Plains Sailing

Parts 1 and 2

I just woke up and realised that I’m going backwards.

It’s 1pm.

Earlier, when I fell asleep on this train, we were heading in the direction my sleeper bench is facing.

And now we’re racing through the fields in what appears to be the completely opposite direction.

It takes a bit of time to reorient yourself when that happens. As I slept, my destination city of Gorakhpur, way way east, across the vast plains of northern India, somehow jumped over the train and settled somewhere else, a long long way behind me.

My midnight train from Ajmer finally departed at 3.30am, three and a half hours later than scheduled. Luckily, towards the end of the wait, I met Yoni and Jul, beautiful young Israeli travellers who are in India for the first time, and whose 3 month visa stint is almost up.

So they’re getting out, like me.

As soon as Yoni told me his name, I said, “you know what that name means don’t you?” He said that he knows exactly what it means in Sanskrit. We had a laugh. Yoni means vulva in that ancient language, a language which is the main source of present day Hindi.

But the more important thing, which has nothing to do with language, is that Vulvaman has a guitar.

So there we were, on the train departure platform (which, of course changed throughout our long wait), in the middle of the night, jamming away on a guitar and shakers, with a crowd of starers following our every move, all of them completely expressionless as they watched.

Only in India.

Staring, of course, is allowed here. Everyone does it. It’s one of the things that foreigners find quite disconcerting at first. But you get used to it.

Right now, for example, 2 men are intently watching me from their seats, without any sense that it’s not polite in any way to do so. Because it’s not impolite here. The thing is, it must be sooooo boring watching me typing away like this. But I guess they’re not used to seeing whiteys, so they’re probably checking out every small tiny little detail about me, what I’m doing, what I’m wearing, and what things I’ve got with me.

Indian trains are so great. This is a real Indian train, unlike the incredibly unusually empty one I had last time, on my way to Udaipur. But, by the same token, this train still happens to be a long way from how full Indian trains can sometimes get, particularly at holiday or festival time.

It’s so good to see some green again. I’ve been in the dry dusty plains and deserts of Rajasthan for a month or so, and have now moved on to the more moist and fertile pastures of Uttar Pradesh.

It’s poorer here.

And as I head further east, it’s becoming more so.

Deep, But Shallowing Pockets

So, I’m just wondering whether you've ever thought about how I’m managing to afford to travel around to all these millions of places for such a long time? From my posts you’ve probably gathered that I’m travelling pretty frugally, and I’m trying to stretch my shekels and my trip for as long as possible.

But it’s still adding up.

I have pretty much no income at the moment, and every day I’m spending money, albeit way less than I'd spend if I was in the West.

But, luckily for me, I’ve been dealt a very sweet card by Lakshmi, that generous Goddess of Wealth.

It’s a bit of a story.

I used to work giving music classes at an addiction rehab place. For contractual privacy reasons, I can’t say too much about it. It was ridiculously expensive to go there as a client, so it was really only available for the very rich.

Some of the clients stayed there longer than others, and, as it turned out, some developed relationships with me outside of their rehab program, so I could continue to teach and hang out with them, with the blessings of the organisation.

A couple of years ago, when I was no longer working there, and at a time which happened to coincide with me contemplating a long travel adventure, I received a letter in the mail from a lawyer, advising me that one of those rehab clients that I’d worked with had died. At quite a young age. I was really sad about it, as we were friends, even though I hadn’t seen or been in contact with that person for awhile.

Then the letter went on to state that the person had left me a teeny proportion of their estate in their will.

Wow. What a gesture. What an amazing, completely unexpected and beautiful gift!

The person and I had formed an amazing connection, centred around music, and around the discussion and experience of Eastern philosophical ideas and spiritual teachings.

A teeny proportion of that person’s fortune has been enough to allow me to put some money away for my kids, and left me with a small chunk to fund a major part of this trip.

Of course over the years I’d been saving too, to fund both of those financial goals. I really wanted to make sure I could travel without having to think too much about working. At least for awhile.

