I.N.spired - Road To Ridges

07/01/09:

It was freezing cold that morning and we left early for a trek along the Naudanda - Kaskikot - Sarangkot ridge. For the uninitiated, Pokhara is famed for it's unparalleled views of the Annapurnas and the ridge is the best place to catch this stunning display of orogenic proportions. By 6am, we were already at the starting point of a hamlet in Naudanda, approximately 10km west of Sarangkot. We squeezed in a short chai break with Mann, our guide, before embarking on our journey. Mann is knowledgeable and charming at the same time, guarateed to keep you entertained with his colourful insights about Nepal and the world. Just as we made the ascend to the top of the ridge, the sunkissed tips of Machhapuchhare and Annapurna came into view. As the morning unfolded, we were more than awestruck by the beauty of range.

The trail wasn't anywhere as difficult as I had thought it would be but walking under intense sunlight can be torturous. By 10am, we arrived at Kaskikot, the midpoint of our trek. We had the long camwhoring session to blame for the delay. Kaskikot is a charming village perched on the same ridge as Sarangkot an boasts similar views of the Annapurnas. It didn't take us too long to resume the trek as we were famished and badly needed food. 1.5 hours, and many many photographic opportunities, later, we made our entry into Sarangkot. By then, the Annapurnas were already shrouded in clouds, thanks to the midday heat. We quickly retired to a restaurant where we had heavy breakfast. Here, the view of sprawling Pokhara and Phewa Taal were breathtaking.

We left Sarangkot at 1pm, only to reach Pokhara around 3pm. Fatigued, we decided to retire to our rooms for a rest before going out for dinner. Mann had offered to take us somewhere where we could have fish and, having not eaten meat for quite sometime, we jumped at that offer. Green Lodge, strategically located on some sort of a headland by the Taal serves up good fish curry with rice, something I didn't expect of Nepal given the extremely mild taste of food here. The gravy was spicy and the rice somewhat sticky, just the way I like it. Good food, good walk, and tomorrow is about to get better... at least for one of us.

I.N.spired - A City of Thrills and Spills

06/01/09:

We made it to Pokhara by 3.30pm, after a 12-hour bus ride from Varanasi to Sunauli, a night’s stay at Belahiya, and a 10-hour bus ride to Pokhara. We’re here later than what we had intended for, but no less thrilled that we’ve finally touched Nepali soil. Along the way, we made a new Japanese friend, Ryu Takahashi, who had been traveling alone for the past 2 months across the Central Asian deserts, looping at the Middle East and now on his return leg to Japan via South Asia. He is a shy guy, but given time, we reckon he would make a great companion. This leg of our journey was pretty much nondescript, save for the fact that for the first time, we’re dead broke. Sure, we have our ATM cards and spare Singapore dollars, but with limited financial services between Belahiya and Pokhara, our credits were rendered useless. But the views were priceless. I must say that it was nothing unusual as I had seen the same on my last trip through Yunnan’s wilderness but to witness terraces upon terraces of green hill rice fields unfold between remote valleys of the Mahabharat Range of Nepal’s central Terai region was breathtaking and refreshing. What was more striking was the warmth of the Nepalese, and their very good looks. I, for sure, had an eyeful.

Anyway, Pokhara is a true-blue backpackers’ haven with a charming small-town disposition and a lively chill-out atmosphere. Most travelers use Pokhara as a base for treks around the valley, including the chance to get upclose and personal with the revered Annapurna and Machhapuchhare. We’ve signed up for a couple of treks ourselves, costing us USD85 each, including the fully paid return trip to Delhi come Friday morning. What was most thrilling is Faruq’s paragliding trip from Sarangkot scheduled for Thursday morning. I would have jumped at that chance myself if finances permit but alas, I guess I would have to save that for my return trip in future.

Dinner at the Busy Bee Café was unexpectedly good. We had a pizza and a cup of milk tea each for SGD8, on top of the awesome a live band spinning evergreen tunes from yesteryears. It was a good way to close the day after the backbreaking bus rides from India.


I know this is late but this picture was taken during our New year's party at Saii Palace in Agra. Miss them lots...

I.N.spired - Spiritual Road

04/01/09 - 05/01/09:

The only thing more difficult than trekking up a mountain or enduring long cold bus rides to obscure mountain villages was getting to Varanasi.

