India By Train

Well here it is, the end of a long and exciting adventure for me and I've just spent my last night in India. Ian has gone off to Igatpuri near Bombay to do his Vipassana Course and will be here for another 3 weeks.

We've seen some amazing sights ... unfortunately the Himalayas was not one of them ... and we've been to some amazing places along the way. We have met some wonderful people. We've also travelled several thousand miles by aircraft and by car and autorickshaw. But we decided we really wanted to experience the railways of India about which we had heard so much. So, my last long trip in India was from Bangalore to Chennai and Ian will be travelling by train from Bombay to Igatpuri.

We spent a quiet last night together in Bangalore before I was off to the Central Station at 5am to catch the 6am Shatabdi Express to Chennai, a trip of about 6 hours across two states in southern India. After 3 weeks together it was "Good luck Mate and thanks for the adventure. See you back in Sydney." From now on, we were on our own.

Unlike most other places we've been, Bangalore at 5am was cool and overcast, evidence of it's high location on the Deccan Plateau. My driver, Mohaamad (who had driven us to and from Puttaparthi without killing us) navigated our way through the pre-dawn traffic ... most of it without lights ... and deposited me at Central Station. Imagine Sydney's Central Station in rush hour but with sleeping bodies everywhere, both inside and outside the terminal, and you have some idea of what it was like.

Mohaamad hailed me a porter, who looked like Long John Silver in the movie Treasure Island, and who wore a red bandana and a look that said, "I'll slit your throat for 50 rupees." He was about 60 but deftly hoisted my 22 kilo suitcase up onto his head and roughly said "Shatabdi Chennai ... walking this way" and proceeded to step over and around the sleeping bodies towards the main station. Whether the prostrate bodies were travellers or just people with nowhere else to live I was not sure but passages of Kipling's various books came floating back and I suspected this was the India he knew and loved.

The main terminal was bedlam... travellers, porters, police, soldiers, touts, cabbies and beggars everywhere. But Long John Silver walked with purpose through it all and led me to an underground walkway which was home to many more, some begging and some still asleep on a bed of rags. Soon we ascended a stairway to a chilly platform, still in darkness and with little groups of people huddled against the morning chill. No train but the wizened old pirate assured me in his broken English that the train would "soon be coming". He insisted on payment of 100 rupees for his services which is highway robbery ... or maybe high seas piracy ... but considering I could only manage to lift the case with a lot of effort I reckoned he deserved it. It comes to about $3 and in Sydney you'd pay that for a railway trolly with a wonky wheel!

But Long John waited with me until the train was shunted to the platform and then pushed all and sundry aside to hoist the suitcase up into the overhead luggage rack, an effort big Arnie would have been proud of. He was worth the 100 rupees and when I gave it to him he kissed the dirty note and blessed me for my generosity. I was also rewarded with a broad smile through broken teeth. Everyone deserves a break occasionally and it was Long John's turn today.

As our 6am departure time approached the carriage filled with a mixture of people, some business types and some families with kids. This was a CC Class carriage and was air conditioned and the seats, although old were styled like aircraft seats but with much more leg room and quite comfortable. I had a window seat and could see shadows moving about the platform in the darkness as we slowly moved off towards Chennai, 6 hours away. I hoped this was not going to be a boring train trip like so many back home are but how mistaken I was.

As we weaved our way through the suburb of Bangalore the early morning light showed where the poorest of the poor live in this 21st Century IT capitol of the world. Crude hovels occupied vacant land beside the railway but behind large advertising hoardings. Large piles of rubbish were being investigated by squadrons of crows and dogs and people lived amongst it all. It would have been easy to look away, the tinted windows made it even easier, but to do so would have meant missing out on seeing the reality of what life was like for thousands of people. It really did make you appreciate life at home.

As we passed Bangalore Containment, which I assumed was a Raj era location, a team of smartly dressed attendants or Bearers came through the carriage and handed out bottles of drinking water, a small tray of snacks and deliciously welcome steaming hot coffee. I was beginning to like train travel in India... all the airlines could manage was a luke-warm cup of dishwater!


The express picked up speed now and I was surprised at how smooth the ride was. This was a very comfortable way to travel in anyone's language! As we passed the outer suburbs of Bangalore they looked just like those in Sydney. Neat tenements and blocks of units, cars parked in the street, shops on corners. The only difference was the occasional rickshaw or bullock cart which would have been a sight in Stanmore any day of the week!

The suburbs gave way to farming communities and villages, all waking to a new day, and that included groups of people, mostly men, squatting across paddocks and sometimes two together talking, as men do, and doing what comes naturally. It was rather confronting seeing this for the first time but on reflection, seemed perfectly natural and normal. India certainly is different!

The train continued its long downhill journey across the vast Deccan Plateau towards Chennai on the Bay of Bengal and I decided that this was the way to travel in India and the way to really see the country. It was infinitely more comfortable than travelling by road, with it's honking traffic and heart-stopping near misses.


The countryside changed almost minute by minute ... large stands of gum trees and open plains reminiscent of Western NSW and then rice paddies, dusty villages and groves of coconut palms as far as the eye could see. Accasionally a large hill strewn with enormous boulders would suddenly appear beside the line and in the distance. We tracked a large mountain range perhaps 2000 - 3000 feet high for about 10 miles and then it suddenly reverted to tropical plains with palm trees and rice paddies.

Villages that had changed little in the past 1000 years flashed past, but it was amusing to see satellite dishes atop some of the larger buildings... 21st Century entertainment had arrived even to the poorest of the poor. I think it was the villages that gave me the most lasting impression of this trip across India. Here was the real India, the India of Kipling and of legend.

But here in these villages, where people lived simply, I could see women doing the washing and the ironing, and I immediately thought of Liz at home doing the washing and the ironing ... they belted the tripe out of the clothes on a rock in the local waterhole, Liz used a fully automatic wash and spin cycle machine ... they ironed the clothes with a contraption filled with hot coals ... Liz used the latest teflon coated steam and dry model ... but at the end of the day ... we all got clean and neatly pressed clothes. It's a matter of relativity I guess.

