India

Lumbini proves to be nothing like Kathmandu or Chitwan. The birth place of Buddah is like a city that had been half built and then forgotten. A collection of lovely hotels surrounded a temple and gardens. Next to the temple was the famed bodhi tree and turtle pond where Buddhas mother felt her birthing pains. At the base of the tree sit a collection of monks. They pray and chant and give blessings.

The monsoon catches up with us as we cross the Indian boarder. Early morning traffic and mud settles in around us as we negotiate visas.  The 13 hours and 260km we drive to Varinassi are cramped, rough and damp. We are so thankful for the air conditioning. We pass through hundreds of villages not accustomed to white tourists. If we stay any longer than necessary in one spot we attract a mesmerised audience. We fill the car with Bollywood tunes and buttery sweet and spicy street samosas. 

We reach the holy city of Varinassi by sunset. The rain pours to welcome us. We attempt the Ghats but it isn't worthwhile and we are too tired to understand it all anyway. 

We settle into our Jesus worshipping Jewish hotel in our Hindu city. We wake throughout the night to traffic horns, cows mooing, dogs barking and every other sound there ever was. Finally the gongs, clangs, jingles and rings of Hindu bells crash us into the morning. 

We head out of Varinassi to a remote section of the Ganges. A small boat awaits us. It is kitted out in mattresses, pillows and blankets. Four of us, a tiller man and an oars man (a boy of maybe 19!) set off down the Ganges headed back towards Varanasi. It is bliss. We fill ourselves with spinach paneer, rice, chipari, dhal and potatoes from the kitchen boat. The clouds and breeze cool us, the rapid current moves us, the stories and laughter last until we land on a small sand bar. As we explore our lovely, young guides set up our tents and cook the most amazing "camping food" we have ever eaten. As the night comes the wind picks up, the Ganges rushed by and trivia is swapped. Eventually the coming rain pushes us into our canvas wind socks. We don't sleep. The wind keeps up a constant clatter accompanied by the occasional mooing of buffalo, howling of jakles and finally the endless pour of the monsoon. The impending threat of the rising river forces us from our tents early. In our boat we collapse as a saturated sandy muddy group. Warmed by endless cups of hot masala chai our spirits remain high. We feast on porridge with lemon honey and toast and marmeliade as the rain washes on to the tarps of our vessel. Hours creep as the rain hammers. Eventually we set off. 

A cold shower awaits us in Varinasi. Dry clothes and we are off again. We visit old Varinasi which is very similar to new Varinasi but much more cramped. We take a cycle rickshaw back to our hotel. A fight ensues over 10 rupees but pettiness wins out. At sunset we make our way back to the river where the day began. We sail beside the Ghats and Temples. A floating body joins us, whole heatedly reminding us of the purpose of this sacred river. We release oil lamp flowers into the river and make wishes as they are threatened by the persistent rain and the whisked away by the rushing current. 

 We welcome sleep and prepare for our overnight train journey to Jhansi. A tuktuk race to Varanasi train station is a brand new way to travel. We are positive all payment must go to the driver who arrives first. Our driver yells, slaps and punches others whilst waiting in traffic. Hindi music blares, we honk, squeeze and twist our way through traffic. We pull faces, wave and grab out at each other as we pass by. Eventually we collide with a bicycle and almost break a pedestrians legs. The station explodes with people and stink. The train carriages pulling in smells like raw sewerage. We make our way to our reserved sleeper cabins. We are rewarded with a designated space and air conditioning.  We are thankful for a small mercies money can buy in this country. 

We squeeze into bunks and jolt and rock the 20 hours and 33 stops to Jhansi. At 11pm a group of men come into our curtained quarters. Confusion and chatter punctuated by stink fill our bunks. The night seems long but eventually we sleep. We wake to daylight and the train travelling in the opposite direction, such is India. 

A quick tuktuk ride takes us to Orccha. We are welcomed by a gong to our hotel, a converted royal residence. We are in awe - air conditioning and our second hot shower in the last fortnight! We have little time to enjoy it. We walk into Ochrra and explore the small town. Children rush to us begging us to buy their trinkets and making pinky promises that we would return later, when we do they are gone. The air is thick and damp. We sip masala chai under a fan at a small cafe then make our way to the forts and castles. We tread carefully as we travel up spires and along balconies, only able to imagine how these structures looked in their time.  We stop for cold coffee and ice cream, a perfect choice, before heading across the town to Ram Raja Temple for the Hindu prayer ceremony. As night falls we join in the ceremony. People offer flowers, biscuits and money. They chant and clap and ring bells. 

The following day we visit a paper recycling facility. It has been set up to employ women in the area. The whole place seems abandoned. There are 2 men working one of the devices to press the paper and a handful of women hanging slabs of paper to dry. We find it ironic that a place set up to help women, essentially has them hanging up paper laundry. We spend the afternoon in a local women's house where she teaches us how to cook local food. 

The morning sees us catch another train destined for Agra. We start at the Red Fort, an amazingly imposing structure that doesn't look like much on the outside. On the inside we are amazed. The architecture and buildings are indescribable. Our guide fills our minds with the incredible love story of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal. Just as the sun peaks at the hottest time in the hottest place in the world we are granted access to the Taj Mahal. We are overwhelmed with dodgy, scamming photographers. We seek our other white tourists to take our photos and take our time wandering around the great structure. A whirl through Agra, we have seen all we needed to see, we decide to head for Delhi early the next morning. 

Delhi is an endless metropolis. We head to the markets and are interested to see our first "Western Side" of India. There are common brand name shops, McDonalds and other outlets. It is all very similar but different. I get my hair dyed an exceptionally vibrant blonde and then we are finished with India. The honking, the staring, the bargaining, the curry, the pushing and shoving, the cows, the constant negotiations and questions. We bury ourselves in our hotel and wait out our flight.