So here I am, slowly going through the money, but feeling incredibly fortunate and blessed to have the means to do this trip in the way I’ve always wanted. Of course, I’m conscious of giving back, I always feel good about giving extra to the people here, which, in a practical sense, means so much more to the relatively poor here than it does to me.

I mean, any sort of travel helps the local people, in the sense that I’m always buying from their shops, and they’re getting cash out of me. I’m not interested in bargaining down to the local price, even though I generally know what that price is, and know it’s often below what they’re asking me for.

And then there’s just giving extra, because it feels good for me, and it obviously helps them.

As for my future plans, well, eventually I’ll have to work again. I have enough cash to get me to Europe, if I still travel in my typical scrapin-the-bottom-of-the-barrel type of way.

Then I’ll need to find some more cash.

Losing Track

I’ve just come back from S5, sleeper carriage 5, to visit Yoni and Jul, and am now lazing back on my bench in S8. Those guys are both aged 21, and, I tell ya, I wish I’d been as cool as them when I was their age. We’ve just been chatting about travel, and about all sorts of other things. Just basically killing time.

Jul’s dying of boredom, and I’m not surprised. Our train is a whopping 9 hours late so far. Instead of arriving at Gorakhpur at 10pm tonight, we’re now scheduled to get there at 7am tomorrow morning. Another night on the train. But who really knows what time we’ll actually arrive.

That’s India for you.

It’s about midnight now, but I’m not that sleepy because I’ve been sleeping half the day, and I’ve had too many chais.

Ajmer Railway Station. The closest station to Pushkar

Ceiling paintings

Plastic bottle recycling machine. Good isn’t it.

Filtered drinking water. I actually use my own manual hiking squeeze filter for drinking water, which I’ve been doing all trip. Sometimes I’ll fill up my bottle from these machines, and give the water an extra filter.

More absent editing

My neighbour

One of the great things about India is that so many things aren’t controlled, compared to the West. For example, if you’re on a train you can just go between the carriages, open the carriage entrance doorway, and then stand or sit there, and watch the world go by. It’s beautiful being there, in the strong breeze, watching another world go by, through towns and villages, fields and forests, watching people living a life that’s so utterly different from my own.

Hangin out

My sleeper bench was the first in the carriage, right next to the toilets. The stench was putrid, right from the start, and got worse as the interminable journey continued.

The offending throne.

Royalty is really on-the-nose sometimes.

The weird thing is, I’m getting used to the smell of toilet. You just do here. There’s often open piss walls in towns and cities in India. Men at the front, backs facing the street, and women around the back. You walk past them many times a day. You may find this hard to believe, but I’ve smelt it so often now that when I’m on the street I don’t really think about it anymore.

It’s amazing what you get used to, and how quickly that happens.

So being next to the toilets wasn’t really an issue for me at all, luckily.

Lookin’ down the aisle. The carriage got messier and dirtier as the trip wore on.

We finally got to Gorakhpur, the closest city to the Nepalese border that’s train-accessible, at 9.30am, which made us a total of 11 and a half hours late. We were on the train for 30 whole hours, and it’d been 42 hours since I left my guest house in Pushkar.

That’s nearly 2 whole days and nights, just so you know.

Then we had a 4 hour bus ride to the border. Luckily, we were at the front of the bus, and jammed away for most of the journey.

The border crossing itself was convoluted and tedious. It’s the first border crossing I’ve ever been to where the actual border is pretty much impossible to decipher. It’s just a town, with one long street passing through the middle of it. As you proceed down the street, there’s a building tucked away on the left, which happens to be the Indian Immigration Office, and you need to get your passport stamped in there, as having exited India.

Even though you haven’t.

Luckily Yoni saw the office, I would’ve walked straight past it, looking for a border-border.

Then we took cycle rickshaws to complete the process - a few hundred metres further through town to Indian Customs, where the official didn’t even glance at our backpacks on the rickshaw, let alone check them.

This would be a lucrative smuggling border. No checks whatsoever.

Then we carried on another few hundred meters to the Nepalese immigration post.

