Colonial architecture and street food....

               Just returned from my 5 hour foot patrol of the main thoroughfares and alley ways of central Kolkata. In order to give my promenade some kind of sequence, the taxi was directed to drop me in at BBD Bagh (Square), a couple of blocks east of the major Hooghly River and just south of the Howrah Bridge. BBD commemorates the names of the three terrorist/freedom fighters (your choice), who in 1930 attempted to assassinate the Lt. Governor Lord Dalhousie. Instead, they killed a visiting prison officer---not really an important event in its self, but one that was symbolic in terms of being another key point in the struggle for independence.         

               Leaving BBD and feeling cooler air blowing off the wide river I walked up the east bank through a park. Peaceful at 10.30am on a week day morning, it was relaxing to watch the ferries & to enjoy my constitutional cuppa ‘chai’ on a shaded park bench. With guilty feelings that I must ‘see more’, I continued ambling north-ward, but a block in from the river observing all the derelict warehouses that used to service the docks of a busy port. The port is now only a shadow of its previous stature, having been cut-off from its natural hinterland when East Pakistan was created in 1947. One does not walk quickly in Kolkata, the crowds, the ruptured sidewalks and the overall visual and aural over-load occupy all the senses, so that one is always stopping to see ‘one more thing’.

              Based on comments received that Bengali food is sweeter & fruitier as in chutney, less brutally spicy/peppery than in other regions, I partook of a piled plate from a street vendor (thousands of them from which to choose). Very good—it was pleasant to have had the sensation of a full stomach, after several weeks when I know that my input has been lower than usual.

         This is my third foray into Kolkata, and once again I have the impression that this is a more livable city than Delhi or Mumbai. Cleaner and in its own way, less chaotic. Miraculously things (on the street) seem to actually function, when they shouldn’t. Kolkata is chaotically packed to the gunwales with folk all jostling and anxiously pushing to get on with their business.

They thought I was visiting movie star (just joking!)

                 With 5 hours walking to my credit and perhaps 5 kms  covered, past a variety  of decaying British architecture, I hailed a taxi for my commute back to my accommodation in the Salt Lake City section. Getting a taxi is never a problem in Kolkata, thousands of them roaming the streets—I cannot figure the economics of this industry, as I pay only $3 for a 30 minute ride. The taxis are ancient, rattle traps, but even so!

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            Skin colour is a major topic in India. The lighter, the better seems to be the consensus among many newly affluent. Read the matrimonial ads in the newspapers and see how just about everyone seems to sell themselves on the basis of their MBAs, US green cards and their very light complexions. Watch the Bollywood movies played 24/7 on 100 satellite tv channels and quickly observe that the young women featured, bear very little relationship to the women on the street in ‘any Indian town’. The TV lovelies almost look northern European in skin features and colouring. Relentlessly, on TV and on poster hoardings, brands of skin whiteners, targeted at younger women are promoted. Be paler and be more successful in the competition to find a husband is the sub-text. Healthy? You decide, but newspapers report that the Indian Gov’t is developing legislation to control/limit the claims that the cosmetic manufacturers may make.

                   

Parallel to this pale skin phenomena, but at the other end of the age spectrum, as reported in today’s newspaper, is the fact that grey hair in India is a loss of face and an embarrassment to the older age crowd. Many matures, both sexes, often purchase affordible cheap brands, that when applied and mixed with human sweat in a hot climate, result in beads of black dye running down faces and staining the forehead in lines—victims of this genre of cosmetic accident are known as zebra faces! 

Of Kings and Paupers....

               Following  the guidance of my Lonely Planet (LP)guide book, I marked the Victoria Monument (VM) as the ‘must see’ edifice for my second day on the hoof in Kolkata. Built, or rather commenced in

The Victoria Monument--Kolkata.

1910, to mark the crowning of George V as the ‘King-Emperor’ of India, finally completed 25 years later (1935). LP states this is considered as Calcutta’s answer to the Taj Mahal, but being rather less romantic, commemorating an absent colonial king rather than a lost & loved wife. The VM is indeed beautiful externally, cast in white marble, with mirror pools and placed in a massive central park akin to Hyde Park, London or Central Park NYC. Included in my $3 admission was the museum of the colonial period---once again, I noted in the commentary the almost intense lack of official affection for the Raj and things British.

               Duly photographed, one more ‘sight’ successfully off my list, I headed for the crowded city streets, in particular the Canmac Road area—one of the trendy (per LP) shopping streets, in search of some shade and sustenance. No shortage of sidewalk food sellers here for the office workers in the high buildings (not towers) that lined the street. It is never an easy task for me to find something to eat—just call me too picky. Food in India is scooped up and consumed with bare fingers---rather messy. My hands tend to be very dirty by lunch- time, so perhaps my resistance to finger use has resulted in me being 99% stomach upset free for the first 6 weeks of this venture—have crossed paths with many other travellers that have suffered from ‘Delhi Belly’. Hope that my comments has not upset the food sanitation gods!

            

Unofficial  recycling  collection centre--Kolkata style.

It  is my rule when sight seeing, to get myself 'lost'---in doing so, I usually see a lot more of the quaint, meaningful or unexpected, than staying on the well trod tourist route. Today, my wandering took me into what looked like a typical local working class area and a chance to witness close-up the grinding poverty that is Kolkata. At no point did I feel threatened, or was I unpleasantly confronted by aggressive begging. Even with camera raised to eye, people were quick to smile and stare at my  my white skin and bare hairy legs—not too many of those animals pass their homes any day/month/year. Not sure I would like to be here at night, but certainly daytime in the back streets of Kolkata was no problem for this tourist.

