maoists really didn't want to be forced to sue people who did so. Tim was in hearty agreement with them on this, what with all the legal dramas involved and long drawn out court appearances with expensive lawyer fees etc. that nobody wants when they're on holiday. When our kiwi buddy Dave subtly pointed out to Tim that they actually said "shoot people", as was obvious by our Maoist friend's not so subtle display of his large pistol, Tim was also in hearty agreement with that statement too.


Where are the communists?

Our Kiwi mate Dave with us just after sunrise on Poon Hill.


Was sad to finish up the last of our trekking adventures on this trip but it certainly wasn't sad to complete the 5000+ stone steps which we had descend on our last day. More painful than any ascent and I'm particularly glad we didn't have to walk anywhere the next day. But just when we thought the thrills were over, we were faced with the final taxi ride to Pokhara, the second largest city in Nepal and a brilliant place to hang out. We somehow managed to choose the worst looking taxi of the lot (quite a feat) although our taxi driver did look a million bucks with his curly permed mullet and tan pleather jacket. So the four of us get in (Kiwi Dave included) and we start roaring along these tiny mountain side roads, playing chicken with every large bus and truck coming in the opposite direction. We tried to start some conversation with the driver to ease the tension but we quickly realised that he spoke essentially no english. The only words he seemed to know were "no brakes, no brakes" which he said while pumping the middle pedal and laughing hysterically, until he had to spit of course which was literally every 15 seconds for the entire terrifying 45 minute journey. His gear downshift skills were admirable however and we did eventually arrive safely in Pokhara although with slightly thinner hair, which God knows Tim can hardly afford.


The last day was amazing (apart from the steps) with beautiful sub tropical rainforest for most of the trip. So much diversity in the two weeks.


I'm going to miss this place....