The Shatabdi Express arrived in Chennai right on time and the head Bearer lifted my heavy case and deposited it out on the platform. All part of the service on Indian Southern Railways. I grabbed a cab to my hotel, the wonderful Residency Towers, and I was not even concerned with the madness of the traffic ... maybe I am becomming immune to it all.

Out and About in Puttaparthi

These buffalo drawn carts carry everything from bags of rice to cement and building blocks and can be seen everywhere around the town and surrounding villages.

The bullocks are so placid as they slowly wend their way through the noisy traffic. They often have bells on their horns and the jingling sound amongst the honking horns of the auto-rickshaws heralds their approach.

Ian was hanging out for a Big Mac or at least something with a meat theme but in this strictly vegetarian town the best he could manage was a tofu burger at the Wild Flowers Cafe.

The local Chai Wallah sets up each afternoon in the streets below our hotel and sells steaming hot chai to the locals who gather for a chat.


Not the latest Sunbean Steam and Dry but just as effective in the hands of our local Dhobi Wallah. He gets our clothes washed in the local river (Ian will elaborate more on this) and then fills the iron with hot coals and irons our clothes. All this for 4 rupees a piece... that's about 12 cents!



The main street of Puttaparthi with the ashram on the right. During normal business hours ... 9am to 1:30pm and then 5pm to 9pm, this main street is chock-a-block with traffic, carts, beggars and people.



A village just outside Puttaparthi. This one is typical of hundreds of thousands all over India.



Primary school kids in class just outside our hotel. Whenever we walk past, they all call out "Sai Ram", the local greeting in this town. The teachers don't seem to mind the interruption and they even invited us in to take photos.

Proof We're Alive and Well

Here's proof that we are still alive and well and have not faded away due to lack of T-Bone Steaks and Snags on the Barbie...

These taken at our favourite restaurant in Puttaparthi, the Little Tibetan Kitchen. (We'd kill for a Big Mac!)

I Should Have Spoken English

It is well known that Indians generally do not like to say the word "No". This can make things very difficult and in their eagerness to please things often get confused.

This morning we'd run out of soap in our hotel room. This despite our room having been cleaned at least 3 times since we've been here. So while Ian shaved I went and spoke to the room boys about getting some fresh soap. "Could we have some new soap please?" I asked. "You want soup, Sir" came the confused reply. "No no no. Soap, for washing the hands" I replied, with a handwashing action at the same time. "You wanting soup for hands Sir?" "No... SOAP for washing of the hands." "Oh you wanting soap Sir?" "Yes, soap for washing hands. You understand?" "Yes Sir" came the reply.

He nodded knowingly and off he went to the storeroom on another floor only to return with a packed of washing powder! "No, no for washing of the clothes... soap for washing of the hands and wash in bath." I frustratingly repeated. "Me understand Sir." came the confused look.

I then asked him to follow me along the corridor to an empty room where I entered the bathroom and pointed to a cake of soap on the washbasin. "This be the soap we want." I said, pointing to the green slab. "Oh... you be wanting soap Sir." "Yes now you got it... My mistake, I should have spoken English in the first place!" Smilies all 'round.

Just Another Family

During our trip we've come across street beggars in every town we've been in. There were a couple on Darjeeling, many in Bangalore and hundreds in Puttaparthi. They range from young kids of six or seven to old men and women and then there are the deformed and disabled. Sadly they are a fact of life in this country of over 1 billion.

Each day we venture out near the Main Road of Puttaparthi we are immediately surrounded by outstretched hands asking for food, money or both. Some of the young women are holding babies. While some are genuine, many are part of a well organised team of street beggars, often run by unscrupulous criminals who take their cut of the proceeds and even hire our babies to elicit sympathy.

We are familiar with the scams and our attitude is to ignore them and just walk on. But they get points for persistance with many following or holding onto your arm for several blocks. Ian just starts moaning in some unintelligible voice and rolls his eyes like some demononic moron, which frankly scares the hell out of me but sometimes works on the beggars.

However, for every beggar there are literally thousands of poor living as best they can in the nooks and crannies of the backstreets. How they do it I don't know.

Yesterday I had to visit my tailor who made up some shirts for me. His shop is on the first floor of an old decrepit building, reached by a narrow alleyway and up 20 rickety stairs. It does my hip no good but he does good work so it's worth the climb. In the courtyard are several open doors, obviously people live here and yesterday there was a young mother sitting on the stone bench nursing her baby. She wasn't begging and in fact when I greeted her in passing there was no hand thrust out but a polite smile instead. I realised this woman lived here in one of these dingy rooms.

I stopped and asked about her baby and in her broken English she said she was just 1 month old. She was a typical proud mother with her new baby and I asked if I could take a photo and she eagerly agreed.



I showed her the result on the camera and she was so thrilled. Then I heard a garbled voice behind me and in the dark shadows of a room which was obviously where someone lived, I could make out the deformed figure of a smiling man. "She my baby. Me looking." He said. I entered the semi-darkness of the room and showed him the photo. The grin was what you'd expect from any proud father. I don't even want to think about how this baby was conceived but I realised, this was a family just like any other around the world. They might not have the material things in life, they might live simply in a dank, dark room off an alleyway in an Indian town in the middle of nowhere, but they had the same feelings and emotions as anyone else.

I fully expected some request for money but none came... they were just grateful that someone had taken a photo of their daughter. I thought of the price of my shirt which was pennies to us in the West and discreetly handed her a wad of rupees ... "Here, this for your new baby. You buying good food." No photo I took would have captured the look of gratitude on their faces.

Look Through Any Window...

It is easy for Western travellers in India to be so overwhelmed by the mad rush of this country that they choose to stay behind hotel doors and see India through hotel windows. On the other hand, the more adventurous decide to jump into the deep end and experience India as it is, both the good and the bad.


