The Wobble

I signed off my last post as I found myself on the aussie shore for the first time at last, I made the decision then not to blog as prolifically on my time here in australia as I did previously. The reason for this is simple, for the most part while I am here I will be catching up with old friends, new friends and relations. Its just not the kind of thing that would make interesting reading I am afraid. If and when I did strap on the backpack again and took off into the australian wilderness then of course I would get the itch to start rabbiting on about what trouble I contrived to get myself into.

Between finding a house to stay in melbourne and then finding a job and getting a start date for said job it has taken a while to find the chance to get out there and see the australian countryside. Well a couple of weeks ago I found some work and they had a couple of weeks before they were ready to have me into the office so I took this couple of weeks as a chance to go and do australia, or at least part of it. I did some research and narrowed my choices to these: Byron Bay, Tazmania or Broken Hill. Broken where you say? And you would be right, I was looking at one of them tourist rail passes you can get for the state of New South Wales and the most remote town you could find yourself in was Broken Hill, an old mining town and the site where they chose to film Mad Max 2. That was enough for me, who wants to lie on a beach all day long or swan around some world class national park. I wanted to go somewhere that it would take someone of emense stubborness to survive - the outback.

So the plan was simple, take the train up to sydney, check that place out for a few days - apparently they have some fancy shell shaped disco hall in the middle of it worth checking out. The train trip up through victoria and new south wales was a pleasant trip. From my blogs on india I’m sure you remember how much I enjoyed the train trips there. Now the trains are remarkably different here, cleaner, safer, air conditioned, more comfortable, more personal space but feck all that… A trip on an indian train is such an experience, this was more like a commute, a nice relaxing commute. I just stared out the window, day dreaming sometime concentrating just to count the number of minutes that pass between houses. This country is massive.

I arrived into sydney at 8 and met up with my old housemate from college debbie, she must be 90 at this stage. We went for some food and some pints to catch up on all the years that have slipped by in no time at all. After some much needed kip I got up on a glorious sydney day, I walked from bondi junction to darling point along the coast all the way to the opera house and up onto and beyond the harbour bridge. It is such a beautiful city to look at, to walk around. I had a wonderful day just traisping along not bothered by anything other than the occasional desire more than need to stick something in my belly. I met up with the girls later on for chow and yet more stories about past adventures.

Friday I took a trip out to see manly, the ferry ride out there gives you a great look at the harbour. While manly itself was built for fish and chips, up and down that beach, bit further on up to the cliffs and back and you are fit for some beers. Back to the house before hitting the town, well we did go see a rugby league match which started off great but the team we were meant to root for slowly slipped out of the game and by the end it was a bit of a cakewalk. No matter we didn’t let it dampen our night, more more more stories, travelling is great for the stories… The next day we all died a death but were revived when I cooked up a classic irish breakfast, at least 45000 calories per spoonful!!! 

While I sat on the couch in bondi junction, the most beautiful day outside the girls got at me to get out and pay bondi beach at least one visit while I was in this part of the world. So off we walked down the road, me ranting about all things possible under the sun, topics such as where to swedes get off being so damned beautiful to why the hell does canada even exist I found time to not only think of ringing but actually ringing the hostel in broken hill to make sure they were still open for business. So I rang them and to my absolute astontishment they only had one free bed in the place, this in a hostel with room for 100 people, this in a tiny mining village in the middle of absolutely no where. Sat on the beach in bondi I began to wonder what the hell is ahead of me…

I bade farewell to the girls early on the sunday morning, they will be down to visit me in melbourne at the end of november and I look forward to greatly the chance to return their wonderful hospitality. It was 6 in the morning, I got stuck on the subway with the post party, too tight to fork out for a taxi home brigade. One dude from liverpool insisted on starting up a conversation with me, but on hearing that I was irish changed his tune, litterally. ‘I fooking hate you irish, all naight long I was traiying to baiy drinks for these burds but them was aving none of it, these guys over ere are aayrish’, at which point he broke out into Father and Son in a ronan keating effort, thank christ my stop was next. Adios amigo

I slept most of the train journey to dubbo which is the get off point to get a bus the rest of the way. I shared the bus with one other person to broken hill, the bus driver, 700 km. His name was peter, he was a retired policeman who moved to dubbo to be closer to his siblings after the passing of his wife last year from cancer. He took particular interest in my time from thailand, that friends of his had got themselves a thai wife, very pretty, he shrugged his shoulders and expected me to back him up. I felt sorry for him, I have seen it so many times, not only in asia where you have a man in his later years sitting there with an incredibly pretty partner. They are both staring off in opposite directions just waiting, just passing time. It turns the gut. I told him this and the conversation went dead for oooh about 300 km.

The road is dead straight, the sun setting over the horizon is breathtaking, the colours are phenomenal. The road soon becomes a focal point for the kangaroos, they like to lie on it because it hold heat better than the scrub wasteland, some like it a bit too much, there was road kill all over the place. Pulling into broken hill at 11 in the pm I began to think about what could possibly be drawing so many people to broken hill, so many that it would fill a huge hostel. Now I’ll be honest, I’m an optimistic person, I had visions of a bus load of lost impressionable nubile princess beauties lost in the middle of nowhere looking out for someone with a funny accent to pass the days with them. I figured the odds on this were pretty slim, but what I got, what I got dealt must surely rank in the same order of short odds.