Rickshaw wallah

Our Visa On Arrival was only payable in brand new crispy US dollars, which I had trouble getting on the Indian side, but eventually did. Luckily I had a few extra smaller crispy notes, as some of Jul’s notes weren’t accepted at the border, and neither were Inna’s, another Israeli woman we met there.

Dollar sign

Thai monks at the border, giving blessing cards to devoted pilgrims, who were on their way to Lumbini in Nepal, which happens to be the birthplace of the Buddha, and not far from the border.

Anyway, eventually we made it into Nepal! Another country!

Bye bye India, I love you.

And I’ll be back.

For the geographs, this is a map of the first part of my India journey. I’ll be back here in a few weeks probably.

Pretty random path

After eating, we took a shared taxi to Lumbini, because the Nepalese border town of Belariya was really just a dusty truck highway, and not a very nice place to stay. It was the first taxi I've been in for as long as I can remember.

We eventually found a cheap guesthouse in Lumbini and wandered over to the park, to visit Buddha’s birthplace. It was beautiful there at dusk, with wide walkways through lovely gardens, and a big lake with a super peaceful vibe.

Well, peaceful except for the occasional frisky monkeys.

There were contemporary Buddha statues and various shrines in there. We didn’t visit the small temple which marks Buddha’s actual birthplace, as they were trying to slug us 700 Nepalese rupes to get in ($8 Oz). Paying so much (relatively) to go to a temple goes against the grain a bit. A place like that really should be free.

All over Asia, but particularly in India and Nepal, foreigners are sometimes charged up to 100 times more than locals to visit certain sites. I don’t mind that in a way, but not for an active temple.

To Pokhara

I was up first, keen to get to Pokhara today, knowing that Harrison had reserved a room for me tonight in his guest house, and knowing that it’s a long bus journey.

I headed over for some street brekky, and sat on a bench to eat some parantha and chole, with my back to a high wall that fenced the park. As I was eating, a large monkey suddenly flew from the top of the wall onto my table. I knew he wanted food and I reacted quickly, and grabbed my metal breakfast plate off the table.

But he was quicker than me, wasn’t he, bugger, and he just grabbed the rest of my half-eaten parantha right off the plate, and disappeared before I could say, “you cheeky smelly bastard!”

So I was forced to have a second breakfast, inside a little chai stall. Poor me.

Puri (the bread), jalebi (the slightly sweet and oily woven pastry next to the bread), and potato chole. Bloody delicious. Street food kicks arse around here.

Eventually my friends emerged from their caves and ate, while I had my third chai of the just-beginning day.

Yoni, Inna and Jul, on our local bus from Lumbini, heading back to the main north-south highway.

So we ended up at another local bus station, only to discover that we’d missed the last bus to Pokhara. The woman told us we’d have to wait till the evening, and take an overnight bus then.

But we refused to accept defeat, and just wandered onto the highway. By the biggest stroke of luck ever, there was an old bus parked there, which happened to have been hired by a bunch of college students to take them directly to Pokhara. Luckily, there was room for the four of us as well.

So we actually got a bus that ended up being much faster than the normal local bus (as it didn’t stop at every single tiny settlement on the way), and was cheaper as well.

It didn’t take long and we were out of the plains and into the hills.

Sunningday

It’s been forever since I sat down to write.

And it’s really nice to sit here and do it again, warm sun on my back, at a little Nepali eating place here in Pokhara, watching the world go by.

I haven’t actually been alone for ages. Yoni, Jul, Inna and I have been hanging out together for over a week now, exploring Pokhara and the surrounding districts, jamming, cooking, eating, trekking, and, of course, spending hours and hours and hours chatting and getting to know each other.

What a blessing it’s been for all of us. We’ve all become super close.

Yoni and Jul are the gentlest, most lightly-treading people ever. Genuinely sweet, caring, warm and open, they have a beautiful love for nature, animals, and for music and culture. Yoni's also a great guitarist, we've been jamming the whole time.