This morning I decided to take coffee and toast at what is becomming our favourite restaurant in Pattaparthi, The Little Tibet Kitchen. This 2nd storey eatery is right at the end of the Main Road and overlooks the service entrance to the Ashram. The food is wonderful, the service outstanding and the atmosphere, well, you have to experience it to appreciate it. Its one big advantage is that you can sit and have coffee, tea of a cool drink and view the passing parade of life in a typical Indian town in the streets below.


The beggars are starting their day ... the old lady in the blue sari and cup, accosting everyone who passes by ... the two cripple boys who sit on the steps of the music store and despite their disability always manage a thumbs up to us when we walk by, an indication that they think India will win over Australia in the cricket ... the shop keepers and stall sellers who even after us being here for five days still beg us to "Please enter my humble store Sir". The scene is repeated in thousands of Indian towns every day ... it is called Trying to Make a Living.

And of course, the hustle and bustle of the traffic is always present, busses, cars, autorickshaws, bikes, people and my favourite ... the ox-drawn carts carrying anything and everything.



As I watched Puttaparthi wake to a new day, and saw the mad rush of traffic, I wondered why it doesn't at seem to worry them at all. And then it dawned on me that for most Indians, just putting food on the table is a struggle, just having enough to pay the meagre rent is a real effort so, worrying about getting hit by a bus or a car doesn't really rate.

We have it so good in Australia... this morning I gave the local Dhobi Wallah (laundryman) my washing, 12 pieces. "How much" I asked. "Four rupees per piece Sir." That's $1.37 ... I'll give him 2 bucks and be thankful.

Darshan in Puttaparthi

I've just been to morning darshan in the mandir in Puttaparthy and met Ian on the way back to the hotel. Darshan is the reason this small otherwise non-descript south Indian town exists for it is here that the holy man of South India, Sri Sathya Sai Baba, lives.

Over the years a large following has built up around Sai Baba and this former village on the Chittravatti River is now a thriving centre with a busy bazaar, beggars, traders, sellers of anything and everything mixed in with apartments straight out of vogue magazine.

Every morning and afternoon thousands of people, both Indian and from every corner of the globe, gather quietly in the Mandir (an ornately decorated temple which accommodates about 6,000 seated on the marble floor) and wait for Baba to appear where they can briefly view him (darshan).

Once the darshan is over, the singing of Indian bhajans (religious songs sung in groups) starts with one or two lead singers leading with a verse followed by the same verse sung by the thousands. To say it is very moving is an understatement. I've heard these bhajans sung on CD but the real thing is something else. I saw hundreds of people this morning swaying to the beat of the tabla and chorus of the harmonium and in an obviously blissful state. It really is something to experience.

Two local cops have just entered the internet centre and are seated just across the way. I am not sure if they are checking undesirable, like Ian and I, or looking at more sinister stuff on the net! The later is unlikely as even alcohol is banned in this town, it being a religious centre, but we have met an expat American who can get us a 12-pack of Indian beer for $21 so we'll go for it. Anything cool to drink at night is welcome and the bland bottled water doesn't really float our boat.

After two weeks in India we have finally experienced mosquitoes in our screened-windowed, air-conditioned hotel so the buggers are obviously smart enough to find a way in and even though we've been religiously taking our anti-malarial tabs I think we'll invest in a Zapper as a backup. The idea of smothering ourselves in RID at night is not a pleasant thought.

Well, that's it for today, weather here will get to about 32 or 33 today and maybe an afternoon downpour like yesterday. In the meantime we're off to battle the traffic and try and avoid the many pleading outstretched hands asking for money. Some we do... some we don't. You can't save the world.

To The Abode of Peace

We left Bangalore on Sunday morning in our taxi driven by Mr Mahaamed and as well as having to cope with everyday Bangalore traffic, the Bangalore International Marathon was in progress so we had to avoid runners along the city streets as well.

Bangalore is a typical large Indian city but it's reputation as the Garden City holds some merit as we passed by stunning parks and gardens on our journey north to the village of Puttaparthi, some 160 kilometres away. The outskirts of the city were lined with the by now, usual assortment of stalls, markets, bazaars and truck repair shops, often just a group of mechanics serviceing Tata trucks on the dirt beside the highway. Workcover would have a fit!

The usual Indian road insanity was still present but now after two weeks we were almost immune to it. Close shaves as we passed autorickshaws and trucks, also heading north, and trying to avoid oncoming traffic, were by now par for the course so we settled back and enjoyed the view.

Bangalore is on a plateau and as we descended gently to the plains we passed many villages with masses of people all heading god knows where, but all seemed to want to walk across or along the highway and we honked and tooted our way through, taking some amazing video along the way.

After an hour we stopped at a roadside cafe for a drink and leg stretch and it seemed this was a popular place with the taxi drivers as it was busy with Indians and foreigners in the garden restaurant. In the distance we could make out large hills to the north and this was where we were headed, into the State of Anhdra Pradesh, one of the driest states in India.

Soon the market gardens gave way to acres and acres of grape farms which we were surprised to hear, supplied table grapes not those for wine. Still, alcohol in this country is not as popular as at home although you can always find a coldie when you need one.

At one point we both detected the familiar scent of eucalyptus trees as we passed by large stands of gum trees with their distinctive leaves and bark. It was a small and welcome reminder of home some 9500 kilometres away.

As we headed further north we passed by the large hills which were an amzing collection of rock and boulder strewn outcrops, perhaps 300 to 500 feet high, quite a sight and nothing like we'd ever seen at home. Some of the hills had temples built onto in into the sides and we were quite amazed at the architecture and ingenuity of the culture that built them.

As we entered Anhdra Pradesh the countryside became drier and more sparsely populated but every mile of the roadside was under cultivation of some sort. Rice, barley and vegetable farms looked out of place in this dry area which looked a lot like the Gunnedah/Quirindi/Werris Creek area of NSW. Small villages appeared every few miles and heards of goats, tended by what looked like a family of mum, dad and the kids appeared regularly along the way.

About 48 kilometres from Puttaparthi we turned off the main road and headed for a large range of mountains in the distance. More arid country and sparse dry farms and villages but as we passed by them, groups of kids would wave at us, as kids do on a Sunday afternoon in the country.