Mildura is 300 km from broken hill, on the very same week that I chose to take 4 days to take in all there is to take in from the not so famous silver city, that very same week, Milduras Mental hospital had booked out the broken hill hostel for its annual excursion for its patients, all bar one room of course. Seriously, you could not make this stuff up. For 4 nights I stayed in an insane assylum. At times I felt the need to protest to to the chaparone on the door that I wasn’t crazy and that I was actually allowed to go outside on my own, I swear I was just waiting for the big red indian to walk through the door with a massive pillow. I even got done for accidentally nicking some of their milk for a cup of tea, one of their mentors lost the plot with me… I felt chastised, felt like slapping her one. A drop of milk fer fecks sake. Luckily enough there is enough to do in broken hill to keep you away from the crazies. I spent my days in the local art galleries or in the local book stores before spending the evenings in the various bars either getting fed or full.

I fled broken hill a few days earlier than planned, ironically the quickest way back to melbourne was via a town called mildura. The taxi left broken hill on the 300km spin to mildura, took about 3 hours. We landed there just before ten in the morning, the bus leaving for melbourne was at 11, that night. So 13 hours in mildura. It was an effort, between terrible coffee and even worse hollywood movies I was driven into the arms of the pub nearest the bus station. I sat up at the bar with my pint and my book keeping my own business but sure of course such a blissful existence could only last a couple of minutes. Two lads the far side of the bar noted the foreigner, they came over and sat either side of me.

Now let me describe these two gentlemen. I’ll start with the guy who sat at my right as his right ear was deaf, he wore a cowboy hat, a denim shirt with those brown bits on the collar tips and a pair of jeans that were sown onto him. He also sported a moustache which in classic aussie fashion wrapped around his lip and down this throat in under his shirt, twould surprise me if it went all the way down this chest and down the side of his legs to his ankles. Now he was gone sixty if he was a day. He went by the name of cowboy believe it or not. His friend was an even more beautiful specimen. This lad was missing not only an ear but and eye and all the teeth from the left side of his mouth through a ‘disagreement’ he had some years back.

Over the course of the evening the second fella began to talk about his impending marriage, he already had 3 marriages behind him and so thought nothing of taking the plunge again, he began to talk about his wife to be, a 29 year old girl. I thought jaysus man, you must be some charmer to have a woman so young on your arm. He looked into his drink, shook his head and said simply that she wasn’t the best looking lassie in the world. The lady herself walked into the pub soon afterwards to pick up her fiance. Lets just say he wasn’t lying!! The girl was obviously a junkie but seemed genuinely lovely. She gave me a hug and there on the spot invited me to the wedding in 5 weeks time, they reckoned I would bring a bit of class to proceedings, you know you are fecked when you are relying on me to bring the class.

Anyways they left me there on my own with my book at last and sure it wasn’t a whole lot longer before I was down the road at the bus station and off back to melbourne. The road took us through the town of bendigo which at its height gave the most stunning view of the sun rising over phillip bay and melbourne. First day of work in 10 months the following monday – can’t wait…

adios folks

Hey All - I’ve posted up another batch of photos on my facebook.
Should be able to see them here

I set here in the middle of a sudden and pretty scary thunderstorm in calcutta. Its my last night in india. Time to look back, time to sum the last 4 months up. They have been just simply incredible, a really wonderful experience. 4 months ago seems like such a long time ago, I was so nervous walking out of the departure gates of mumbai international airport in the wee hours of the 30th of november. I cursed myself for picking such a notorious place to start off the adventure but in hindsight I couldn’t have picked a better place. If you can survive mumbai you can survive absolutely everything else that I have seen in this country, to take it even further than that I actually enjoyed that sprawling mess of a place. You need to take your time and give yourself a chance to adjust.

Goa was a let down I have to admit and anyone that I have gotten on with that I have met her agrees wholeheartedly with that assessment. The beaches of Kerala are much better, much friendlier places. Hampi is an amazing place, the landscape there is awesome. It is also well set up for lazy buggers like myself After there it was xmas by the beach for spending the guts of january hunting down the best temples that tamil nadu has to offer. From there it was a trip up the land of kings, Rajasthan is an amazing state. There is so much there for everyone. After a week in the capital and a trip to the taj with diarmo I headed north to the mighty himalayas before returning back to the capital where my journey has been cut short. A quick dash over to calcutta and I am now ready to leave india. It feels weird to type those words. I am going to miss so much of the place, the food, the chai, the silly chats with shop keepers, the train trips, the mountains, the forts this country has so much to offer. There are elements which I will not miss, in my opinion the country needs to clean up its act on a lot of things that we take for granted in the west. The caste system needs to go, its fcked up. They need to install a proper system to ensure that every kid has a access to an education, its the only way out of poverty. Begging needs to be made illegal, it fosters a horrible element in society. Giving to these people very often that not only serves to perpetrate the situation. They need to introduce a waste management system, you can walk for days without seeing a bin. You can arrive at the most beautiful waterfall only to see that its base is destroyed by peoples careless littering. In the cities it only serves to feed the horrible sanitary conditions where vermin and disease amongst the poor is rampant. Its these fundamental things that stop alot of people coming here and it is a pity because as I have mentioned before it is a wonderful place.

