Cheeky Monkey

Before coming to Rishikesh -- a magnet of spiritual seekers and the 'Yoga Capital of the World' -- we spent a little bit of time in Shimla.

Shimla's a pretty town, strung out along a ridge in the foothills of the Himalayas. The change of pace and cooler weather were refreshing.

Having read the guide book, we decided to take a wander up to the Jakhu Temple, dedicated to the monkey god. It's a steep half hour climb, with hundreds of monkeys loitering in the forest that straddles the path. We were told not to make eye contact or smile at the monkeys and we did as the locals do ... carried a stick.

Having reached the top, we took a breather and posed for a photo. As I was standing in front of a statue, a monkey came from behind and grabbed my sunglasses straight off my head! It would be fair to say I squealed with vigour! The monkey then proceeded to sit not far from us, parading my sunglasses in victory.

Not long after, when Ad sat down to send an sms - bang! Monkey ... sunglasses ... gone!

So, it's cheeky monkeys: 2, Ad and Suey: 0.
It's all an adventure.

Next up we're off to the giant sandcastle town of Jaisalmer in Rajasthan, but right now I have to split to go and watch the sunset over the Ganges from the rooftop of our hotel. The adventure continues!

Namaste. xo

Grunge Rishikesh

Ti kai? [OK?]

Hanji. Subh ti kai! [Yes. All is well!]

I can see the Ganges from the window of this internet caf. It's wide, green and glorious. Rishikesh, seven hours north of Delhi (and famous for the Beatles' 1968 visit), is hard to fathom. It's stunningly beautiful, and this alone might account for its spiritual rep. It's hard not to get absorbed in the river's flow, fresh from the Himalayas. Yet Rishi is also commercial and full of Westerners -- more Westerners than I've seen in my three Indian weeks. After that, it's kind of grungy. Sadhus [wise men / religious men] will engage you in conversation but are just as likely to hit you up for rupees thereafter. I politely decline. Ji naang hai, dhanyawad. [No, thankyou.]

The sadhus seem kind of mad, and this may be because they are genuinely spiritual and find it hard to make their way in the world. Or maybe they really are mad and this is a good place to hang out. I don't know. There's a fine line between mad and enlightened I reckon. Some of the maddest people I know make the most sense, some of the time.

Anyway, thanks for reading, if you're been tracking this blog. We only aim to say namaste once a week or so. We've been crap with the postcards too.

Indian music and traditional dance concert tonight on the rooftop of an ashram, five minutes from our digs. More Rishi tomorrow -- I may even dunk myself in the Ganges -- then a shockingly early train to Delhi on Tuesday, followed by an overnighter to Jaisalmer in the Great Thar Desert. Hope everyone at home is grand.

xo

Holy Cow!

After 10 days apart and a long trip from Barwon Heads to Delhi, it was great to see Ad. He greeted me at the Indira Gandhi International Airport dressed in a kurta and speaking Hindi! He then proceeded to negotiate the cab ride to the city with ease and has proven he is a master of the mathematics behind the Indian train timetables.

It has been quite an adventure since.

My first taste of India was Paharganj, in New Delhi. There is something intoxicating about arriving in a bustling city for the first time. The sights, sounds and smells rush through your veins. That experience for me was wandering through the main bazaar.

It's a melting pot of women in beautiful saris, maniacal traffic, young kids playing cricket in the dusty streets, confronting smells (imagine an aromatic mix of incense, urine and fried samosas, all in one whiff), constant offers for rickshaw rides and in the midst of it all - very large cows sitting around peacefully. It was intense and I loved it!

We've since had an incredible experience in Amristar at the Golden Temple (see Ad's post below) and next we're heading to the hills, possibly followed by a visit to Rishikesh for some Ashram action.

I'm loving the vegetarian food and have had no sign of stomach rumblings, nor has Ad. Jas, however, got taken down by a chicken masala and is still suffering 4 days later but in true Tripper J style, is soldiering on.

Namaste. xo

The Golden Temple

Forgive me. It's been eight days since my last post. Hard to get to an interim net 'caf' sometimes here. Suey and I just got back from another spine-crunching local bus ride to Amritsar, five hours north-east. We ran into a white chap on the bus, who lives locally and said we're only the second white folk in five years that he's seen on that route. So we are putting some 'in' before the 'trepid'.