The first sign that we were approaching Puttaparthi, Prasanthi Nyilliam, The Abode of Highest Peace and the home of India's holy man Sai Baba, was a solitary Beech T200 propjet standing on the apron at Puttaparthi airport. Soon after, the spectacular architecture of Sai Baba's Super Specialty Hospital came into view and it was then that we knew we had almost reached our destination.

The poutskirts of the town of Puttaparthi were like any Indian country town, a mad collection of autorickshaws, people, dogs, cows, trucks and other assorted objects all trying to get somewhere... as yet we'd been unable to establish just where ANYONE in this country was going!

Soon we passed under the archway that announced the town proper and it was busy busy. We reached our hotel The Sai Renaissance and checked in. It's not 5 star but had all the mod cons and the beds were ok for a change. Price per night? $40 for the two of us with breakfast included.

We were eager to catch up with some friends already in Puttaparthi and get the drum on what was what in this busy community so we headed for the ashram of Sai Baba. Strict security at the Ganesh Gate but once you entered, there was a kind of calming peace about the place and very different to the hustle and bustle of the streets just metres away in the town. There were lots of people, obviously from all different countries, but they moved about with a reverence and calm purpose which was refreshing after the madness of the Indian cities we had seen so far.

A group of about 2000 devotees were still seated on the floor of the mandir, which is where Sai Baba gives darshan (literally, "viewing of an important person") and they were chanting Indian bhajans which were just sublime. We wandered about the grounds of the ashram, walking between the accomodation blocks and canteens amongst the carefully tended gardens with wonderful scents from flowers and incense drifting through the air.

Looking for a way out of the ashram, we came across a group of people down a side street. They were chanting the Sai Baba Arathi (devotional song) and we quietly asked what was the purpose of the gathering... "Oh Baba come out very soon", was the answer from one man, and within minutes a car pulled up about 50 metres away and Sai Baba appeared. We'd been in town for less than an hour and we'd already see the man people queue for days to see.

We left the ashram and walked back to our hotel where we decided on a quiet night after dinner in the hotel restaurant. An empty, or near empty restaurant is often a sign of bad stomach things to come visiting in the night but despite there only being one couple and a single Indian man there we decided to give it a go. I asked the couple, who happened to be from kent in England, about the food and they told me in six years of coming to this restaurant they hadn't had a problem. So, we dived in and sampled some of the local dishes and happy to say, no problems so far.

We expect to be here for about a week so we'll post some photos and add to the blog as we go. Puttaparthi... a very interesting place and some very interesting and different people here. Let the discovery continue.

A Pill for Everything!

My hip was always going to be a concern on this trip and Liz wondered why I'd even bother coming away but fact is, it's been ok except for some problems with concrete-hard beds. I've even managed to get in about 2 hours of solid walking every day and considering that Darjeeling is all steep hills, I've done ok.

But first couple of nights in Darjeeling I was really having a lot of pain... no doubt due to the walking... so I went to a Pharmacist and told him my problem. The pharmacies here are nothing like Mo Ibrahim's pharmacy back at the Lennox Centre. Here they are open shop stalls and they sell EVERYTHING, without prescription!

I told the pharmacist of my problem, which he acknowledged with the usual shaking of the Indian head, which means, "Yes I understand Sir"... " No I do Not Understand Sir" and anything in between! He promptly pulled out a large box of foil strips containing pills which I could not pronounce (who can??) and using sizzors, cut off a strip of 10. He then grabbed another box and cut off another strip of 10 different pills.

"Excuse me sir" I said, "What are these pills for?" pointing to the first lot. "They are for the pain Sir." "Ok, but what about those ones" I said pointing to the second lot. "Oh they are for the Gas". "But I have no Gas!" I said. "Ah, but these ones", he said, pointing to the first lot, "They give plenty Gas Sir!" Indian thinking, don't you just love it!

Catch Up

First of all... thanks to all those who have emailed while we've been on the road. It's great to have any contact with home and your comments and best wishes are very muchly appreciated.

Thanks also to those who have been following our progress on the blog and have left messages. It's sometimes hard to find a good high speed connection in this country and then it takes time to upload the photos so now we are in a good net place we'll update the blog and load some of the photos to go with the stories.


Our good friends Matt and Megan from Dubbo who shared the jeep ride from Darjeeling to Bagdogra.


Dave outside our hotel in Darjeeling.


A young mountain lad having his morning chai near the tea estates of Siliguri.



Dave with our friends the Tibettan Monks.



Ian with the Monks in Darjeeling.

The dreaded Lurgie strikes!

It had to happen sooner or later and considering all the money we'd spent on enough medicine to stock a small country hospital it would have been a shame not to have used some of it.

About 3am yesterday morning I was awoken by a rumbling which heralded the inevitable and this despite us being so careful and so aware of the risks of picking up a bug. We'd survived for 10 days without any problems in Darjeeling but I reckon it was our transit through Delhi that precipitated Delhi Belly.

Anyway, what would a trip to India be without a touch of the runs... and not the type they get in the Bangalore Cricket Ground which is just across the way from our hotel. Anyway, a day in bed and a bit of rest can't go astray and I'm feeling much better. Ian on the other hand is shoveling Indian food in as fast as they can serve it!

Undesireables?

At each aiprort we've been through we've been subjected to varying degrees of security checking. At Sydney and KL it was ok and both checked and carry-on bags were allowed through with out drama.

But the ongoing security risks in India and this part of the world has meant Ian and I have come in for a lot of attention wherever we've had to pass through airport security. Could we be undesireables? Well that question hardly needs as answer but it's a royal pain in the butt for us travelling through Indian airports and the smaller ones are worse. Take yesterday for example...

After our harrowing trip down from Darjeeling to Bagdogra (Ian is writing that blog), we had to check through the airport security. Ian and I were both singled out for full baggage checks which means opening all bags and pulling stuff out for them to look at. Ian's non-prescription vitamin tablets were consigned to the checked baggage and my carry-on was pulled apart and exverything examined ion detail including pulling the batteries out of my camera and small torch. I also had to open all my prescription packs and show the scriptsd and doctor's letter.