                    In a country like India, as in most other countries, there is a competitive rivalry between the major cities.  Not wishing to take sides, but I have to say that Kolkata seems a more pleasant place to live in or visit, than Delhi, or Mumbai, cities that disappointed me. I have a sense in Kolkata of forward movement amongst all the bedlam and chaos. Plenty of high-rise condo towers can be seen rising in the suburbs, plus evidence of shopping plazas being developed for the emerging aspirational middle classes. An effort by local government & the citizens to adhere to basic public sanitation was observed during my walks—and while far from being pristine, I did not have to step over/through so many piles of refuse as in most other places visited so far in the sub-continent.

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             Remember when we used to use messy blue carbon paper in forms to make duplicate copies?  Have not seen this used in the West for 15-20 years. Well the industry is alive and flourishing in India. Anyone in an administrative function uses it many times a day. Of course, this parallels the (almost) empirical total absence of computers in the hotels, offices and lunch counters as would used by a tourist (excepting the airport). This surprises me, as cell phones and hand-held devices have massive penetration here—even shoe-shine wallahs crouched on the footpath, can be seen scanning their screens for their Facebook messages!.

Arrival by train in Kolkata...

             I arrived in Kolkata on the “Darjeeling Mail” at 6.20 am, just 20 minutes late on a 10 hour overnight journey from Siliguri. Trains on Indian Railways are denominated with numbers in addition to rather quaint

names by which they are more generally known by rail travellers. This was my third and final sector of this 90 day rail journey, that runs overnight—much more comfortable that I had beforehand expected and this morning I arrive refreshed after 6-7 hours in the Land of Nod. Must be the rolling stock squeaks and mysterious bangs that hypnotise me!

              Kolkata, formerly known as Calcutta, changed its name in 2001, to make it more phonetic for Bengalis. The city, pop.14.7 million, covering 187 sq. kms is just 10m above sea-level which explains reported flooding in the streets, when there are monsoon rains—memories of Bangkok!. Kolkata was the capital of the Raj up to 1911, when as the result of an earlier 1905 administrative decision to split the State of Bengal into two parts, resulted in wide-spread unrest, the British applied the quick fix and moved the capital to Delhi.

               My hotel, or to be more accurate residency, aka guest-house, is located in the ‘new’ area Salt Lake City section, 10 kms. away from the centre, making it a full 45 minute ($3.50) taxi ride in grindingly slow traffic,. Yes, I think I made a mistake with this hotel—generally I like to be nearer the centre where better facilities for tourists usually exist. Anyway, it is, on budget, clean and quiet---not always guaranteed in India.

     Let's face it,  Kolkata carries baggage in terms of its world-wide reputation in terms of poverty and urban blight. I have to say at this point, on the basis of a superficial 3 hour meander to try and orient myself in the central area, it does appear (surprisingly) to me to be significantly cleaner and somewhat more sophisticated compared to both Delhi and Mumbai ----only a single cow spotted on a traffic island, so far! During this initial centre city stroll, I felt quite safe on the streets and everyone I spoke with was extremely helpful and friendly. Only negative experience was upon entering the taxi to return to my hotel when I was accosted by a couple of young female street beggars who tried to bar my entry, till I had given them money. I had to use some muscle to push them away so as to be able to close the cab door. Early this morning, I did see awfully squalid slums bordering the rail tracks on the approach the rail terminus—with many living & sleeping in total poverty, under plastic sheeting.

Need a loan --put up  the wife's gold...

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          Police & security in India. I judge that police in India do not have a good image with the public. They seem distant, surly and unapproachable. Mostly they are older men that have the air of being ex-military & lathis (long clubs) or with a machine gun. They loiter in the shade, or sit in police vehicles reading the newspaper. Those few traffic police that are on point duty at central points, not many traffic light functional here, lethargically gesture to the traffic with an air of---“I have given up---all this is too much for me”! It has been indicated to me that if you need police help you better have your wallet out & be ready to make a donation to the ‘Police Retirement Fund’.

usually armed with metre long

          The private sector cousins of police are the omni-present ‘security’ guards that hang about outside of almost any significant office building, 'high class shops', banks, hospital, hotels etc., etc. Self appointed security guards even set themselves up to guard parking spots for select and generous customers. Clearly the massive use of security guards in India is another manifestation of a major over supply of unskilled labour, resulting in very low wages and general under employment.

Returning to India!

          Concluding a pleasant short sojourn in Darjeeling.  I did not use the city to its full tourist potential,

Mountain spectacular---3rd. highest in the world.

being mainly happy to just stroll the city streets, enjoy a selection of restaurants that offered international cuisine and chat with visitors from a number of places around the globe. Darjeeling could be utilised more fully as a spring-board for hiking, rafting & climbing activities nearer the Himalayas in Sikkim & Bhutan. Anyway this was a look- see trip, so perhaps next time! The bonus prize at 8.00 am this morning was clear, clear skies and the best snow clad mountain vistas seen during my stay. I was able to click my best photos yet.

           After breakfast I descended, clad in warm sweaters, the 100 stairs, (I know, I counted them), from Dekeling Hotel reception, to the shared taxi rank, 4 wheel drive SUVs, to negotiate the return 3 hour ride back to Siliguri. The price had mysteriously increased 35% up to $3.50, since my inward leg, and I was unable to negotiate it down. The sweaters were rapidly removed as the temperature soared with the rapid loss of altitude.

       

Winding Siliguri to Darjeeling road.

The road back seemed a lot steeper and precarious than it had appeared as we climbed up to Darjeeling—just an optical illusion, of course. There are concrete safety barriers intermittently, in other places, nothing at all between vehicle and a multi hundred foot  sheer drops. The highway descended the very steep hill-sides through a series of switch backs. At times, from my front seat next to the driver, I was able to count 4, perhaps 5, levels of road beneath us. We flung ourselves at considerable speed & a lot of dust around the tight, loose gravel bends, my thoughts often centred on hopes that the breaks & steering where in good repair. I had noticed amongst the many shared taxis in Darjeeling, that more than a few tyres were almost devoid of tread. Anyway, isn’t that part of the travel adventure, third world style.