Inna, a Russian Jew, emigrated to Israel with her brother and parents when she was only 8 years old, and spent all of her childhood trying to distance herself from her cultural roots, so she'd fit in with all the Ashkenazi Jews in Israel, those Jews with European roots. She suffered major discrimination and bullying as a result of her background, even though there were plenty of people like her around.

Between 1989 and 2006, around one million Soviet Jews migrated to Israel, as a result of the then President Michael Gorbachev's decision to open the borders, and allow them to leave. Another 600,000 migrated to the US and Europe, mainly to Germany (of all places).

These days Inna takes pride in her background, and the four of us travelling buddies realised we all actually have Eastern European or Russian backgrounds going back only one or two generations. And I still wonder where I get my Jewish nose from. When I was in Israel and in neighbouring Arab countries some years ago I was often mistaken for a Jew, which had its big pluses and big minuses, depending on where I was.

Pokhara itself has changed a lot. When I first came here, thirty-ish years ago, it was a small town, with some low key guest houses and homestays within spitting distance of the lake.

Today it’s a small city, and it now extends forever up the valley, although the area of Lakeside and Damside, where we’ve spent most of our time, is still pretty quiet and low key - as long as you avoid the busier Hallam Chowk area, the more ritzy zone.

Also, the peak tourism season’s ended here, as it’s getting too cold for people.

There’s hundreds of cafés here, catering for every culinary desire imaginable. The cafés for Westerners are overpriced, (although you can get some amazingly healthy and good quality Western-style food here), but you can also find the cheap local eating houses, like the one I’m sitting in now.

Here you can get a cheap Nepali thali, or Thakali food, consisting of the usual dal, rice and vegies, but with deliciously spiced extras, chutneys and pastes. The great thing is that lots of the vegies and leaves have been harvested from the forests around here, they’re organic, and super healthy.

There’s always new things thrown in, things you’ve never tasted. They’re delicious, unique, and you known damn well they’re good for you.

The Thakali people, btw, are from the mountains, traditional traders who bought and sold their wares along Himalayan trading routes. These days they’re concentrated mainly in the Pokhara and Kathmandu areas. They use millet and buckwheat, as well as rice, as a staple, and make the most delicious healthy savoury millet or black-wheat “pancakes.” It’s a common breakfast food for them. I’ve had them a number of times now, at various places, and it’s really become my favourite brekky ‘round these parts.

I first arrived in Pokhara over a week ago, after that forever train and bus journey all the way from Pushkar in India. I’d first travelled east, pretty much halfway across the widest part of India, and then headed north, first to the Nepalese border at Sonauli, and then all the way up the mountains to here.

I knew that Harrison, a beautiful man I met in Rishikesh, would be here, and he reserved me a room in his hotel. It was relatively spenny, but it was worth it. I had my own bathroom! It had hot water!

I haven’t enjoyed either of those delicious luxuries in quite some time.

So Yoni, Jul, Inna and I arrived late at night, and Harrison told us about a jam up the hill, at Shanti Space, basically a hippy guesthouse hangout zone right up the hill in the forest on the edge of town, fairly near our hotel.

After dinner we headed up there, and there they all were, the Rainbow Crew, sitting around the fire, passing around the chillum, jamming away. It was great. A chillum is a pipe used to smoke charras, marijuana.

There’d been a Global Rainbow Gathering in Nepal a couple of weeks ago, which is basically a huge gathering of like-minded hippies camping somewhere beautiful in the forest for a few weeks, in an electricity-and-money-free zone,

I’ve been to a few of them myself in the past, they’re amazing.

After the Nepal gathering, many of the people ended up hanging here in Pokhara. So I connected with some of them up the hill, and disappeared into the music (and into some pretty smoky worlds). I then found myself trying to climb down a hugely steep rocky hill in the early hours of the morning without a light, realising too late that my phone had died.

When will I grow up?

Luckily Portuguese Rita saved me. We had a beautiful connection, and I’m now officially in love.

Nah, not really, I wish. It’s a crying shame, but I haven’t seen her again, she was leaving the next day.

I’m also very happy to report I made it home on that particular night without any physical injuries, for a change. All I had were some pretty psychedelic dreams, which were quite the treat.