Right I am going to sign off this now, this is the last of the wobble. I am off to thailand tomorrow - I don’t really have a clue what I am going to do there because it has come on alot quicker than I anticipated. Having survived 4 months here I reckon I should be okay…

Over and out,

Phil

I stood there in disbelief, the words coming out of her mouth.

‘Its over, you have to leave….’.

So after 4 months a divorce is on the cards, the lady at the desk in the FRRO office in dehli informed me that the only visa they could issue me was an exit visa which is valid for 14 days from the day you apply for it. I applied for it 9 days previously so that gave me 5 days to legally reside within the sovereign borders of Hindustan on this visa. I had other options though I could apply to get my old visa re-issued but that would take the guts of 5 days queuing, hanging around a sweltering dehli metropolis, dealing with pedantic senseless government officials. I didn’t come traveling to spend weeks in queues. There was also the option of going to nepal for 10 days and applying for a brand new visa over there. Sounds good in theory but if you are keeping an eye on politcal events in this part of the world you would be aware that they are having presidential elections in nepal for the first time ever on the 10th of april, already there have been trouble from the maoist insurgents. Last week they blocked the road from dehli to kathmandu hoping to intercept a convoy of trucks carrying what they described as weapons and arms to find the expected troubles. The nepalese government denied this, stating that the trucks were merely carrying riot gear ahead of the elections. Add to this election situation the trouble that exists across the border in lhasa has made its way across the border to kathmandu with the chinese embassey being attacked and infiltrated by irate buddhist monks. All in all it makes nepal an unappealling place at this point in time. Going there would be foolhardy.

So the third and last option was to leave the country permanently - my flight from calcutta to bangkok was originally set for the 18th of may. I needed to move this forward to the first of april as the visa expired on the second. So exit plan needed, and needed quickly. First port of call was the Jet Airways office in connaught place in dehli to change the flight. I grabbed a rickshaw from the frro into town, normally it costs about 80 ruppees but the driver only asked for 40. I was flabberghasted, he must be the only taxi driver in the the whole of india that undercuts tourists. alighting in connaught place I threw a 100 ruppee note on top of the requested 40 - he was a happy man!! Changing the flight was no hassle at all, it cost nothing so I was set for the 1st.

It was 6 o’clock on the 27th of april 2008, I was starving and thirsty. I felt like spoiling myself so I dragged my sweaty ass into the Zen restaurant in the middle of connaught place where they had to my delight cans of draft guinness. 1 can cost twice as much as my entire meal but it was worth it. With that good grub inside me I set about finding accommodation for the night, found a place that was both pricey and not very nice but for 1 night it would do. Threw down the bags and went off to the railway station to book myself a ticket on the first available train to calcutta.

The train left dehli at 7.10 friday morning and arrived in calcutta (almost 1500 miles away) at 8.30, sounds quick? I’m afraid it was anything but, for it was saturday morning when I got off the train. I traveled in the 2ac section of the train which keeps the train carriage at a nice temperature for the duration of the journey - it was boring as hell. You cannot look out the windows because they are so thick and dirty, you cannot sit out on the step because it messes with the AC, its not exactly too safe either. The only entertainment I had took place between the two pains of glass that made up the double glazed window as every couple of minutes two tiny mice would jump up and fight over what food they could find in that tiny gap. A much bigger mouse lurked underneath my seat which drove me into keeping my feet up on the seat at all times, all in all it wasn’t the most comfortable of journeys.Calcutta:

When you hear the word calcutta you almost automatically associate it with poverty, filth, disease, death - all the darkest elements of human existance. It used to be the capital of india before the country got independence. Since then though things have gone mostly downhill, the indian government in an attempt to shed any britishness virtually built itself a new capital in dehli and left calcutta short on public funding. The partition of the country into India, east pakistan (later bangladesh) and west pakistan. In creating east pakistan they split the state of Bengal into two which resulted in the largest ever migration of human beings, its estimated 10 million people moved into calcutta. No city could cope with that, famine and all its trappings was inevitable. The situation became dire and attracted the likes of mother theresa to come and work amongst the poor, the sick and the dying right here.

The train pulled into Howrath station on the west bank of the river Hooghly. I had read on the train that traffic in the city was bad and getting from the station across the bridge to where most of calcutta lies is a total pain in the hole. A quicker alternative is to grab the ferry which zig zags its way up and down the river. Out of the station I followed the signs for Baba ghat. The smell of the river was intense, dried fish and emptying sewers make quite an aroma. Once you get used to the smell you can then enjoy the quick trip across. The boat also gives you a great view of the bridge which spans 450 metres, it is some structure, banned from taking any photos you just had to admire the workmanship - (some day dave, some day!!!), it is reputedly the busiest bridge in the world.