But we left Bagdogra on time (in an old creaky Alliance Air Boeing 737-200 - Tip and Bob Bell to note) and flew parallel to the Himalayas across to Delhi. I can't swear on a bible but I am sure I saw some snowy peaks along the way. Ian reckons they were clouds but I've convinced myself they were the mighty Himalayas.

Our arrival in Delhi was the usual busy and crowded affair but we asked where do we connect with our outgoing flight to Bangalore? The Indian Airlines official said to follow some guy which we did. Out into the sea of waiting cab drivers, through a car park, along a truck-lined road, through a narrow alley dodging parcels and packages being thrown and loaded onto trucks and vans, across another car park and finally to the Delhi Domestic Terminal. Sydney airport this is not!

After a cursory security check (amazing!) we boarded our 2-hour flight to Bangalore where we arrived about 8pm. Our hotel had arranged a driver but it is like joining a student riot trying to navigate your way through the hundreds of cab drivers and other hangers-on who swamp arriving passengers.

Bangalore traffic is as mad as everywhere else in India with the usual mass of auto-rickshaws, cars, bikes, cycles, pedestrians and dogs trying to avoid each other, which amazingly, they seem to be able to do. As those who have been here will know (Pam and Karen) it all seems to work and so far we've not seen an accident... touch wood. We HAVE seen several hundred near-misses!

Our hotel, the Ramanashree, is in the centre of the commercial district but is also on a busy road so it's pretty noisy. So we are here for today (Friday) and tomorrow we'll head north to Puttaparthi and see what transpires.

We've found this little dingy internet place down a crowded side street but this too works so we won't complain. Next we're off to explore the IT capital of the world and we'll be sure to let every call centre we come across have your details. grin>

We've just had mail from Tip that he proposed to his long-time girlfriend Heidi on the 7:05am flight to Coolangatta. CONGRATULATIONS TO BOTH OF YOU AND ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEIDI. Is Tip becomming a little eccentric like me???

P.S I've shown Ian how to blog so I take no responsibility for his entries!!!

White Knuckle Express.

Warning this blog is not suitable for our younger viewers amd those that get car sick.

Dave has asked me to write this blog as he starts to sweat and become incoherent at the thought of the car trip down the mountain. I do not have this problem as I believe that in this life I am the reincarnation of Juan Fangios nervous system ( for our younger viewers ask mum or dad who Juan Fangio was). Accompanied by our travelling companions, Megan and Matthew from Dubbo we set off on the journey down the mountain this time taking the short cut at Kuresong. Megan coped very well on the trip down considering on the trip up she apparently sounded like a Tibetan wolf barrrrfing all the way up the mountain. She then spent a night or two in the Darjeeling hospital.

Our driver whose name I will never remember nor forget had a somewhat relaxed and inscrutable manner about him, quiet, polite and calm and not obsessed with using the car horn as a sign of his virility. This was going to be a relaxed scenic drive or so we thought. What was the first warning sign you may ask? It was when he bent over the steering wheel and genuflected (without the knee touching the ground) like a new Catholic nun and then he quickly touched the steering wheel, the internal rear vision mirror and about three or four other parts of the Mahindra vehicle ( like a big jeep diesel but not four wheel drive). Oh boy here we go again as I turned around and looked at Dave as he was already having the same thought. By the time the driver did it the 3rd time I had already beaten him to the punch, I was crossing myself faster than the priest in the exorcist.

A couple of other things I should point out. There are no seat belts and one of the rear tyres was bald. I was too scared to check the other tyres remembering that ignorance is bliss. The seats appeared to be made out of the same material as a cheap covered foam mattress from Ikea, very spongey. We did have a partial peeled sticker or two of a Hindu god on the dashboard, very comforting, after all the more gods the better.

It was a very steep descent to say the least, but the scenery was magnificent when we had the nerve to keep our eyes open. Clumps of bamboo as high as trees, with the bamboo as thick as a small coconut palm. It was like driving through a rain forest and after coming from the brown of OZ the greenness(?) of it all is quite stunning. The green of the tea plantations with their flat trimmed plants looking like a well manicured English hedge with the trees in amongst the tea plants, an amazing site considering the steepness of the terrain.

There were countless children of all ages that were walking up the steep road to various schools in the region. The children looked very impressive in their smart clean uniforms. I was like watching a fashion parade for a group of English private schools. There were many children with asiatic features ( a lot were from Nepal and Tibet). Not one of these children did we run over.

The road was very narrow and occasionally we had to reverse to let other vehicles through. Our driver went back to what most Indian drivers do, sounding the horn, speeding, overtaking on blind corners in fog, spending an inordinate amount of time on the wrong side of the road, overtaking vehicles when he could see up ahead that vehicles were already overtaking in the on coming lane. It was like being in a 2 hour urgently duty run in the police without the sirens and being driven by someone with a death wish. Some of the journey I have filmed on my digital camera..it is quite shakey I don't know why. This will be put on the blog shortly.

Dave and I had a discussion about the Indian drivers we have had and have come to the conclusion that they just want to get to the destination as fast as possible so that they can turn around and get another passenger and hence make more money.

Stayed tuned for the D-Day action blog.

Ian and Dave

A Highlight

A couple of entries back we told you about Tamkey the Buddhist monk. Well we invited Tamkey and his friend Lekshey, also a Buddhist monk, back to our hotel one afternoon for tea. They were thrilled at the invitation and we sat in the dining room and had lemon tea and chatted as much as we could about them and their everyday lives. They speak very little English but we managed to understand each other and have a kind of conversation. We told them about our families and we'd shown them some photos of home and where we live.

These guys both grew up in Tibet and at 16 managed to join a monastery and came to India to study with the Dalai Lama in Daramsala. They gave us photos of them with the DL. They are studying to be doctors and will be in Darjeeling at school for another 4 years. They are so gentle and so happy looking despite the hardship they have been through.