Phewa Lake from my hotel balcony. Pretty built up isn’t it. Back in the day there were just a few guesthouses close to the lake.

It’s still nice though.

Looking out across the valley. There were only gardens and rice fields here last time.

I finally got to meet Harrison’s girlfriend, Leron, from Israel. Or Lily, as she likes to call her travelling self.

Lily’s amazing. A dancer, actress, singer and teacher, she’s one of these people who’s so open that she completely changes the energy of a place when she’s there. She allows everyone else to open up.

We have the most amazing connection. I feel like I’ve known her forever, we had some beautiful conversations over the few days we were together in Pokhara, as well as some amazing jams, and some very deep and honest moments. She wears her heart on her sleeve, that one.

Lily and Harrison slackin it

Lily singing a tune with a couple of other Israelis for the first night of Hanukkah, a Jewish festival. I especially like their candelabra. The Hanukkah holiday lasts for 8 days, and you light candles in the evenings, make special foods, and basically hang out, eat, and appreciate each other. Sounds good doesn’t it.

Hanukkah commemorates the defeat of the Greeks by the Jews, way back in the Second Century BCE, and the rededication of the Second Temple of Jerusalem, after the mean Greeks had originally sacked it. Ransacked it even.

Given the shit that’s going down in that part of the world at the moment, everyday Arabs and Israelis are really doing it tough right now, so important festivals like Hanukkah have a deep emotional significance right now.

We lit candles on a few nights, and sang songs in Hebrew or Yiddish.

That night on the pic also happened to be Open Mike night at that cafe, and we had a killer jam. I sang a song I actually wrote in Pokhara about 25 years ago, called Minimise The Damages, which is basically about how being hurt in relationships can make it so difficult to trust again.

Strange that I get to sing it again all these years later, with it still having some relevance for me.

Downtown Pokhara. The main drag in Lakeside, Baidam Road.

It’s nice walking along the lake. Somehow that’s retained its charm, as the government hasn’t allowed it to be totally destroyed by development. Only partly destroyed. There’s a little Disneyland and a ferris wheel at one spot, no joke.

Boat builders at work

I heartly thank you.

As you head further southeast, to the “fish tail” part of the lake, it’s less developed and more beautiful.

One day we climbed the hill to Dechenling Monastery, a Tibetan gompa with a beautiful temple, and with stunning views of the lake.

Caféing with Inna

One night Harrison and a Slovenian guy, Michel, ran a Cacao Ceremony in a beautiful space close to the lake. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, how bloody cosmic hippy.

The thing is, it was beautiful. We all set an intention for our own lives, and spent some time allowing that to develop in our minds. Harrison guided us through a beautiful meditation, and then we sang a lot, and shared our experiences with each other. It was amazing.

There’s so many beautiful people here, all have unique and interesting stories to tell, and skills to share. It’s a treasure chest of sparkling humanity.

Eventually Harrison and Lily left, both heading to different parts of India, it was sad. I moved hotels, to a cheaper variety, and this is the view from my new spot, where Yoni, Jul and Inna are also staying.

Jul is a killer at henna. She decorated my hand and lower leg. And pretty much everyone else’s.

Henna’s traditionally worn by women in India and Nepal to beautify. But actually I've discovered that in some places in India they also do it on men during wedding ceremonies.

Yes, you can get great bakery fare in this town. Now that’s a treat. This was a regular supply point for all of us. Cheap cinnamon swirls and apple pastries.

And they say there is no God.

It’s Quite A Trek

Yeah, so of course I wanna get up into those hills. I’m sure that’s no surprise to you, if you know me.

I love nature, and I love hiking.

The Israeli crew wanna do an easier hike, so my plan is to spend a few days doing that with them, and then when they leave Pokhara to head elsewhere, I'll go somewhere higher, on my own.

That beautiful Annapurna range is calling me, loud and clear.

Yeah, those mountains are high, and it’s winter, and I don’t have proper high altitude trekking gear, let alone hiking boots.

So I’ll just have to wing it, and do what I can do❤️

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