Once off the ferry it was off to find some accommodation, calcutta has tonnes of hotels so there is something here for every budget. I got one just off sudder street right in the middle of all the action. My first impressions of calcutta are very similar to the ones I had in mumbai. Its alot more crowded than dehli but people seem to be more laid back than in mumbai. The streets are dirty but there are sections of the town which are affluent and some others retain alot of the britishness of old. Over the first two days there I walked alot, the traffic was too bad to get public or private transport, it was waaay too hot to be packed into a sardine can with wheels besides!! I took a walk out to the maidan which is a massive park that runs close to the banks of the river, there were plenty of cricket matches going on. I sat and watched one for the guts of half an hour, it was bloody hot so I was happy enough to take my time. I took in a walk around the Victoria Memorial building which was in the same park, its a massive building - white marble. Standing up close you needed your sunglasses on, it was a bit like the taj in that respect. From here I walked up park street and across to the darker side of calcutta. Park street first of all is the main shopping and eating out place in calcutta, it is lined up with coffee shops, bars, restaurants, shops etc etc its a good place to hang out and read your book. The food is excellent here with all the restaurants I managed to fit in satisfying my massively high standards Down at the end of Park street the affluence quickly comes to an end. I turned up left heading towards Mother theresas Motherhouse, her residence and now where her tomb is kept. I was running a little early so took my time to explore some of the neighbourhood. It was rotten, it stank and was filthy beyond belief. I walked past this rubbish skip where this young lad, reckon he was about 10 years of age was crouched over ontop of it - defaecating into it. He saw me, bent further down to pick up a rock. And this was a rock, he pegged it at me hitting me at the very base of my back. Little prick!!! He then had the cheek to ask for money - ‘chello baba!!’ I shouted at him, its a useful phrase, I advise anyone visiting here to learn it. He wasn’t long on his way…

I called into mother theresas shrine after this little incident, rubbing my back a little from my previous encounter I took a look around what is I suppose what you’d expect, a very modest building. Its mostly used as a residence for the sisters and very little of it is open for access to the general public. The shrine itself is a simple enough large white marbled tomb, I guess any embellishments wouldn’t fit in with the character of the woman. There is also a mini-museum there where they deal with her early life from Serbia to rathfarnham to bengal. All in all its a simple yet fitting tribute to a very admirable person.

From the motherhouse I went to my hotel and retired for the evening. Today was spent chasing my tail getting ready for my flight out of india tomorrow. It has gone so quick, quicker because of the dopes in the immigration office. But more on them later….

Ciao for now,

Phil

After the stress and strain of having to deal with irish and indian bureaucracy (please note that very difficult word to spell) I took off for the yoga capital off the world, Rishikesh in the state of Uttaranchal. Rishikesh is at the foot of the himalayas and those charlie bird fans amongst you should already know that it is also one of the first major towns on the holiest river off the lot, the ganges (pronounced ganga) and is therefore a pretty big Hindu pilgrimage site. It is 7 hours on a bus outside of dehli which isn’t that big of a distance in indian terms so it fit the bill for by bid to escape the bad vibes and the oppressive heat that was in dehli.

The bus ride there was the usual butt numbing experience though I don’t really mind them at this stage, you tend to switch off and retreat into your own little world breaking out every now and again to answer the same old questions ‘ what is your country?’, ‘where?’ ‘Holland?’ ‘Iceland?’ ‘Ah the UK!!’ then its ‘What is your job?’, ‘What is your salary?’ ‘You have job in India?’ ‘ You are on Holiday for 6 months?????’ ‘What is the number for irish embassey - I get visa, I get job in your country!!’.

I travelled last friday - good friday in christian countries, Happy Holi in India. The festival of colour which they celebrate mostly in the north to mark the end of winter (they don’t do winter in the sunny south!). The tradition on this holi day is to splash the country and everyone in it with water or colour - preferably both. This pretty much gives young and old alike license to run around drenching anyone they see with coloured powder and garden hoses. I only learnt about this late late late in the day - I did see some people covered in colour but I didn’t realise the extent of the festival until I got off the bus in Rishikesh. Normally when you get off the bus you negotiate with the waiting throng of taxi men for the fare to get to the hotel of your choice - this takes a minute or two, you must always retain the threat that you can walk away at any minute. This option was not available to me this time because as soon as I got off the bus this little lad from a rooftop across the street had his fathers garden hose aimed right at me and lets just say he had a prodigious aim. Drenched, 110% saturation at least I climbed into the back of a cab belonging to a sniggering taxi man.

I stayed at the green hotel across the river ganges. The hotel took a bit of finding, the streets were busy with tourists and local people here on holiday for the weekend, also a long weekend here. The other side of the river is connected via two pedestrian only bridges (guarded by hoardes of hungry monkeys, they are also very often blocked by beasts of the bovine nature!!). First impressions of the Ganges? Its surprisingly beautiful, I was kinda expecting the dirty, filthy sewer like stream that you hear about from various sources. I guess as this is a point where it emerges from the biggest mountain range on earth that it is relatively clean. I still wasn’t tempted to take a dip. When it gets up as far as Varanasi it is meant to be pretty rancid, one factoid from the guidebook tells us that the international limit of faecal bacterial matter in water for it to be considered safe is 500 parts per 100ml - the ganges there has 1.5 million, Holy crap!!!

The first night there was good fun, the locals were going loco. They had a big soundsystem and dancing stage set up for Holi. The music was mostly hindi - some of it isn’t half bad, alot of it is pretty dire, but its lively enough to have a bit of craic. I was flummoxed after the days journey so I sat down and watched the locals strut their stuff. It was the usual case of 2 or 3 groups of men throwing some fantastic shapes with some girls dancing their own way out around the extemities, I don’t blame anyone for not jumping in. It resembled a rugby ruck at times and they do take a very relaxed approach at refereeing the breakdown - the new zealand back row would be in their element here. The prize for the most surreal moment must go to the time when they stopped the music and asked all the foreigners to get up on the dancefloor - up stepped a good few brave soldiers. The music started again, that international standard, an anthem no less - ‘The Vengaboys are coming’ - by the banks of the ganges. Not what I expected, hilarious though.