The train pulled into Varanasi Junction in the dead of the night, in thick fog that would challenge even the most experienced of drivers. The 4 of us, including Hugo and Marilyna, cramped into an autorickshaw for 80Rs and headed straight for Shanti guesthouse as recommended by Lonely Planet, but not without hassling from our driver who was adamant on checking us in to his. We insisted on the river side lodging and navigating the streets of old Goudalia in perpetual darkness was no joke – the streets were simply too narrow for any forms of vehicle except for the occasional motorbikes or bicycles. Unfortunately, Shanti was full for the night, or so our driver said. Suspecting the driver had turned the owner against us, we insisted again on Ganga Yogi Lodge, there are sure to be vacancies in this one since it was recommended to us by Saii Palace back in Agra. As expected, a round of arguments broke out based on 2 accounts, the owner of Ganga Yogi let us in and our driver demanded for more than the agreed price. Interested in getting a good rest after endless hours in the train, we gave the driver a piece of our mind and retired to our rooms promptly. We put up a stern fight and were rewarded with a good sleep thereafter.

As it was our only day in Varanasi, we were determined to take in as much of this Hindu mecca as possible. We started off late, at 11.30am, but it was just perfect as the fog would have lifted. The maze of back alleys to the river front threw us off at first. Many wron turns later, we made it to Apsara Restaurant for a good lunch before taking in the sights of the very photogenic ghats. If you had thought Agra was bad, the poverty and spirituality of Hinduism’s most sacred site was even more humbling. Throngs of pilgrims descended upon this city to seek enlightenment and cleanse their sins in Ganga’s heavily polluted waters, and for some, to await death. Manikarnika Ghat was the site of this gruesome scene where dead bodies were partially submerged in the Ganges and then later carried off for burning in stacks of firewood, all in full view of everyone present. It was too much to take at first but once you’ve ingested what was going on, you’d probably be able to understand that it was part and parcel of Varanasi’s daily life.

The better part of the day was spent just strolling from one ghat to another. We capped the long walk with a boat ride back to Dasaswamedh Ghat at sunset, the city’s main spiritual stage. It was here that we got ourselves an open-air massage just before embarking on our tour. Before heading for dinner just opposite the Apsara, we caught the brilliantly-staged puja by the river, a national day parade of sorts, complete with loudspeakers, live telecast and a good crowd of devotees and curious onlookers, mostly foreigners.

It was too short a stay at Varanasi – we reckoned that there would so much more to see and do – but alas, the lure of Nepal was too great and to stay any longer would have meant that we would not make the border in time as it would take 2 whole days of traveling to get to Pokhara including a night’s stay at Belahiya. We left India with a heavy heart and were deeply thankful for Varanasi as it captured India in the best and worst lights. It would be a matter of time before I plan for a return here.

I.N.spired - Agony

03/01/09:

It was 5am when an announcement was made that our train had finally arrived. By then, the damage was done. For 2 hours, Faruq and I huddled on a bench on the platform, struggling to catch some much-needed rest. Unfortunately, the cold was unforgiving. It wasn’t until 3am that we managed to find shelter in awaiting room which was partially vacated when an earlier train arrived. So there we were, trudging our heavy load and feet to the platform to board the Marudhar Express in the dead of the morning, somewhat glad that Varanasi was within reach. But that hope should have came with a warning sign.

The thick fog made it almost impossible for the train to go ahead at full steam. It took the train 11 hours to reach Lucknow, the midway point between Agra and Varanasi. To make things worst, due to the gross delay, the train was cancelled for the night and we had to transfer to another carriage to make the rest of the trip. The confusion landed us in a seating cabin, together with Hugo and Marilyna, a French couple whom we met on board the Marudhar. Fatigued and shivering from the cold, we had to endure backaches and claustrophobia as the train chugged along for the rest of the journey. We finally disembarked at our destination at 2am the next morning.

To be fair, the bleakest hours after leaving Agra were occasionally sprinkled with moments of posterity. While onboard the Marudhar, I managed to catch some good rest in the sleeper cabin. What wasn’t as pleasant was my encounter with a guard who caught me smoking between carriages. In my defense, I had no idea that smoking was not allowed as 1. I did not see any no-smoking sign and 2. other foreigners did the same as well. It was a case of bad karma as I was smoking alone then. The guard threatened to slap me with a heavy fine or throw me into jail! Naturally, I was badly shaken, confronted by a rifle-slung burly Hindustani who spoke not a single word of English. I pleaded for leniency and innocence. To this, he tried to show me no-smoking signs pasted generously on the cabin walls, which could potentially ruin my argument, but luck was on my side as all the posters were badly defaced and he had to take me to no less than 3 carriages away before we came across a decent sign. By then, he figured that he would probably be at the loosing end and so referred me to a colleague who spoke some English. He explained that smoking on board carried a heavy penalty but after explaining my situation, he relented and I escaped scot-free. That was definitely a close call.

What was a God-bless was the dirt cheap street-side food. We were forewarned not to consume any anywhere in India but after at least 4 vegetable samosas and 3 cups of chai from traveling vendors, we wish to debunk that caution – yes you may enjoy local treats, but only with a serious doze of gungho and a generous sprinkle of humour.

