When I came to Nepal it was the Annapurna circuit that represented the big challenge. Yet once complete an all together different challenge lay ahead of me; traveling back to Delhi overland and in double quick time. Before coming out to Asia I realised that by far the cheapest way to travel is to get a Jet flight to Delhi. For less than three hundred pounds you can find yourself slap bang in the middle of what to some is viewed as a cultural melting pot whilst to others represents absolute bedlam. On reflection I fall somewhere between the two camps.
From Jomsom in the heart of the Himalaya I had three days to make it to Delhi to catch my flight home.
First up I had to make it back from Jomsom at the end of the Annapurna to the peaceful lakeside tourist town of Pokhara. I was presented with two option: a 15 minute flight or a 15 hour bus ride. In normal circumstances I would have taken the slow, adventurous option. However with limited time and the Yeti airlines plane having just 14 seats this represented an adventure in itself. I delved into my pockets, stumped up and was in Pokhara sipping Everest in no time.
The second leg of my trip would be a nice seven hour bus ride to the Indian border at Sundarijal. This was where the fun started. Within two hours of my 6.30 start the cool and calm of the Himalayas was being fast replaced by steamy lowlands and with this I started to sweat steadily into the tight bus seat. By early afternoon I was at the border - or at least I thought I was - in 32 degree heat. In the sweltering lowlands we had in fact cunningly been dropped 5km short. It was likely that the bicycle rickshaw drivers had made a deal with the driver and as such the man just below quickly became the recipient of my business as he rode me out of Nepal.
On the ride it was the usual developing world border scene - people everywhere, lorry lines and a genuine lack of coordination. Above this and balancing precariously I felt like Michael Palin - an Englishman looking on .. and even better I was wearing a shirt.
Once at the crossing I showed my Visa, got my stamp and headed through the gates into the super-populated world that is India.
My plan was to bus it down to Gorakphur where I had a train booked to take me to the Hindu pilgrimage city of Varanasi. I would spend the day there eating vegetable curry and taking in the sites before another overnight train back to New Delhi for the flight home.Coming into India the difference was immediately obvious. There were about ten times as many people (and they were all very excited!), Pepsi seemed to have sponsored the whole region and everything was on sale. To try and find a bus quickly and easily would be a challenge. Luckily many were in the same predicament and I got into a jeep come taxi which I was guaranteed would get me to Gorakphur in two hours as opposed to four for just a dollar. Armed with a samosa and having succumbed to the might of pepsi I comfortably settled into my window seat. Afer a few minutes it was all change. I had quickly become involved in what can only described as a record attempt to create maximum discomfort through the cramming of people into a vehicle. What ensued involved 2 people on the roof, 5 in the boot, 4 on the back seat and 4 in the front; the driver sat on a random passengers lap. Vehicle dragging on its sills we headed for Gorakphur.
Even out of town the difference between India and Nepal was marked. The roads were smoother, cars more primo and petrol stations more than just covered rubble pull-offs. It was only when one stopped that one area appeared to be in total meltdown - call me a snob but hygiene appeared to have completely gone out the window.
Arriving in Gorakphur I was excited. Since childhood I have always had a well hidden softspot for trains and railways. Indian Railways is often quoted as being the World's largest employer with over 2,500,000 people serving this classic system. As such I had an idea that the whole thing would work with an overly beaurocratic clockwork efficiency and that the stations and trains would be rather like travelling on British Rail circa 1952. When I got to the station a rather different reality set in.
People, insects and cows were distributed everywhere in what looked like equal number. Once inside there was little information to be had just sweet chai at 3p a cup and despite the cattle grids cows were constantly looking on.
After a six hour wait and donning both ipod and then ear plugs to drown out the endless announcements I boarded the "express." Nine hours and just 230 kilometers later found myself in Varanasi.
I paint a negative picture but I think the surprise of so many people and all the waiting was a huge change from Nepal and it would have been great with a little more acclimatisation. That said as I awoke, head covered in Mosquito bites, I looked out of the window to see dawn over the Northern Planes of India; the wait was worth it.
Varanasi itself involved more bicycle rickshawing and a day taking in the Ghats. This fantastic stretch of the Ganges is as far as I understand the Hindu religion's most sacred site of pilgrimage and I had wanted to experience it for some time. Bathing in the Ganges is said to remit you of all sin and as such the place is full of people or should I say men walking into the river in order to bathe. The colour, heat and smell was breathtaking and made for a moment of calm reflection somewhat out of sorts with the rest of my brief India experience. The pictures below give you that feel.
Yet after a day I was feeling jaded from all my travels and my ability to take in new experience had reached overload. I was ready for my return and I hit the station for the delayed night train to Delhi. Once aboard however I was thrilled to find an at seat, or should I say bunk, curry service - class. Rocking back and forth in my bunk I slept for ten hours and despite a cricked neck made it to the airport just in time for more beaurocracy and a well earnt flight back to blighty.
To pass the time I read The Book Thief (awful) and an overview of Ghandi. I mostly listened to 1950's blues and continue to do so with Sonny Boy Liston and Little Walter the current favourites - (thanks to the old man.)
A perfect shot... blurred:
Those cows:
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