Rishikesh quietened down something serious after holi, most of the indian people staying there went back home on the sunday leaving the more sedate yoga crowd. I had a great time wandering from cafe to cafe drinking chai and reading some books. Every now and again I would ask one of the new agers about their courses or just life in general. One girl was doing a course on ‘Absolute Space’ - She asked me my opinion and wasn’t too amused when I defined it as the gap between my two ears. Oh well.

It sure was hot in rishikesh - temps where in the late 30s during daylight. When the sun went down though a surprisingly strong breeze came down from the mountains, it served as a nice release from the heat. All in all I had a good time in rishikesh, I planned ahead my trip (which was time wasted as you will soon find out) and had a really relaxing and lazy time. I would recommend it to anyone who fancied a break from dehli for a couple of days, I know if I ever get into yoga I will kick myself for not signing up at one of the ashrams for a course in it as it is one of the massive draws off the place - maybe next time though. Besides I wouldn’t have been able to cope with the 6 o’clock starts.

I headed back to dehli thursday morning, back into the running circus that is the FRRO. More on that to come…..

I have uploaded the latest batch of photos here ,

Ciao,

Phil

I woke up in Manikaran to some perfectly blue skies. All off a sudden I questioned my desire to leave the town, I felt myself wanting to know what was beyond where I turned back the previous day. But despite this pang and the protestations of the hotel clerk who put on an oscar worthy performance when he heard that I was going to leave a day earlier than I had informed them when I checked in, I jumped on the first bus out of manikaran. This bus was just going to the town of kullu which was about halfways to manali so I needed another bus from there to complete the journey. All in all it took about 4 hours, a relative blink of an eye.

The first two hours were complete torture though. I decided to take the front seat up beside the driver as the view was unimpeded and there was plenty of room for my two bags. What I didn’t count on though was the position of the speaker which was directly above my head. For two full hours really bad hindi music blasted out of this noise box, for two hours I plotted a way to sever the wire that connected the antiquated cassette deck to the offending speaker. But it wasn’t to be, I swapped buses in the town of kullu and got on the road at last to manali.

The road up to manali goes through the kullu valley, its pretty wide so it doesn’t have the same impact as the other two valleys I have travelled up. The last few kms leading into the town itself is lined up by either big ugly hotels or bigger uglier signs for hotels that are off the main road. As a first impression for a place it really sucked, though I have to admit from what I have heard of the place I wasn’t that surprised. The bus station is right in the middle of the old town, when I arrived the place was swamped, it was friday after all and the place was full of indian couples around for the weekend. Luckily enough there was a tout at the bus stop who was peddling his last free hotel room, reckoned it was worth at least a look. Managed to bargain him down to half the asking price for a really nice room with hot water and a big tv I could catch the weekends soccer on. Sweeeet out!!

After sorting out the room it was off for some grub and then bed, luckily enough I found a place that served some good pizza to almost, almost banish the memory of the previous nights misadventure. Back to bed and some snooze. Woke up early the next morning and made for the old part of the town, creatively titled ‘Old Manali’. It is such a departure from the new part, traditional black slated rooftops dot the landscape under the inevitable set of snow peaks, the most beautiful ones I have seen so far!! I sat in one cafe and devoured a bowl of muesli while I pondered the climability of the pretty large hill that looked tiny between two of the big peaks. I asked the doode who worked in the cafe if I could climb it and he muttered something not even the enigma war machine could decipher but being a generally optomistic kind of person I reckoned it was a positive response, so off I set. The first mile or so leads up to a fairly well visited temple, after that following the path was a solitary exercise with the exception of some mountain ladies (hardly the most flattering adjective) bringing down rather large bundles of sticks on their back. I figured that they were from the village that the sign back in manali pointed to that was 4 miles out of town. So curious to see what the village was like I went in the direction from where they came.

I met a local along the path who had good english, he was struggling with this big sack - I offeredto help him carry the bag as his load was already full, now its a good job that he didn’t say yes as I didn’t for one second consider the slope, the terrain or the sheer dead weight of the bag. I did give him a hand lifting it ontop of the rest of his load, I’m tellin ya these himalayan men are made of stern stuff. Off he went and I figured I would follow him but after about 20 yards or so he turned and pointed up the hill and said ‘Foreigners go that way’. Hmmmm wasn’t sure what to make of that, obviously my tan and tash needs a bit more work before I am completely assimilated here. I took his order and followed the steep path. After around 5 minutes I found what he was pointing at. The Rasta Cafe - it consisted of about 20 plastic chairs in a small field about 1/4 of an acre. There was also some very basic cooking facilities. I ordered a chai and sat and gasped at the view that this little field had. The little village was perched about 200 yards down from the field, over it you could see the full Kullu Valley over to the other side and up to where it starts with some dazzling mountain peaks. There were countless waterfalls on the other side all contributing to the flow of the Beas river that flows through the valley. I stayed there for the guts of 5 hours reading my book, though the distraction that was the view meant that I didn’t get to read that much…

The following day I was wrecked and went for a walk out another road to a small village, the weather was quite poor so the views weren’t as stellar as before. I had intended to go visit a glacier that day that a few local lads recommended called Rothang but when I inquired at the bus stop as to if I could go up there they simply told me that the weather had turned and it wasn’t possible. I found out later that that same day 15 people lost their lives just out that same road when an avalanche hit their bus. This gave me and the town a massive shock - everywhere closed down as a mark of respect and I thought to myself, tis a good job I didn’t try and find another way to get up there as buses were travelling up.