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 The power of social media. 
           Being a creature with roots in the pre-internet era, I have always been a little sceptical of the power of social media---who knows, who cares, being frequently my attitude. During this trip to India, where I had self-planned the itinerary, my advance hotel arrangements were completed on-line, using the likes of Booking.com. Upon departure from my hotels, I have sensed concern from hotel managers as to the acceptability of the hospitality and enjoyment of the stay, sometimes even with an overt request to rate highly the property highly in any post stay reviews that I might complete. When I have been making my own accommodation purchase decisions, I have been influenced by internet reviews recorded by previous visitors. Perhaps this is a new era of effective consumer power that is emerging.

Learning about Goukaland & Darjeeling....

              Sustained by a full breakfast eaten at my hotel, dramatically overlooking the town and high mountains, my first task was to investigate the UNESCO recognised toy train track that originally ran for about 70 kms in the lowlands up to Darjeeling. It had been my plan to ride at least a short section of the route. Apparently, seats are much in demand and reserved well in advance--- so out of luck, it was. The

Mount Kangchenjunga,  at  26,600ft., world's #3 highest.

railway is currently operational for approximately 50% of the full route and appears to be suffering from neglect. A newspaper article recently read stated that UNESCO is considering withdrawal of its prestigious recognition until full service is resumed.

                    With time on my hands, I retreated to the local coffee shop to plan a walking itinerary. The distances are not great in Darjeeling town as the available land is constrained by the precipitous topography.  I learned that Darjeeling is viewed as a jumping off point for hiking routes up into Bhutan & Sikkim. This explains all the mountain gear shops on the main street.

               Conversations with other tourists, underlined to me the necessity of viewing the snow covered high

Himalayas from lookout positions around Darjeeling at 5.30 am as the sun rises, casting a pink glow over the mountain panorama.After 8 am cloud and mist forms and for a good part of the day, at this time of the year, the high peaks are not visible.
               In the 1880's, Darjeeling and the frontier region of west Bengal received massive immigration of Gurkha people from Nepal, who, beneffiting from close ties with the colonial power, moved into the area, such that they became the dominant racial group. Over the 20th century, the Gurhas supported an independence agenda, adamantly rejected by India.This errupted into serious violence in 1986, with large scale damage resulting in Darjeeling. Subsequently, a self-governing Goukaland region within West Bengal was agreed upon.

                                                          +++++++++++++++++

              I have noticed a fair number of what you might class as very mature, long haired hippies during my strolls along the alleyways and lanes of Indian towns & cities. Mature? I would place them as mid-sixties in age & that would make them former war protesters & ‘flower children’ of the Beatles generation. Cannot claim that I have conducted any meaningful surveys on the issue, but wonder if this is not a case of these elderly, guitar carrying hippies taking a nostalgic late life retro stroll, along the highways and byways of a drug crazed and misspent youth spent wandering around Asia. No criticisms here—is n’t it the same youth extension elixir thing with the current crop of portly senior gentleman who currently ride around in leather, atop Harley Davidsons (US,) or drive too fast in renovated TR7s (UK)?

Climbing 7500 feet up to Darjeeling....

           Too early for breakfast, I rick-shawed to the Jeep taxi stand near the bus terminal, Siliguri, and 

View of Darjeeling from hotel...

procured for myself, along with seven other passengers, a seat on the 77km, 2 ½ hr. climb up into the foothills and Darjeeling. This hill station, as it was referred to in the days of the Raj, effectively operated as the capital of India during the hot summer months when bureaucrats, army officers & politicians of the British colonial administration had it’s seat of government in hot steamy Calcutta (now referred to as Kolkata). In 1911, Delhi became the capital of India.

          The air here is much cooler, drier and less stifling than down on the Indian plain, ideal for the Memsahibs to socialise and party away the summer month. Very refreshing—the first time I have sported a pullover since arrival in Mumbai nearly 6 weeks ago.

          Darjeeling, pop: 109,000, elevation: 2200m/7000ft and is a city built on the side of steep hills. The town runs laterally across the hills, with a series of switch-backs enabling vehicles and pedestrians to move about the town. Short- circuiting the looping roads are a series of steep stone stairs that run

My shared JEEP taxi to Darjeeling..

between closely packed buildings. This morning. My JEEP taxi deposited me at a lower level in the town and I had to haul my heavy suitcase and bag up the stone stair system. Not a good idea if one is in less than fair physical condition --- indeed, I was puffing hard—of course, the 1 ½ mile vertical rise and thinner air did not help.

             First impression is: what a pleasant town. I have the feeling of having been transported out of India—the roads are clean here, cows do not wander the streets and the omnipresent beggars and homeless are not to be seen. White & other non- Indian tourists are not really numerous, but enough in evidence in Darjeeling so that the locals are accepting and tourists free from constant hawker hassling.

              Not sure if it is a remnant of Empire, but the school children in Darjeeling are neatly outfitted in school uniforms & badges, so in vogue in the UK in the 1950’s & 60’s. All observed so far are well behaved, speaking mainly in English. A church on the hill above my hotel belts out an electronic version of Big Ben’s chimes on the hour—at least it is a change from the wailing call to prayer from the mosques.
             Tonight, another night of Diwalli celebrations--close my eyes and with the constant pyrotechnics, hard to believe that I am not on the Syrian front lines.

In transit to the mountains...

          Extracted myself from my Varanasi hotel at 7.30pm by taxi  for the railway station, but not before a an hour of crisis---sitting quietly in the hotel lobby reading my book, close to where I had parked my two bags in the secured area. Noticed that my hand baggage was not in evidence—reception indicated that it had been

Diwalli, festival of lights--celebrating prosperity.

likely picked up in error with the baggage of a tour group being transported to the airport. HELP!---My India rail pass (not money, passport) were in that bag. A tense hour followed—bag miraculously retrieved and returned to me at the hotel. Major relief –I had been feverishly waiting & trying to mentally construct travel Plan B. Rail travel in India is a nightmare for those who do not have confirmed reservations especially at a major festive season like Diwalli.

