Delhi is the last stop on this trip. We are staying over at a Weronika’s friend’s house in a rather posh are of Delhi. Her apartment is big, modern, and full of creature comforts. Thank you Jona! It s the perfect decompression chamber for us after our nine-plus months on the road.
We spent the last few days of our trip shopping, taking care of things before our return, and doing a bit of sightseeing. It was a nice and calm way to end an incredible trip.
We were on the edge of the Great Thar Desert. Jaisalmer is only 100 km away from the Pakistan border, and the landscape has changed dramatically. It is very dry here, and the town is not blue like a few of the prior cities, but golden, with the glow of the sun reflecting of the sandstone out of which everything is built here.
The real attraction here are the camels. We went on a two day camel safari into the dunes of the Thar Desert. It was one of the highlights of the trip. We fell in love with these gentle, lumbering giants who served as our transport as well as entertainment for two days. Sleeping under the open sky and waking up covered in sand was another experience which will stay lodged in our memories for a long time.
Another blue city. Old haveli mansions lining tiny bendi streets. A great clock tower standing proudly in the center of a bustling bazaar. An ancient fort overlooks it all. This is Rajastan.
Palaces on a lake. Palaces on the lake sure. Small windy streets among ancient houses. The James Bond classic Octopussy was filmed here, so there must be something special about the town.
We started enjoying the pace we have set in Bundi. We are now taking our dear old time sightseeing. Nothing is rushed, and we deem it perfectly OK to spend an entire day n the hotel. Of course we did manage to see the sights around town, including some temples and the palace. We also took a daytrip to the elaborate and jawdropping Jain temple of Ranakpur. Along the way we dropped in on the huge fortification of Kumbalgargh, which boasts the second longest wall n the world, after the great wall of China. Unfortunately, it was not in our budget to stay at the lake palace where James Bond enjoyed his martinis shaken, not stirred.
We are surrounded by men with massive mustaches, each bigger than the next. Maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but have never seen so many grand works of facial coif in one place before. Add on top of that colorful turbans in saffron, blue, or combining a full palette of colors. We arrived in Rajastan and everything changed. On top of that, people are not as annoying, and the incessant honking has calmed down a bit. On top of that, the weather has magically cooled off and it is not even raining! Is this still India?
We were in Bundi, a small town in Rajastan. It has a big ruined fort, a castle, beautiful pastel blue haveli houses, and an assortment of monkeys to add a little fun touch to an otherwise idyllic place. We decided to slow things down a bit and took our time seeing this town. We relaxed and lounged around more than usual. Mr. Sathi’s amazing saffron lassis were the icing on the cake.
Some called it the most beautful building ever built. Legend has it that the sun and the moon shed a tear when it was finished. No visit to India can be complete without a visit to the Taj Mahal.
It was another hot day. We have gone as far as splurging on a room with AC. We put it off as long as we could have, but eventually we did have to come out of our room and go see the Taj Mahal. The heat made us regret it, and we did consder going back to the room. However, it would have been the epitome of laziness to not see the Taj Mahal, located half a kilometer away from our hotel, on account of the weather.
The Taj Mahal is quite an impressive structure. It is huge, white, and imposing. It is pleasant on the eye. The heat was pouring out of the sky and dripping down our faces and backs. Hiding in the shadows did not offer too much relief, so as soon as we saw this massive tombs from all angles we retreated back to the comfort of our air conditioned room.
We arrived in Agra, but before visiting the Taj Mahal, we took a daytrip. We went to the town of Fatephur Sikri, another ancient regional capital. We’ve spent the day walking around the magnificent red sandstone mosque and fort and chasing the “Hey mister, look in my store” boys away.
The ancient city of Beranas is rumored to be one of the longest continuously inhabited cities in the world. It is so old that consorts of Hindu gods are said to have been cremated here. Generations of maharajas have built towering palaces, which served as a sort of retirement homes, on the banks of the Ganges River, affectionately called Mother Ganga. The city is now more commonly called Veranasi, the holiest city in India.