Amritsar is an hour from the Pakistan border, and you can go see the border closing ceremony. It's underwhelming. I was expecting gravitas, but all we got was chest beating, feather fluffing and silly walks. I suppose it would be funny if they weren't blowing each other up from time to time. The Pakistanis had nicer uniforms/costumes and looked more fearsome.

Infinitely more astonishing is the Sikh Golden Temple. Set in the middle of a holy lake (Amrit Sarovar -- Pool of Nectar) and surrounded on all sides by marbled promenades, it's packed with pilgrims around the clock. Just as busy at 5am (we got up to watch the Temple change colour as the sun rose) as 5pm.

We slept in a flea-bitten dorm in one of the huge peripheral buildings housing the thousands of daily/nightly visitors. Holy men chant or sing from the Guru Granth Sahib (holy book) around the clock, accompanied sometimes by sitar, tabla and harmonium. This is broadcast throughout the complex over loudspeakers. When you queue up and finally get inside the Hari Mandir Sahib (main temple), though, you stand right next to the priests, sitting, singing, praying (and broadcasting).

We ate dahl, naan and some sort of polenta-based mithai ('sweet'; not so great) in the communal dining hall, in which the Sikh's feed 40,000 people a day for free. You grab a thali (tin plate), rush to grab a spot in one of the long, straight lines on the floor, and get your dahl served from a bucket. Then we spent 45 minutes washing thousands of shiny thalis in the communal kitchen. You don't have to pitch in, but it's all part of the fun.

Sikhism appears genuinely inclusive and tolerant. So it was hard to reconcile the sharp, curved dagger I saw poking from a pilgrim's sari as she kneeled to kiss the marble Parkarma (promenade). This and the border closing foolishness are somehow sadly related.

Anyway ... tomorrow to Shimla in the Himalayan foothills, perhaps then to Rishikesh and the Ganges headwaters for some yoga (if we can gird ourselves for a 10-hour bus ride). Thence to Delhi and Paharganj for, well, Delhi, and thereafter to Jaisalmer in the Great Thar Desert.

Last night I ate Fettucine Alfredo in a local, extremely authentic, Italian restaruant. We're enjoying our adventure.

Namashkaar. xo

Five days in

Namaskaar! [Hello!]

Kya hal hai? [How are you?]

Achaa! [Good!]

So, between you, me and 110 krore (1.1 billion) Indians, I'm not the world's best traveller. My 'a gentleman will walk but never run' philosophy isn't so effective in the overseas trenches. Besides which, I like to know where I am and where I'm going and which bus to catch and how much it costs -- ahead of time. I'm not quite obsessive compulsive about it, but my brain runs smoother when I have the territory mapped. I stress less.

In which case, the first three days in India were full on. This country, with the greatest respect, is like a zoo with the keepers missing. What I mean is, it's every living organism for itself. The most ubiquitous organism, of course, is humankind. People everywhere, doing everything, all the time. It's mad and magical and not a little confronting. Mostly indescribable. Of course, it's not a zoo to the locals, it's home. This is settling.

But the last two days I've finally taken the proper plunge. I've wandered for hours through the local markets and back streets, the only white guy for miles. I've had two 'fights' with autorickshaw wallahs. I want to go one way, they generally want to take you to their 'friend's' shop. The first altercation, I got out of the rickshaw twice before getting my way. Walking away is a powerful bargaining tool.

I've caught a local spine-crunching crash-defying bus 150 km south to Mysore to see the palace (unbelievable opulence) and wander the town (extraordinary simplicity). Once again, the only white guy on the streets, which is enough to prompt locals to ask for a photo or touch your skin. I've pushed my way onto the bus back to Bengarluru. Ya gotta push, or miss out.

Unlike all you savvy travellers out there, this mode of being is kind of new to me. For various long-held deep-seated psychologically compelling reasons, I've been tentative in life.

Last night, bumping back through the warm night, listening to a track called 'Home' by All India Radio on the iPod, I even got a little teary about it all. To paraphrase David Malouf ... I am nine years old. I am 40. I am infinitely alive and creative. I am there.

Namaste.

Fermilengi! [See you later!]

xo

Departure

A nice man in the airport pointed out to me that I'd left my passport behind at the baggage counter. Oops. Nearly fell at the first hurdle. Jason is sleepy and perhaps excited. I'm sleepy and very excited. Chapatis all 'round.

xo