            My overnight train to Siliguri,‘The Rajhani Express, was an hour late rolling into platform #2, but I was able to gain a small measure of tranquillity in the “upper class only” station waiting-room for the three hour wait. None of us residents of said ‘posh’ waiting room—stinks of urine, looked particularly ‘upper class’ in the stifling heat and squalor, but at least it was shelter from the persistent & omnipresent beggars & homeless, that call railway stations ‘home’ in India. As the only white tourist guy that travels by Indian train in these parts (except for a few hippy types), I find that I am a target for the attentions of the station dwelling

Street decorations on Siliguri's main street....

homeless. Have lost my earlier reticence at shooing them away—India, home to millions & millions of these destitute people wandering the streets. To hand any individual money might risk getting quickly mobbed. Avoid eye contact and keep on walking is my current tactic.

                 This afternoon I plan to explore tomorrow’s  transportation stage being the local shared taxi options from Siliguri, for the 85km, 4 hour haul up into the mountains to Darjeeling.

Last full Varanasi day & another trip to the ghats....

                Last full day in Varanasi. Decided to put on my ‘walkers legs’  again and try to navigate from my hotel in the north-end city to the ghats along the east bank of the Ganges. Easier said than done in this country, where the roads are very narrow, twisted and chaotically crowded. The weather favoured this distortingly very humid and even light exercise moistens the skin & shirt. Anyway, despite carrying a simple hotel map and a general sense that the river is “that way”, I proceeded to lose myself ending up in a small village on a dead-end road with crowds of people with nothing much to do (who rarely see a ‘foreigner’) assuring me that it was impossible to get there (the river), from here (the village). A penny please, for every time that I have heard that during my hiking years! To the rescue, an enterprising young man in a noisy auto rick-shaw rattled up and stated that he had the solution to my problem-O.   

Even cows go shopping at Diwalli!

project, of course always sunny, but with a slight decrease in the daily temperature highs, especially noticeable in the evenings, when it currently drops in Northern India to about  20C—it is difficult to be precise, as it is

          Soon I was back on course, grinding & bumping my way towards “Mother Ganga”---- unfortunately, so was half of India. Beginning today, for several days, is Diwalli, Festival of Lights—the BIG festival in an Indian calendar that is jambed with 360 holy days per year. Everyone was hitting the bazaars & street vendors to purchase their, religious icons, trinkets, special food, holiday saris. In total traffic gridlock, I had to abandon my trusty rickshaw a couple of kilometres short of my precise goal and head westward from the main commercial street through a convoluted maze of alleyways, in which one rapidly loses ones sense of direction, hopefully towards the mighty river.. The alley ways, in addition to the odd cow and annoying young man trying to force his way through on a motor scooter, was clogged with long, and I mean long, lines of faithful Hindus packing their temples to bless (or be blessed?) at the Diwalli season. Eventually, I did reach the riverside ghats, but not before entering specific alleyways and being told—“no foreigners allowed”. Who am I to argue?

              

The largest cremation ghat.

A sustaining hot coffee for lunch on the steps of the ghat and I determined that I would endeavour to follow the river northwards, taking time to try & photograph ghat life in all it’s religious fervour & squalor. Rounding a curve I was confronted with the major cremation ghat—a ‘roaring’ business today—Diwalli is an auspicious time to die, I am told—I must remember that! I could see perhaps a dozen large bonfires burning. It was here that I encountered my first ‘ugly’ situation, when I was accosted by several street thugs who accused me of taking illegal photographs (yes, I had purloined one) and told me to hand over my passport and 500 rupees  ($10)!! Furious, I demanded that the police be summoned. Refusing to be ‘physically detained’, slowly and purposely commenced to backtrack. End of incident—they did not pursue me, or my ‘arrest’. Lonely Planet guide book in fact, warns of these type scams at the cremation ghats. Be warned, should you be in these parts.
               With nearly six hours under a boiling sun and with bedlam ringing in my ears, I beat a retreat, back through the same packed alleyway maze, to the sanity of my hotel compound.

A pink dawn over the Ganges...

The option of the hotel tour to the Varanasi  (population: 1.2 million) ghats at dawn, was an offering that I knew I would be wise to avail myself. My determination to turn out of a comfortable bed at 4.45am is never to be 100%  counted upon! As it was, 7kms. to the tour start through dark, empty city streets if one can discount all the homeless people, cows and sleeping dogs littered along the edges. Upon arrival at Ketlar Ghat & just prior to a sunrise straight out of National Geographic, I was handed off to my boatman who rowed me up a section of the river, presenting splendid opportunities to see the many Hindu devout immersing themselves into the waters and offering up prayers. My boatman offered the following wisdom: Varanasi, an ancient city established more than 5000 years ago, is three things: learn (there are three major universities in the city), burn –(famous for cremations along the banks of the holy Ganges) and return (as in: fall in love with the place and always yearn to return).

I was the only person booked, so I had the car & guide to myself. We drove the 6-7

           The pink, red, gold sunrise was truly remarkable, probably made even better by the polluted air and high humidity, bathing the high buildings on the west bank ghats in a soft pink glow for a brief period. Easy to understand why this location is such a Mecca for photographers with high price gear ---all this was clearly evident in the other tourist boats that we passed. I have seen more tourists here in Varanasi, than anywhere else I have visited to date in India.

          

In 1948 and again in1978, the Ganges went into extreme spring flood mode, which was estimated for me as 50 feet higher than today’s level- the veracity of this, can be seen by the residual high water discolouration marks on the raised ghat buildings. The unpopulated east bank of the river acts as a flood plain & is much lower being even today, unpopulated except for some farming activity. I commented on a lack of bridges across the Ganges for this large city and learnt that the nearest is, in fact, 20 kms to the north, being constructed by the British in the 1920s.

Varanasi....experienced.