I stayed in manali another day or two before booking myself a ticket on the bus 17 hour bus to dehli. The bus ride was a mare!!! Didn’t get a wink of sleep, that coupled with the fact that the lad beside me seemed intent in giving me a broken rib with his stray elbow. Never again on a nighttime bus, just ain’t worth it. I arrived into dehli last wednesday morning at 7 and made my way to the embassey where I collected my replacement passport. The muppets in there - one in particular didn’t exactly do me any favours and spoke to me with little more than contempt which was completely unnecessary. The last time I visited he never said there would be a problem getting a full passport, now he produced an 11 month passport saying that because I didn’t have my birth cert he couldn’t issue a full one!! Surely if I couldn’t prove who I was that he shouldn’t have given me a passport at all, even at that I could have easily gotten diarmo to bring over my birth cert when he came to visit me. He was a fckn dick, expected me to bloodywell kiss his feet. Asshole. I will have to go through the same crap again when I get to australia.

Worse was to come, with no sleep I made my way with my flimsy, little better than a photocopy passport to the foreingers regional registration office to get my passport restamped and a visa issued. Now this place is the reason why people get frustrated with india. I had to queue for 4 bloody hours in the sweltering heat, no food, no water. The queue was unbearably slow and their way of processing people was a pure joke. By the time I got to the top of the queue I was told I had to have a letter from my embassey stating that I was missing my passport and pretty much when I arrived into the country. I was teetering on the brink, for the first time in india I raised my voice a little but figured that it wasn’t worthwhile getting thick at an entire country so I jumped in a rickshaw and went back to the embassey to my new best friend where squirmingly I had to ask for the letter which he knew I needed but didn’t bother his hole to tell me. Oooh what would I give to get that lad out in a game of 5-aside, 50-50 tackle…. screw that a 99-1 tackle, he is getting it!!!

Eventually I got my paperwork in order and went into the main square or circle in dehli known as connaught place. I rang the hotel I stayed in before out in the tibetan colony. With all the trouble in tibet this was a little risky but having watched the news things in dehli seemed quiet enough. As I got out of the rickshaw - what I seen really put my own little travails into perspective. All along the walls were pictures of dead monks, their brutal injuries for all to see. There were countless pictures, certainly more than the 9 the chinese have publically stated. In what was a buzzing little piece of tibet in dehli 1 month previous had the air now of a funeral parlour. Every shop was closed, all the stalls empty. All that was on the streets were the clouds of flies attracted my the oppressive heat. I had to knock on the door of the hotel where the cheerful guy from a month ago was ashened faced and looked on the verge of tears. I learnt later that people from the colony were on hunger strike in dehli prison, they wouldn’t even take water. You can picture a prison cell in india being pretty rough, the temperatures got up to almost 40 degrees - imagine no water??

I stayed in the colony to catch some sleep, I watched tv and ventured out as little as possible. I was heartbroken for the tibetan people there, they just looked lost. I left for rikikesh yesterday morning - I will return to dehli, hopefully for the last time on this trip next week to collect my visa. I am going to curtail my trip in india aswell, take it back by at least a month. I have seen all that I want to see bar one or two small things and I am ready for a new country, thailand by the third week of april I reckon….

Adios,

Phil

Before heading to the main tourist attraction in Himachel Pradesh I decided to take a little trip up the Parathi valley which is a tributary of sorts than runs off the main Kullu valley. The town that tweaked my interest up there while I went through the guidebook was a town called Manikaran - the site of several natural hot water springs. Figured it was worth a look seeing as I was in the area, twould’ve been fierce rude of me to not drop in and say hello.

To get here from Mandi was a relatively simple and short 4 hour journey that involved just two changes of bus. The trip up the valley was pretty special. It didn’t have the same edge of your seat tension that the trip up the chamba valley trip had - it was the surrounding scenery that really stood out. The river that runs through the valley was big and full of white rapid waters - even over the sound of the cranky old bus you could hear the roaring gush of the water. On either side of the river bank there were pine forests reach up as far and beyond the snow line - past that again there were the domineering mountain peaks. I arrived into Manikaran at about 4 in the afternoon. Its has a really dramatic setting but with mountains on 3 sides of the town it doesn’t get too much sunshine. Add to this the rising steam from all sorts of places it gives the town a murky almost eirie feeling. After booking into a hotel close enough to the bus stop I went looking for some food.