Last evening before we left they came to our hotel and gave each of us a book written by the Dalai Lama (Tamkey wrote a note to each of us in the front) but even more special, they draped white silk scarves around our necks and gave us a hug... both of which are a very special honour as it is not the done thing to even touch a monk. All the hotel staff were gobsmacked and they just stood and looked at us in awe so I guess it was something pretty neat. We'll post the photos soon. One of the highlights of the trip so far.

A Light Just Went On...!!!

It occurs to me that my Blog Name "Cloudcatcher" might not be such a good one considering the weather we've experienced here for the past 5 days.

This morning we headed off with our ace driver Chandan to the tea estates and the Tibetan Refugee Centre. Mountain goat roads and thick fog all the way but both places were most interesting.

We arrived back up top here at 2:30pm and while having Tibetan Momos for lunch, the clouds suddenly parted, the sun shone and Chandan said we'd head off to Tiger Hill to see the mountains. Ten minutes later the cloud rolled back in... :(

So, we'll give it one more shot tomorrow. Looking outside right now the sun is streaming down into the narrow alley outside... no... it's just gone dull again.

We'll post some photos tonight.

The Dogs of War

Dogs of war don't negotiate... Sorry, got carried away by the Pink Floyd song but it leads me to today's quick comment. Ever since we've arrived here we've noticed there are dogs everywhere. Only 2 or 3 have been on leads, the rest are strays that hang around the streets and sleep in the middle of the road or wherever else they can.

They don't seem to attack people, in fact they completely ignore everyone as they trot through the crowded streets, but they are always there and sometimes they congregate in groups and just ... well just hang around sniffing other dogs, as dogs tend to do. Mostly you don't hear a whimper. But at night it's a completely different story.

About midnight the packs start to get hyperactive and roam the streets looking for other packs and that's when the fun starts. Well it's not fun because it wakes everyone and the howling and snarling and barking are at 747 takeoff levels! It's been like that every night and the locals don't seem to mind.

Can someone please let Toka and Sophie and Rosie know that all is forgiven and if they utter the odd howl at night then we won't be upset in the slightest.

The People You Meet

The other day in the internet centre we were seated next to a couple of monks in full burgundy robes and the whole deal. Ian's sense of communty prompted him to pay for their internet access for an hour... a whole $1.

Today one of the monks stopped us in the street and although his English is very basic and our Tibetan non-existant, we managed to have a small discussion and we found he is studying medicine at a school here in Darjeeling. He was very eager to thank Ian for his generosity and he gave us a photo of himself which we reckon was a type of honour.

Anyway, later in the day Tamkey called into the net centre where we were checking emails, and he gave us each a photo of himself WITH THE DALAI LAMA in Dharamsala where the Dalai Lama has established the Tibetan government in exile. He also gave us a page outlining his life, obviiously written for him by someone who understands English. We've not been asked for money or anything else. Altogether a very special experience for us.

Momos and Kashmiri Tea

This morning the weather looks a little more promising but we have had to bite the bullet and make a decision as to when we leave Darjeeling ... whether we actually get to see the main Himalayas or not. So we've decided to strick to our original departure date of next Thursday 14th because the weather reports for the next week don't look any better.

But we've been able to re-schedule our original flights out of Bagdogra and instead of transiting back through the traffic hell of Calcutta we'll now fly to Delhi and then on to Bangalore arriving there Thursday 14th. The added advantage of this route is that the Bagdogra-Delhi flight tracks the Himalayas and we may be fortunate enough to get some good shots of the main range from 39,000 feet.

We've just been shopping at Chandulal's Kashmiri Shawls and stocked up on gifts for the girls. Old Mr Chandulal and his 4 sons run the shop in the main Darjeeling bazaar and we were treated like royalty. Whilst we looked at literally hundreds of pashmina shawls they provided us with Kashmiri tea and the famous Tibetan momos which are like dumplings... very delicious.

While we were there a very large student protest march passed by, complete with hundreds of chanting students and other locals plus a large contingent of Police armed with sidearms, rifles and even long billy-sticks!

Bob Bell asked if the Indians generall treated us Aussies warmly or with suspicion. Well all of our contact with Indians so far has been very good and they have been warmly welcoming and very helpful. They know about our cricket team and other Australian icons and they want to know how life is back home and how it compares with here.

They are somewhat stunned when we tell them how much Aussies earn in comparison. For example, Ramesh our driver in Chennai earns 2900 rupees a month... about $82.86 Aussie! Out of than he pays 1900 rupees rent and the rest has to feed, clothe and entertain his family. There ain't much left for a home loan, smart cars or Maccas every other night. But things are relative. Here you can feed your family quite well for about $3 a meal. The other night, we and the other Aussie couple we've met here and have dinner with most nights, had a very substantial meal including beers all for just on $20!

Well folks it's off to see if the gods have been kind and allowed the weather to clear enough for us to catch a glimpse of Kanchenjunga.

Dave and Ian

D-Day. The Offensive Begins

( This blog is Ian’s first go at blogging)

By the way D stands for Dog

At 1.34am in the morning precisely, how do I know this, it’s because I own a watch, elements of the 2nd Third Darjeeling Canine Battalion engaged the enemy, a rabble group called the Mongrel Mob (not be confused with the Kiwi outlaw motorcycle group although they do share some similarities in looks and possibly odours).

The Mongrel Mob has taken control of a strategic position with a commanding view over Darjeeling. The position in military parlance known as P2723 also know as the garbage pile outside the Shangrila Hotel has had a number of frequent battles fought over it. This particular location was a major supplier of provisions to the local dogs. The battle continued for over an hour and was a very noisy and messy one.

Captain Whiteman and myself, Flying Officer Finlayson, decided we would assist the 2nd Third Darjeeling Canine Battalion with an aerial bombing mission from the third floor of the Shangrila Hotel. Our weapon of choice in these matters is naturally the deadly and fear engendering “Extra Large He-Man Self Lubricating Ribbed Condom” filled with water. Terror from the skies striking fear into dogs that are hydrophobic. Unfortunately we did not have any condoms, the hotel has a water shortage and my right arm is not as good at launching these projectiles as it used to be. We were forced to watch the battle and in the morning we took a few photos of the remnants of both groups. We have included these photos for you perusal.