         Is it my imagination, or are Indian railways starting to let me down? The last couple of trains have been

either late departing, or mysteriously held up en route resulting in late arrival times…alright, this is not a great crisis for this tourist with all the time to spend, but for this my first month of riding the Indian rails, I have been greatly impressed with the punctuality of the worlds largest rail system. This morning the 7.45 am train to Varanasi had not arrived at platform #2 from Lucknow by 8.45am, the anxious and expectant crowds stacking up on the platforms---and when I say crowds, I mean crowds, Indian style---a massive crush of business men, grandmothers, babies, ladies with massive baskets of (vegetables?) balanced on their heads all anxious/desperate to secure passage in “unreserved”. At 9.15 am, first in Hindi, then in a sort of broken English, it was announced over the loudspeakers that the awaited train would now be arriving at platform #6. I don’t think that I have ever seen 10,000+/- move so fast, with one accord, up the stairs, across the connecting bridge and down the stairs to the new platform. One reads/sees in the media how, 500 people are crushed to death falling down stairs---well to see/experience it, is to believe. Just imagine what real life ‘in the raw’ experiences those Western packaged tour folks who take the glossy brochure tours, miss!

              My hotel ‘Sariya’, is approx. 5 kms. north of the central Varanasi city area, a little less frenetic and in the sector with perhaps more international appeal, being complete with McDonald's, Pizza Hut et al. Important to understand that my medium pizza supper probably cost the equivalent of  ½ a weeks wages for Mr. Average in these parts.

          The ‘ghats’, or access points to the river (Ganges), are the main points of interest in Varanasi, a city where devout Hindus believe that to be immersed in the muddy brown soup of the River Ganges, moves them a step closer to heaven. A cremation with ashes carried downstream assures passage to a higher level (of  Kama?). Not being a guided tour type I decided to take an auto rickshaw to the southern most ghat and attempt to walk back towards the city. The passage was of course convoluted with barriers to my progress frequently appearing in the form of deep sewage ditches that I felt too dangerous  & foul to attempt to leap and several times was forced back to the ‘main’ road in order to progress northward. In the maze of narrow streets I did stumble upon Mother Teresa’s Missionary Shelter. Curious, I entered, was warmly welcomed and offered a tour. Absolutely spotless! The ‘clients’, imacculately clean, seemed to me be mostly mentally challenged. Unfortunately, they had a strict ‘no photography’ policy as far as the Sisters were involved. Again, the advantages of getting oneself lost in the maze of side streets.

                 The water front area of Varanasi, rated as a national/Hindu shrine in India, is, I am sorry to report, an absolute slum, an open sewer. Very photogenic are the rotting and semi-derelict buildings that tower up and over the river-bank. My walking route along the ghats brought me to the first of the smoke shrouded major cremation areas. These areas certainly did not have the hushed reverence of church cremations in the West. In fact, there were groups of young boys surreally playing soccer not 20 yards away. It all seemed to me more like a work yard, where gangs of men were setting fire and fanning the flames of piles of logs. Chatting to a local, I was informed that even this smaller ghat can handle 250 cremations per day, that tears from mourners not allowed as this impedes the passing of the spirit of the deceased to a higher level, and lastly that aromatic (expensive) sandal wood is considered more auspicious than cheaper regular wood as a burning medium.

                Exhausted in the heat from climbing and carefully descending all the flights of stone steps up and down to the ghats, I beat a retreat to find a restorative ‘chai’ shop  on the main-street.

            Back to the hotel, a siesta and a relaxing dip in the swimming pool. The good life, (for a lucky few) in Varanasi.

        A 5.00am (tomorrow) three hour dawn trip booked back to the ghats, hopefully to witness the multitudes of faithful take their obligatory dip in the River Ganges.

Lucknow seiged in 1857 mutiny.

           A relaxed half-day site seeing in this historic city. Not really on the tourist route, but famous amongst history buffs for being at the centre of the 1857 Indian Mutiny, when Indian rebels turned on the colonial power and laid siege to the Lucknow administrative & military compound, killing all the defenders and loyal native soldiers.  The flashpoint of the rebellion was the introduction of theEnfield rifle the cartridges for this weapon were believed to be greased with a mixture of beef and pork fat, which was felt would defile both Hindu and Muslim Indian soldiers. On 1 May, the7th Oudh Irregular Infantry refused to bite the cartridge and on 3 May they were disarmed by other regiments.

            Known as ‘The Residency’, the site of the siege is now a beautiful park, including the gravestones of some of those killed.

           Item: Indians, I am told are very quick to categorise people, groups, situations, events etc. Others belong to particular castes, of a specific religion, of a certain economic status/ profession etc. People in the street are quite likely to stop a foreigner, and this foreigner has been stopped numerous times, to enquire as to name,  age, country, how much I earn(!!), how many sons I have …….

All in a very friendly manner and apparently quite normal for them to want to know.

With this knowledge they can therefore categorise and slot the subject into a specific social position that forms the basis of a good relationship.

Travelling to Lucknow......

                      A straight forward rail stage, 6 hours due East to Lucknow from Agra. Picked up at (by taxi--$25) the guest house and driven 25 kms to Tundla for the main-line train connection through to Lucknow. Notably, not very convenient to have to travel so far from the hub city to make the passage, but hey! this is India! With 4 ½ hours to wait till my 4.00pm train it did give me the opportunity to visit a small town, as opposed to solely larger cities.
                   Anxious to unload my case into safe custody, before a  walk-about, I caste about for the railway station left luggage office. To locate this, I sailed into the station manager’s office. A gentleman sitting at a large desk, sporting 6 phones, surrounded by a bevy of flunkies & hacks that genuflected and bowed at every gesture he made. Now, here was a man of REAL power, and I enjoyed standing before him in reverential silence, knowing this was a man with his hands on the levers of true power, until he could spare the time to look up and acknowledge this humble rail traveller with heavy bags. I was not sure if I was addressing the President of India himself, rather than the manager of Tundla station. I have heard many (horror) stories and am now frequently experiencing the excesses of Indian bureaucracy whilst travelling--- at hotels, tourist sites, railways etc. These clerical form fillerse in India have mostly not yet reached the computer era and every form, every minute detail, has to be filled out in dirty, carbon paper stacked note books----age, gender, passport detail, grand mothers place of birth!   In my case, to off load my two bags, it was a two clerk task force that took fully 15 minutes to learn my life story. So full of gratitude at being in Mr. Big’s presence, I asked for his photo, to which he unsmilingly consented. See attached pic & trust that I captured the solemnity & reverence of this occasion!