The town is seperated from the main valley road by the parathi river. Its a noisy body of water which can only be crossed at two points via footbridges. As a result there is no motorised traffic in the town. With the exception of one small bazaare the houses are very close to each other, the streets themselves aren’t the best,  you really have to watch your step especially after a shower as there are murky puddles everywhere. It was while I was trying to avoid one of these puddles that I ended up in the place where I had something to eat. I litterally had to step into the little shack of a building to avoid a sock soaking experience. The woman who ran the place was lovely, never seen someone smile so much. Before long there was a feast of samosas and chai in front of me - definitely what the doctor called for. With my belly full I took another little wander around the town, to be honest it didn’t take long as it is tiny. Twasn’t long before I retired for the evening.

I got up early enough the next morning with trekking on my mind. Before I arrived in the town I assumed that the town itself was the end point of the road in the valley, there was another village 14 km further up the valley. I knew this was never going to be done on foot, starting at 2,000 metres the road rose pretty quickly it would be two days walking at least. My plan though was to go up and explore what I could, walk till about 3 in the afternoon then turn and get back before sunset. The first mile or two was fairly flat, running along the roaring river with pine forests on either side it was pretty exhilarating stuff. As the road climbed up I got better and better views down to the valley and the river below and up to the skyline you just had to stop sometimes to try and take in the majestic nature of the snow peaks. It really did leave you breathless. There is loads of opportunity to get off the road and explore some of the steep terraced fields though you have to watch your step, one slip and you are a gonner.

As 3 o’clock approached I came across this group of young people, they were farmers taking a break from a hard slog. They were all gathered around this nice little campfire. Unusually (for india) it was the women who were the first to say hello, they asked me to sit down and then asked me every english question that came into their head. No matter what I replied with I was met with a barage of giggles. I think they thought my voice was a little funny, come to think of it I get that alot. Even the canadian girls in  mcleod ganj kept asking me to say mother - hilarious apparently. Hmmmm. I asked one of the young lads if he would take a few pictures of me with my camera, to kinda prove to you good folks that I am not making all of this stuff up. What followed was a pretty hilarious scene of him thinking that I wanted to just take photos of him rather than him take a photo of me. I eventually managed to get the message across and got some decent enough pictures. When we finished he asked me to go back to his house for some dinner, they all chimed in asking me to go back. I asked them where their house was and they pointed right up the side of the valley - I have to say that I was tempted and really humbled that they would ask me but spots of rain  had started to fall and I was still 2 hours out of manikaran. I declined their offer ruefully and set off back to the village. Tis a good job I left when I did, the weather turned nasty and those mountain roads are not a good place to be especially when they get slippery not to mention the permenant threat of a landslide.

The walk back was miserable, I don’t have any wet gear so I arrived back into the village resembling and oversized drowned rat - though if you have seen some of the rats I have seen here I was almost just a normal sized drowned rat. I dropped my wet clothes into the hotel and set off for something to eat. Now I figured that it was about 2 and a half weeks since I had some western style food, so as a bit of a treat for myself I decided I would splash out and go to the nicest restaurant as per the lonely planet and get myself some proper western grub into me. Now let me put this a little into the context, we are talking about a village that is buried right up in the middle of the himalayas, they do their own stuff well but its hardly michellen star territory, but even taking that into consideration it was no excuse for what was put in front of me. I am seriously considering writing to the UN to set up something equivalent to the war crimes tribunal to deal with the atrocity, the manglement the downright bastardisation of tomatoes and flour they had a cheek to call a pizza. All I wanted was some comfort food!!! I consumed what I could before defeated, desolate I took to the rain drenched broken cobblestoned streets of manikaran on my way home I picked up two fake mars bars, 1 bottle of coke and a small bottle of rum. Shakespeare couldn’t come up with such tragedy!!!

Back in the hotel I decided to make my way up to Manali, back to a civilisation of sorts. My passport has finally arrived at the embassey in Dehli so I will go to get it after a couple of days in manali. 

Happy Paddies day to all, and well done to Sean Gaffney on his stage debut. Looking forward to the dvd kido!! Oh and I have no phone anymore, ask no questions I will tell no lies!!!

later,

Phil

Mandi lies at the mouth of the aforementioned Kullu valley. The valley is probably the most visited site in the state. Reckoned it was a good one to leave till last. More about Kullu later. I had to get up at 5.30 in the morning to grab the bus that went in mandis general direction. I say general direction because there is no direct bus and it is a whopper of a journey. My intention was to travel back to Dharshala and get some food there before completing the rest of the journey with a not so empty stomach. This plan fell apart when I was informed by the bus conductor with a bright pink turban and a big white bandage covering most of the rest of his head, that that idea was stupid ‘hey man, I might be stupid but at least I don’t look it….’ ah who am I kidding. The new plan was to stop in a town called Gaggal (I swear I am not making these names up) and then grab a bus straight to mandi from there. So I patiently sat there and counted down the miles to gaggal and food, I figured we were about 2 miles outside of gaggal when I get the poke in the shoulder to get off the bus, twas as if I was been taken out for a random beating - reckon the turbonator would’ve loved that!! The bus to mandi was directly behind us so the conducter let a roar in hindi to the driver who then stuck his foot on the pedal to get a bit of space between us and our pursuer  - then the conductor jumped out of the bus while it is still in motion and while stuggling to retain his feet below the rest of his body he hailed the bus down for me. I take it all back - though maybe the bastard knew I was starving and thought another 6 hours in a rust bucket with nothing in the belly would be ripe justice for me. Back to bastard status for him.