While Dave has been giving our reader or maybe readers many colourful descriptions of our journey, I will address some of the things I find interesting. My psychotherapist (Dave) says this will be good for me.

Religion and Satellite TV what a combination. You name it, they have it. Hindu gurus of all sorts, some fully clothed, some half naked, a lot of them with garlands of flowers and really cool outfits. Every Born-Again show you can think of. You have not lived until you have seen a full on gospel preached in Hindi or Chinese. There are a number of Islamic religious shows. I am singing along with them that well now that when I get back to Sydney I am going to move to Lakemba (Lebanse Muslim stronghold). There are in excess of 10 religious channels, a different god for every day of the week and that does not include the myriad of Hindu Gods.

In Inja's sunny clime where I used to spend my time...

Rudyard Kipling was obviously not thinking of Darjeeling in September when he wrote those immortal lines in his poem Gunga Din.

It's still raining in Darjeeling although we had a glimpse of the mountains this morning. We managed to do a half day tour and visited a numer of local attractions albeit they were still viewable in the rain and fog but the Himalayas still elude us.


We had to laugh at this sign at the Windemere Hotel where we sat and had a cup of Darjeeling tea in a hotel that was very exclusive during the days of the Raj. Ian and my presence considerably lowered the tone of the place!


Our hotel in Darjeeling. We are the 3rd floor left side, the best room in the hotel as it has views of the Himalayas... on a fine day of course!


A brief glimpse from our room at 6am this morning of the foothills of the Himalayas to the west of Darjeeling... perhaps 10 miles away and 10,000 feet high.


The Sunday bazaar in Darjeeling. People everywhere either looking at what's on sale or selling everything from baby powder to bananas ... at 6 cents a bunch!


The World Heritage listed Toy Train at the Batasia Loop at Ghoom. This small train chuggs its way beside the road from Darjeeling to Ghoom most days and the view of Kanchenjunga from here (on a clear day of course) is supposed to be spectacular.

It is dismal and gloomy again so maybe catch a few zzz's before dinner tonight at Glenary's. The altitude here makes your lungs work overtime and today's expedition up to the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute really worked us over. But (and this is for Liz and my cardiologist to note) I managed to walk to the top, about a 2 kilometre walk up steep roads, and also made it back down!


Beats the stress test on the walking machine and a better view but still bloody hard work. Ian is having a nap and is trying to avoid a cold and is popping pills like a valium housewife so I'll go and check on him and maybe have a nana nap myself.

Krishna will arrange Sir...

Well we've been here in Darjeeling for three days now and only early this morning we had a glimpse of a high forest covered range to the west of us at perhaps 10,000 ft and 10 miles away. It's all a bit disappointing, rain and cloud every day but old Mr Chandulal at the pashmina shop assures us that Krishna will arrange some fine days for us. We certainly hope so because we plan to be moving on next Thursday.

Darjeeling is an interesting town with lots of ethnic groups here, Indians, Napalis, Tibetans and everything in between. It's a typical Indian town though with small stalls along almost every road and the narrow streets with small cafes selling an assortment of foods, sweets and drinks.

There are dogs everywhere and during the night they howl and bark and every nigbht there has been at least one Maddison Square Gardens fight in the street below out hotel. Mostly they lay in the middle of the road and ignore everyone.

We have chosen the Glenary as our evening dinner venue. It's a very well known haunt and meeting place amongst the expats and our first night here we met a nice couple from Dubbo. Megan and Matt are on an "India on a Shoestring" trip and they are having what could be described as an interesting time. They were both sick on the 24 hour train trip after leaving Delhi and Megan spent a night in the Darjeeling hospital. Fortunately we've been ok in the gut department so far and have been religiously taking our Travelan tabs, so we'll hopefully miss out on delhi belly... fingers crossed.

Today being Sunday a lot of the attractions are closed but we'll try and do a short tour this afternoon of the main sights.

We'll post some more pics when we can but as for snaps of the mountains... they are a whiter shade of pale so far.

Steve Irwin and the King of the Mountain

Although we're near the ends of the earth up here in the foothills of the Himalayas ... still raining and still fog-bound by the way ... the neat little Internet spot opposite our hotel lets us stay in touch with home and up to date on the news.

We were both stunned by with the news of Steve Irwin's death and it made the headlines in Kulala Lumpur and over here in India as well. But reading about Peter Brock, the King of the Mountain has really floored us. Hopefully no more tragedies while we are away.

Sadly signing off from a wet and foggy Darjeeling @ 2:30pm local.

Dave and Ian

P.S Don't forget to click the Refresh button to get the latest blog entries.

Photographs? Most certainly Sir!

Thanks for all your comments and advice... we really appreciate hearing from home and we'll try and keep the horror bits to a minimum.

Before we forget... here are some of the pics so you know we really and in India and not just up in Cairns faking the whole thing.

The amazing Petronus Towers in KL.
The Car Pak attendant at Ampang
Trying Durian an exotic fruit which stinks but tastes pretty good!
The lobby of our hotel in Channai.
Chennai from our hotel room.
Chennai traffic
Roadside Supermarket Siliguri.

Apocalypse Cow

Sorry folks no pictures yet but soon as we figure out how to transfer them from the cameras we'll load some up.

Well... We thought we had seen everything with the traffic chaos in Chennai but compared to today it was like a sedate outing along the style of Driving Miss Daisy. But to start at the beginning....

We flew out of Chennai to Kolkata (Calcutta) last night and the security at the airports was full on. Both of us had both our checked and cabin baggage searched and we were frisked. Once we told them we were ex-cops (they did ask so we told them) they lightened up a little but the full checks were done anyway.