Judge a man by the number of phones on his desk....

                  Once out on the crowded, chaotic main street of Tundla, I noticed that English is much less used than the major cities (I have visited so far),  Tundla not being a mecca for  the cosmetpolitain foreign tourist & jet set crowd. This is unfortunate and could I suggest, bad government policy, that favours Hindi as the national language. One can soon notice in India that there is a major socal & economic divide between those that can speak English and those that can't.    

                 Ready for lunch I found that it was almost impossible to find anything to eat beside the omnipresent Pepsi, packages of crème filled cookies, apples and tiny bananas. Well that is not really true, there is plenty of street food sold from large pans of boiling oil, and not only is it hot (as in safe to eat), but VERY hot and spicy. For me, spicy is not a pleasant taste experience, although many tourists, who go ‘native,’ swear that this street fare is delicious.

Day at the Taj Mahal.......

        Up for the early 8.00am breakfast at Garden View Guest House. Nice chat over coffee with the

Very tough to add a description to perfection... at the right, human cremations.

owner--a very cultured gentleman. He registered concern that tourists are down this year—effect of recession in Europe? Misty and cool this morning, the local climate is still affected by the residual effects of last week’s typhoon that swept across the sub-continent. My 9.00am pre-booked taxi to take me across the city to the Taj Mahal was a no show and I was offered a hair-raising pillion passenger ride on the guest house wallah’s motor bike. My life passed before my eyes---left hand  road side blocked, use the right hand side, traffic light on red---no problem---just keep charging along!

           Arrived at the Taj Mahal compound a little shaken up, but basically all limbs still attached. Frisked, searched & X rayed, I entered, upon payment of my $14.00. Proceeded about 50 metres with the Taj in view through a beautiful archway and in the process of installing my camera on an extendible mono pod, when a large khaki uniformed gentle man (porting a sub-machine gun) sidled up and indicated that monopods are strictly verboten.  Under escort, I returned to the main gate and temporally deposited said offensive weapon in care of the security forces.

Double monkey trouble...

           Truly sublime could perhaps best describe the Taj. Constructed of white marble, it seems to change colour as clouds move across the sky. Recommended best times to visit/photograph are dawn and dusk when the Taj is bathed in pink light. The structure, built early 17^th century, and positioned high over the southern bank of the Yamana river, was built as a mausoleum for the Mughal Emperor’s wife. The edifice is structurally, of such uniformity, that when viewed from any corner or one of its 8 sides it is identical to the eye.

            By 11.30am, the crowds were pouring into the grounds. With near universal ownership of cameras cell phones, the “must have” for almost every visitor to this world ranked site, is a ’selfie’ with Taj as backdrop—yours truly also not being immune to the urge to obtain this photo trophy. Interestingly, standing back and watching human behavour, as I am prone to, observed that many visitors were more interested in the trophy ‘pic’ of themselves, than actually looking at and absorbing the monument itself. Shades of: “If this is Tuesday, this must be Belgium”. Click, click and hurry on. Yes, it is truly a  “must see”sight to excite the camera exposure button and can report that I probably fired nearly a hundred, probably many of which will not survive my aggressive culling process in the cold light of dawn. Keep the best, kill the rest--- that way everyone thinks you are photo

Over the roof tops view of Taj from nearby restarant.

genius!

         The Taj Mahal, duly surveyed and appreciated from all angles and in the growing mid-day heat, I decided to be brave and walk the 3 kms to Agra Fort a massive red stone palace, west of the Taj. The Fort offers extra-ordinary perspectives back eastwards, of the Taj and the cremation site, just below the monument, along the river-banks.

         With legs rapidly wearying, and a stomach growling for sustenance, I auto rick- shawed back to the city centre, to partake of the roof-top restaurants offering a seat with a unique view of the Taj Mahal as back drop. My plate of chicken chowmein and lemon tea served with a metre long 'monkey beating' stick and the warning that they can sometimes be quite aggressively playful and are notably partial to a nosh oh of chowmein! Happy to report that although they were all around, in the trees and hopping from house top to house top, my chowmein was consumed by its rightful owner, intact.

         Return to my guest house with nearly seven hours solid site seeing under my belt---just about as much as I can comfortably absorb in the sun & heat of a single session.

Riding into Agra....

                      Woke to cool weather and a wet day---first cool day and 2nd wet day since I arrived. Effects of the typhoon that hit from Bay of Bengal. Rather welcome. Monstrous Delhi traffic jam this morning---feared I would miss my train---luckily it was running an hour late (shades of British Railways) the good news. The bad news,

A new category of traffic hazard....

they had combined two trains together, so my 'posh' persons berth was swamped with 6 Bengalis (from the 'C' section), all their luggage and blaring Bollywood movies played on a computer. Only a 4 hour sector--- so tolerable. Indians are very polite, adaptable & compliant in difficult situations--so best to roll with the situation. Not the Western style aggression & belligerence

           Rolled into Agra an hour late. Upon leaving the railway station was instantly bombarded with high-pressure touts who all wanted to be my new best friend and to sign me up for a days guide and driver service to see the sights. Eventually located my guest house accommodation, inconveniently located approx 10 kms from the rail station. Did I mis-read the map when reserving at Booking.com? Exceptionally clean with a beautifully maintained private garden.