It is a truly magical place, a confluence of spiritual energy. Throngs of pilgrims come here to bathe, cleanse, and purify body and spirit in the filthy water of the holiest river in India. Dying here or being cremated releases a Hindu from the constant cycle of reincarnation, so life meets death on the banks of the Ganges. Funeral pyres burn constantly as male members of family watch quietly. Beggars, sadhu holy men, pilgrims, hawkers, scammers, boatmen, tourists, kids playing cricket, cows, goats, dogs, and buffalo mingle on the concrete steps which line the river. Nevertheless, in spite of all the happening, the banks of the Ganges in Veranasi are quiet and peaceful.
It is one of those strange places which escape description. Words Photos do not capture the motion, and video fails to convey the smell and the vibe, and words do not do it justice. You just have to be there.
In Veranasi we learned a bit about the Hindu religion and ceremonies, concentrating mainly on the ones which come at the end of life. Bodies of the recently deceased are constantly brought out to the bank of the river on simple bamboo stretchers. They are bathed one last time in the river, while worker boys deliver firewood and build a simple pyre. The body is placed on top, covered with more wood, and certain rituals take place. Fire is brought from the eternal flame in the Shivas temple, and everyone quietly watches as the body returns to ashes. As the flames settle down the remains are shuffled to the center of the flame, and the skull is cracked with a stick to help the cremation. Only male family is present, as women tend to weep and there is a danger they may throw themselves into the fire after their husband. The entire process is very casual, somewhat mechanical, strangely un-solemn, and quite mundane. Sitting right there watching, it is difficult to grasp that human bodies are simply burning right there.
While we were there, there was a full moon and a lunar eclipse. We stayed up all night watching larger than usual masses of people celebrating a Shiva festival. People were bathing en-masse. Priests offered blessings, some people slept, others sang. People were in various stages of getting dressed and undressed for their encounter with the holy water of the Ganges. As the night sky turned dark blue, the morning puja cleansing rituals took over the banks of the river. Meanwhile, in the distance, bodies kept burning on the pyre at the burning ghats. It was a quiet subdued carnival of human spirit and devotion.
India, or should I say Indians, are wearing on me. You ask for directions, and everyone gives you an answer. Unfortunately, many of them do not know the way, and instead of saying “I don’t know” or doing the stupid head wobble they make something up on the spot. I was interrupted incessantly while reading a book to answer your standard “What country? How old? Like India?” questions. I understand you are excited to meet a foreigner, but I was also excited to get into a book on a long and hot bus journey. There is the constant idiotic honking which is brought to new levels which in the end serve no purpose whatsoever except to shred everyone’s nerves. There are also memories of the rudeness they exhibit when we met them traveling in earlier countries. And finally, lest not forget the very helpful man who caused us to end up in 2nd class sleeper for a night long trip. Maybe it is the heat and the long and tiring journeys making me grouchy.
Bishnupur was just a day stop along the route from Kolkata to Veranasi. We toured the terracotta temples and took in the small town atmosphere. It was hot, but the temples were beautiful. It was also nice to be out of a city and away from the constant honking.
We arrived exhausted in New Town, on the periphery of Kolkata. We met with Avneesh, our Couchsurfing host who would be housing us for our two nights in the second largest city in India.
We took it easy here. After sleeping through the first half of the day in order to make up for the sleepless night in a 2nd class train seat, we headed into the city. We strolled the streets and visited the Victoria Memorial.
We spent a lot of time with Avneesh. He was really nice and we spent a lot of time talking about India and being educated about its many eccentricities. Avneesh also shared our love for food, which led us to visit some excellent West Bengali restaurants and let the food put great big smiles on our faces.
The love affair between Indians and their car (or motorcycle) horn is second to none. I thought that in Indonesia or in Vietnam people blared their horn a lot, but Indians take it to a whole new level. In the city, there is constant blaring of the horn. An average driver, I estimate, spends about 20% of his time behind the wheel honking. It serves no purpose. We tried hard to see what caused Indians to honk, but could not find a set answer. In general, as long as there is a car in front of them, Indians will blare their horn.
Zetola
krystianc
paniwu
Brudne Buty 