Arrived in Calcutta at 7:30pm with no accomodation booked so the Indian Airlines Station Manager was very helpful and introduced us to some hotel guys. As we had a 6:30am flight out of Calcutta we wanted a hotel close by. Their first bid was a suite at a mere $USD500. Not tonight Josephine! We finally settled on a deal at some mid-town hotel and it included both transfer to the hotel and early morning pickup at 4:15.

Our driver didn't speak much English and the car was a near new Toyota something but our bags were in and we were soon off to town. Intriduction to Indian traffic number 2! The drivers here were worse than in Chennai! The usual honking and tooting and all that but these guys would put Peter Brock to shame. It was close our eyes and hang on and hope for the best as we missed bikes, cars and trucks by millimetres.

Then Ian (seated in the front) called the drivers attention to a group of four cows directly in the middle of the road and in our path! Did he slow down? Not a bit... he floored it and deftly swung between them... and the cows didn't move an inch! So as well as the cars, bikes, trucks, auto rickshaws and pedestrians, cows were now added to the menu for possible slaughter.

This madness continued all the way into the hotel where we checked in and promptly headed for the disco and a few beers to steady our nerves.

Not much sleep and at 4am another driver, in an old Mercedes picks up up for the drop at the airport. At this time of night even Calcutta is relativel quiet but there are bodies sleeping everywhere and even in the middle of footpaths, under bridges and in auto rickshaws. The horn was still the preferred choice of accessory and suddenly he turned the lights off! We suggested it might be an idea to turn them back on, which he did reluctantly but not before we saw appear RIGHT IN FRONT OF US AND HEADING OUR WAY a large truck also without lights!

They say you see your life flash in front of you at times like this and so it was. I don't know if anyone screamed but just as the truck filled the windscreen and all seemed lost to eternity, the driver suddenly swerved left... regardless of what or who was there... and managed to avoid killing all of us! None of this seemed to faze him, he turned on the lights and we continued on our way.

Needless to say my stress levels peaked out and I am not sure I didn't disgrace myself but it was the closest shave I have ever had anywhere, anytime.

Calcutta airport security once again very thourough as was Guawhati and Bagdogra. At Badgogra we were picked up by Ganje for our 4 hours jeep trip to Darjeeling. If I thought I had used up all my good luck in the morning episode with the truck in Calcutta I was mistaken. I was totally and thouroughly terrified for most of the trip up to Darjeeling. I'll write more later but picture this... a wet single-lane pot-holed road, cloud so thick you could not see a car length in front, a sheer mountain face on one side and a drop of several thousand feet straight down on the other. A vehicle behind honks his horn and although there is no room to pass, it starts to pull alongside as Ganje hugs what little road there is on the left, and as the other jeep squeezes past a truck coming down the mountain appears in front. Nobody stops but the overtaker cuts back in, we don't drom over the edge and the truck sails past surely taking a layer of paint off our jeep. Welcome to the Himalayan foothils.

I'm off to bed... I'm tired, have been terrified most of the day and the thought of todays near misses leaves me in a cold sweat!

Stay Tuned......

Dave and Ian

Toot Toot from Chennai

Well we finally arrived in Chennai (Madras) at 8:30pm Tuesday night after an overnight in Kulala Lumpor. Very hot and steamy in this marpt of the world and when we arrived last night, upon exiting the terminal, we were met by what looked like the whole 1.065 billion Indians waiting for us.

In the middle of this sea oh humanity was a smart young man dressed in white and with a white captain's cap holding a sign, "Residency Towers - Whiteman/Finlayson". It was comforting to know that all my internet booking and reservations for airport pickup had made it through and soon enough we were sitting in Ramesh's car ready for the trip into our hotel.

The next few minutes, our first moments in India, can only be described as bedlam! As soon as the car started and we moved out into the parking lot lanes the traffic became chaotic. And then the horns started, non-stop honking of bikes, cars trucks and anthing else on wheels. It was like the start of the Le Mans race but only in the suburbs of Chennai. I think I had my eyes closed for most of the 30 minute trip into out hotel but the few times I opened them all I could see were a mass of cars and auto rickshaws honking, tooting and swerving around and about each other.

How nobody wasn't killed in this melee is a miracle but Ramesh assured us that this was completely normal for Chennai traffic. Even though it was 9pm, the streets were alive with food sellers and other stalls happening along the way. It was complete pandemonium and an introduction to India neither of us will ever forget. I think the best and most frightening scene was at a busy round-about where I saw 2 trucks, 4 cars, 2 auto-rickshaws and several bikes, without any lights I might add, all heading for us as we entered the round-about and in the middle of all this madness were 2 guys trying to cross the road!

But we made it and our hotel, the Residency Towers, was like an oasis in the middle of all the craziness. A beautiful lobby and a 5 star room were a welcome sight and soon after checking in we changed some money and headed for the Bike and Barrel bar which was packed and had music blaring... only the best of course.. Dire Straits, Jimi Hendrix and Deep Purple were on the DJs play list and after a couple of beers we headed for our room for our first night in India.

Let the adventure proper begin.............

The Fat Lady is clearing her throat

24 hours from now Ian and I will be walking up the gang plank ready to be allocated our spot in the sardine can which will take us to India. Either that or more likely, rushing off to the can for a nervous one. 24 hours... 1 day.

After six months of planning, packing, re-planning, re-packing, changing airline schedules and finally re-packing for the last time, the Fat Lady is clearing her throat and about to sing ... We're off on the adventure of a lifetime. It is amazing how for the past at least 13 years I have often thought about going to India, have watched friends go and come back... some several times... have discussed India with them and others and hoped that one day I might be able to go and here I am, less than 24 hours from actually realising that dream.

I know Ian is excited too and maybe his reasons for going are different to mine but at the end of the day, it will be an experience that neither of us will ever forget. I hope they will be good memories. I'm indeed fortunate that Ian is my traveling companion, he goes with the flow and never seems to get fazed by anything but even so, I somehow think India is going to push as many buttons with him as it does me.

So... Father's Day her in Australia today and a couple of gifts from Liz and the boys for the trip before we have a barbecue this evening. It's getting warmer here now but I know it will be warmer in India.

Was that someone clearing their throat..................