        One can quickly see this is an Indian city (pop: 1.3 million) of economic extremes--- of opulent gated communities and people who live in tar-paper tents on vacant lots between said gated communities. Between the monster SUV’s lined up outside the Marriott and the skinny children tugging at ones trouser leg begging for change.

              Early to bed tonight--- ready for a big day ‘doing the sights’ tomorrow.

Sights and sites of Amritsar...

       Maybe I am hyper-critical, unreasonable, too judgemental, but I have to admit that a large proportion of the tourist sights that I have visited over the years have under-awed me and left me with me with the empty

The Golden Temple, Amritsar.

question—“is that all there is my friend? If so, I‘ll keep on dancing!” Today, here in Amritsar, (population 1.25 million), the Golden Temple, home of Sikhism, well exceeded my expectations. Not the usual tourist trap that charges 15 times the going entry rate for foreigners, charges extra to take photographs or see the attached museum. All is free. I arrived earlier than most of the daily 80,000 pilgrims, checked in my shoes, day bag and donned the mandatory bright orange head covering, baseball caps not permitted, short trousers OK. The temple, configured as a covered square white marble walkway containing a deep square lake filled with oversize and very active goldfish. Many male visitors ritually immerse themselves in the lake, turning for prayer towards the Golden Temple. Architecturally sublime, the upper half of the temple is covered with a reported 247 kg of pure gold—hence the name. Under the intensely bright sun, the whole edifice shimmers, reflecting in the water that surrounds.

           In 1984, the Golden Temple was assaulted & seized by a band of out of state Hindu extremists. They claimed that under the Golden Temple, there was in fact, an ancient Hindu temple. The extremists subsequently barricaded themselves into the Temple and after an extended stand-off, the Indian Army

attacked with resultant great loss of life and the destruction of the Temple. Two years later, as a healing gesture towards Sikhism, the Indian government rebuilt at Federal expense, the Temple. However, Sikhs in the Punjab viewed this as too little too late, tore down the rebuilt structure and rebuilt it (petulantly) themselves. Religion is the ever-present fault line in this continent of so many beliefs.

             My second port of call and only about ½ km from the Golden Temple, was Jallianwalla Bagh an enclosed small park commemorating one of the worst massacres of the 20^th century. Today was a day that I was glad to be carrying my friendly Canadian passport. In 1918, Britain declared that India was soon to be come a self- governing entity within the Empire---many Indians, mistakenly believed that this meant independence. It did not and were furious when Britain instigated fierce laws relating to sedition. One day, in 1919 following shortly after the murder of 3 British bank employees, approx 5000 innocent & unarmed people gathered for festive pic-nics in the park. City governor General Dyer was alarmed and ordered 150 men to the park and at his command & without pre-warning, opened fire into the crowds, resulting in 450 deaths and 1500 wounded. Pictures exist of people diving into and drowning in the deep water well to escape. Others unsuccessfully tried to scale the

Murderous fire as depicted in cleverly trimmed bushes

7 foot walls that around the park. Today the bullet scars on the wall are intact and enshrined as part of the commemoration. For this massacre, Gen Dyer was never reprimanded although was heavily criticised by many, including Winston Churchill. It was the Jallianwalla Bagh massacre that gave serious traction to Gandhi’s battle to achieve eventual full Indian independence in 1947.
             In all, a memorable and evocative day that makes all those chaotic 5.00 am  Indian rail station departures seem worthwhile!

Amritsar & border closing ceremonies....

             I was able to avail myself of the highest class (Shabati) of Indian passenger train service from Delhi

Enter--- the peacocks...

to Amritsar, reclining airline style seats, no bed berths.  Rolling stock was showing signs of age, much used and could have benefited from a good cleaning—anyway the stage was relatively short, by Indian rail distance standards, six hours, with infrequent stops. Upon return to Delhi on Monday, I shall be on a regular express, and the trip duration extends to eight hours.

               Amritsar is the most northerly port of call of this round India rail jaunt and as we sped across the countryside into the Punjab, increased prosperity was evident in terms of farm mechanisation and quality of many of the home structures that I saw from my speeding carriage. With the monsoon, only just passed, the fields were green, rice paddies full and all looked to be very bountiful.

             My lodgings in Amritsar, the Lawrence Hotel, a couple of kms north of the ‘Old City’, is located in an active commercial zone and last night walked past the largest, most prosperous shops and plazas seen so far in India. More private cars on the streets and a preponderance of upper- end consumer goods that shout wide spread aspiration to the good life.

              I have learned that the Punjab is the home of the turbaned Sikh sect, with a minority even calling for an independent state named Khalistan. Sikhs are taller than Indian populations I have seen in other states passed through so far. My observation is that in the Punjab, there is noticeably more female representation & apparent gender equality, at least in public. Everyone spoken to so far, is quick to tell me of the other Sikh city is Brampton, Ontario. Punjab was split into two halves during the 1947 carve-up that created Pakistan—one half on each side of the border.

           After a morning of relaxation (read sleep) at the hotel favouring a very bad chest cold, my driver arrived at 3.30pm sharp for the ride to the Indo- Pak border crossing point where every night since 1947 they have ceremonially closed the gates for the night to each other. 

That's Chris---on the right!

The process has evolved in to pure theatre—very Monty Pythonesque—did John Cleese get his inspiration for his Ministry of Funny Walks here? Two separate closing ceremonies occur along side each, other-each side trying energetically to drown out the other sides national anthem, chants & calls. Reminded me of an ear-splitting World Cup final game!

              The amplified audio process is blasted out to the banks of seats on either side of the border through two (one Pak, the other Indian) super massive sound systems. At 5.30pm on the dot, teams of very tall athletic soldiers appeared simultaneously on each side of the border gate and in turn separately and individually competed with the other nation’s military to do the most preposterous goose stepping marches, to kick their legs higher than their plumed turbans and make the most overt gestures and aggressive body language possible, supported strenuously with roars of approval from their own country’s cheering sections. Pure theatre, of course---EXCEPT one could see everywhere on roof-tops, soldiers with automatic machine guns and sniffer dogs checking the crowd. Just this passed week, there has been a flurry of shelling across the line of control in nearby Kashmir. With national flags hauled down in unison  and ‘Sunset’ bugled, the border gates between these two rival nuclear powers slammed shut.