6 hours later and about 6 stone lighter I arrived in Mandi and wouldn’t you know it, the Shivatri festival was in full flow. This the same festival that was in bharmore - reckon those mountain boys are at least a week out of whack - occupational hazard I guess. The town was swamped, not a hotel room to be had anywhere. None at a reasonable price. I found one after an hour in the main square. It wasn’t the best but it will do for 2 nights. 2 loud loud nights. The square in mandi actually contains a well concealed 2 level shopping centre, to the north of the square a concert was in full swing. Indians don’t do quiet concerts, or even appropriately volumed concerts, they do cheap hotel window rattling concerts. Any thoughts of an early night were well and truelly scuppered. I had the tv in my room at full volume and couldn’t hear what the people were saying. This concert went on till 1.30 in the morning….

I went out for some food, I was starving. There was a lovely punjabi open to the street restaurant not too far away.  They operated a plate system in this restaurant, nothing as fancy as a menu - the waiter muttered a few dishes and I picked the one I could actually decipher. Shahi Paneer - mouth watering. I got 2 portions of the sauce it was that good / I was that hungry.

The next day I took a trip to Rewelsar. Its a town about 30 km south of mandi and the site where the st patrick of tibet got up of his lazy meditating behind and went to spread the good word to the people of tibet. It is therefore a place that is held really close to the hearts of the tibetan people and like mcleod ganj is a little piece of tibet far from home. Home for many of these people is just a word, what the Chinese are doing there is no worse than what Hitler attempted to do to the jewish people in the last century. Its truely despicable and I hope that common sense prevails and allows these people autonomy at least. The main site in the town is a small lake, all around the lake people are either meditating or feeding the enormous number of eager fish in the lake - wait for the pictures. There was also a massive amount of monkeys, very often they would go to the lake side and compete with the fish for the bread crumbs thrown in by the people. Its not a faceoff I counted on seeing on this trip, truely bizaare. Its such an attraction that several women ply a trade purely in selling bread crumbs to visitors. It was a nice place to spend a couple of hours, before heading back to the madness of mandi. I got back feeling ready for the festival action. I spent several hours walking around the stalls, sampling the cuisine and dodging pesky touts. Some people asked me if I came especially for the fair, they seemed a little amused by the fact that I didn’t have a clue it was on. Knackered I returned to bed. Tomorrow its all the way to the Paranthi Valley and the town of Manikuram.

And so to Dalhousie - about a week later than I had planned but surely once you get there thats all that really counts. A quite enthusiastic reception committee welcomed me off the bus - it probably ranks just behind the reception I received in Jaisalmer for sheer frenzied shuffling of feet. About 8 lads with brochures open showing off their rooms at rock bottom prices. It does come as a bit of a shock especially after a fairly substantial bus journey but once you regain your composure it really has to be looked at as a very positiive situation. You have virtually the choice of the accomodation and have a very strong bargaining position. I had a look at what was on offer and went with Hotel Monal. The walk there was tough though, through a pine forest uphill most of the way. While I am not in the worst of shape the backpack on my back certainly made the going harder than normal. Dalhousie being a hill station set up for the british administrators in nearby lahore is a very quiet town perched ontop of 4 hills each over 2000 metres. Altitude!!! Lungs were in bits by the time we rolled up to the hotel…

The price quoted for the room was 200 rupees. The room was worth 10 times that amount, god bless the off season. The balcony alone had the most wonderful view. Perfect for reading a book while warming ones hands with the odd pot of chai. Tired after the journey and the trek up there I ordered some room service and had an early night.

The next day I got up at a reasonable hour and went out to explore. Dalhousie is really nice, really quiet and serene. Two words you would never associate with india. After a lunch with some local folk I explored the region, for 6 hours I walked around the place. On one side of the town you can see the vast expanse of the himalayas while on the other you can see the foothills level off till they eventually hit pakistan and kashmir. As hillstations go you really have to hand it to the brittish planners for picking this place. At one point along the way I was beckoned over to a family having a picnic on their weekend break. They were from the state of punjab and pretty well off it seemed. One of the spent alot of his time globetrotting managing a few restaurants they have set up here there and everywhere. They have one in san francisco, I told them my old man was from there. They liked that fact so paddy joe be sure to drop the name the next time your back in your old stomping ground - might be worth a free naan with your tikka masalla!! They were very nice people, very welcoming and even let me tuck into some of the food which they had ordered.

I did have plans to visit the local wildlife park the following day but a weather front came in from somewhere and covered the place in one massive blanket of cloud. It was impossible to see more than 50 yards. Bit of a bummer, spent the day planning out the rest of my trip. I have a little over two months left in india and I have to decide whether I can dedicate some time to nepal in that time. In order to fit that in I will need to speed things up a little bit. I will give the mountains of Himachel Pradesh another 2 weeks or so then it really is time to move up the gears, grab that ellusive passport and get a little further east. My next destination is Mandi at the mouth of the Kullu valley. 12 hours on a public bus, 6 o’clock start. Can’t wait!!!

I have posted a selection of my photos of the Chamba valley up on Facebook. For those not on facebook you can access them here.

Oh and I finally got my arse in gear and got myself a skype account. So anyone who has one can you look me up and add me on. I might even give you a call sometime

I’m off to watch liverpool kick inters posterior…. Adios!!!