                  An interesting event and one very much recommended, but the 2 hour build-up in intense sun and the non-stop,ear-splitting cacophony from two massive, competing sound systems, makes this perhaps a one- off experience for this scribe.

Last day in Delhi to see Humayun...

           Once again, I successfully followed the “ tourist to India” edict handed down to me by a very wise old Punjabi hotel manager: ‘he who arrives early, avoids the crowds” and so it was that I arrived early at Humayun’s Tomb—constructed in 1650 by Emperor Humayun’s widow –well not exactly by the widow lady herself, but by her army of retainers, to mark her husband’s sad passing. It is said to mark the high point of  Mughal architecture style and be second only in perfection to the Taj Mahal at Agra. The Humayun group of monuments were the first to introduce the Persian design attributes into India.

Shot from a foot deep water conduit...

          A UN World Heritage location, Humayun’s Tomb was selected for viewing by President Obama during his recent visit. The structure seems to be currently receiving some belated restorative attention, after having been last rescued by the colonial power in 1910, but since that time experienced serious neglect. The structure, given its magnificent attributes, offered me some delightful opportunities (within the limitations of my Lumix point & shoot), to try and incorporate some of the photo techniques and ideas that I have been studying the past 6 months prior to this trip.

Issue: Indian ladies widely believe that a fair/light skin makes them more attractive. Scrolling through the 500 TV channel universe on offer in hotel rooms, one has to notice that every second advert depicts a Bollywood bimbo beauty extolling the advantages of some expensive chemical skin lightener concoction. Read that the government is going to pass legislation to attempt to limit this (ridiculous) beauty product category.

Red Fort national shrine...

     Advised to make my visit to Delhi’s iconic Red Fort early, at 8.30 am I wedged myself into an

auto-rickshaw for the 25 minute bone jarring ride, arriving just as the ‘foreigners’ ticket office opened---first foreigner of the day! The Red Fort, so named because of the red sandstone cladding used throughout, was

constructed in 1648 by the  Mughal Emperor with style influences both Moslem and Hindu. Covering 250 acres, outer walls extend an approx. 2 kms in perimeter. It was at the main Lahore Gate in 1947 that Prime Minister Nehru raised the flag and declared Indian national independence. Included in my foreigner’s ticket price of 25 times the local entry fee, was admission to the on-site Indian Independence museum. Surprising to me as an Englishman, was the official tone of deep Indian hatred for all things Empire. It was my feeling that balance was missing, with no mention at all in the exhibits, of the possible positives that UK colonisation may also have contributed: a legal system, a democratic parliamentary constitution modelled on Westminster, a national railway network and an overlay of internationally spoken English language, to name a few.

       

         As a pre-eminent national shrine, I was surprised that the entire massive Red Fort property appears quite jaded & generally run-down, with clear under investment in maintaining the structures, buildings and grassed areas between buildings. With such obvious strong national pride and a massive supply of under used human labour, could not the government, that has recently placed an object in Mars orbit, organise a renovation & clean-up crew, so that this treasure really shines viz. Palais de Versailles et al.?

Lady lawn weeding crew.....

                With tired legs and comfortably seated on a shaded bench, I watched the growing stream of visitors. With very few foreigners to be seen, I was asked, perhaps a dozen times, if people, seeking a trophy pic could sit with me for their cell phone portrait. Perhaps my ‘exotic’ image will be transported back to distant villages as a holiday memory—or perhaps, quickly deleted!             

Delhi at Eid.....

Delhi fast facts. Population 13 million (seems more!). Area 1500 sq. km. Federal capital of Republic of India.

Help....someone call the hydro man!

              Restless night: my first bout of stomach problems (aka Delhi belly). It's going to hit ----a popular tourist circuit comment is that one looks at everything one puts in ones mouth and wonders if that is the item that will strike.

       Anyway in the spirit of the inveterate traveller, I set out to do my pilgrimage to the largest mosque in the city--the Jama Masjid. Naturally, situated in a heavily Moslem part of the city, the Mosque is said to be able to hold a massive 25,000 people for prayers. Checked my sandals at the entrance, modestly secured an obligatory shawl to cover my legs and commenced my trek around the central prayer square, soon discovering that the marble floor was hot enough to fry eggs. Needless to explain the reason, yours faithfully flitted fast, from one shaded area to the next. The mosque indicates signs of being highly used and urgently needs some washing and paint projects invested upon it.

                 

An interesting time to visit the extensive Moslem bazaars, especially as it’s Eid, when the population celebrates the end of  Ramadan fasting. It is the time to make sacrifices –the sacrifice of preference being the goat. For the last few days, boys have leading strings of very healthy, well fed goats around the streets.To offer a goat in poor condition would be viewed as sacriligious. Today was mass slaughter day with the gutters running red and piles of skins ready for pick up and manufacture. Apparently, the religious rules are that the sacrificial goat has to be shared one third for consumption & two thirds to be offered to the poor.

              Had to do something today that I had promised myself that I would not----My auto rickshaw driver dumped me at the wrong side of the massive Delhi railway station complex and I was unable to figure the best route to foot it back to my hotel. With afore mentioned stomach problem, the issue was of some urgency to return rapidly. The pedicab man seemed very knowledgeable & helpful. Is using a pedicab exploitative, or is it to be seen as assisting a very poor man to feed his family??

           There are interestingly two Delhis. Old Delhi and New Delhi. The colonial British administration determined that to most effectively administer its “Jewel in the Crown” they had to design and construct a new city and appointing architect Edward Lutyens to accomplish the task. Wide roads, parks, lakes and ministerial edifices were grandly constructed and remain today the centre for the Indian government.