I.N.spired - The Last Stronghold

02/01/09:

It was a lazy start to the day as we were already maxed out by 2 days of early rising. At 10am, we lumbered to Joney’s for a good breakfast. As if my prayers were answered, we ran into Marty who had just finished his meal. It was our last day in Agra and I told Faruq that it would be nice if we could bid proper farewells to the new friends we’ve made on top of exchanging contact numbers.

But we soon discovered that there would be no end to meeting newer ones on this journey. A few steps outside Joney’s, on our way for tea at Shanti Lodge, we were approached by 2 foreign-born Indians, Rahul and Nidya. It was a Friday and the Taj was closed for the day so the pair had asked if we knew of a good vantage point to view the marble wonder. We figured that we could use some new company as well so the 4 of us settled on the rooftop of Shanti Lodge, sipping chai as we admire Taj from a distance and exchanged life stories.

The pair made a quick exit to embark on a city tour while we lazed around for another good hour before signing up for the day trip to Fatehpur Sikri. Just an hour’s drive away, Fatehpur Sikri is a magnificent conglomerate of palaces and mosques perched high on a hilltop fort. The first of its buildings to greet us was the Jama’ Masjid – entrance is free but visitors are not allowed to wear shoes in. The mosque alone was enough reason for you to visit Fatehpur Sikri without having to pay for the other palaces which, honestly, would look the same once you’ve visited a fort too many.

As I placed my right foot onto its red sandstone floor, the first wave of touts came rushing in, all were young boys throwing themselves at us for a small fee – all except for one. He claimed to take us around for free as he sees it as an obligation given he is a student at the Masjid’s madrasah. But nothing in this world is free, my friend. We gave in after a few rounds of debate to shake him off but he won’t budge. If truth be told, he would have made himself a cool sum if he had just stick to tour-guiding – his ‘earnest’ and persistent disposition would have earned in some tips at day’s end. But, to coax us to purchase come marble paraphernalia at the end threatened to worsen an already sour beginning. Of course, letting that get to my head would render victory to the touts.

We enjoyed another half hour at the Jama’ Masjid, this time on our own, before walking to Sikri to have a quick look. Along the way, a young boy peddling postcards came up and blurted:

“Are you Hindi?”

I must say that I expected myself to be mistaken as an Indian but to have a kid spewing such blatant honesty suddenly seemed foul to me. They just say the darndest thing, don’t they? By then, Faruq was a heap of laughter as I went on nagging about the boy. By the time the next boy came along, I was quick to identify that I was a Rajasthani from Udaipur.

That night, we got ready to leave for Varanasi via train which was scheduled at 9pm. While waiting for our departure, we managed a half hour tea at the rooftop. It was then that we met Kelly, alone traveler from Guangzhou. She was animated, which made for an interesting brief meet-up. When we finally got to the train station a little pass 9pm, we learnt that the train was delayed for 4 hours. Unwilling to bump around in the station’s squalid conditions, we headed back to Taj Ganj to use the internet. We ran into Marty and Kelly for the last time in Agra and by 12.30am, we were ready to return to the station, this time in thick fog which had developed over the city in split seconds.

The agony unfolds…

I.N.spired - Legacy of the Shah's

01/01/09:

We woke up very early that morning with high hopes to catch the marble mausoleum in full daylight glory at 7am. After battling the morning’s cold, we realized we should have paid heed to our guesthouse owner’s warning – there’s no use getting up too early as the Taj Mahal would be shrouded in fog as it always does on winter daybreaks. After checking out the interiors, we waited for the fog to lift, which it eventually did 2 hours later. It was then that sunlight revealed why Agra had always lured a steady pilgrimage of tourists. The monument of love unveiled before our very eyes as the white surfaces took in the bright morning light – it was beauty quite unlike what I’ve seen before. As my mind raced to find the right words to describe Taj’s splendour, my finger clicked freely in a vain attempt to capture it’s grandeur for eternity.

We retired to the institutionalised Joney’s Place for breakfast before heading back to the hotel an hour to noon. While the Russians were set to leave for Fatehpur Sikri, we opted for a tour around the city instead as the entrance ticket to the Taj (750Rs) entitled us discounts to Agra’s other attractions – Agra Fort, Sikandra and Baby Taj Mahal. We found Agra Fort particularly impressive, perched on a slight hill on Yamuna’s western bank with sweeping views of the urban sprawl below. It was here where Aurangzeb imprisoned his father, Shah Jahan, in his final days and judging by the clear visual assault of the Taj from his cell, I dare say Shah Jahan had his cards dealt well.

Chini Ka Roza and Baby Taj were uneventful, really, as we’ve seen the two most noteworthy monuments within the city limits but the trip to the dry banks of Yamuna opposite the Taj, affectionately known as the backside Taj, was the climax of the day. Getting across on Agra’s only traffic bridge was an experience of its own. Never have I seen such high concentration of vehicles in such claustrophobic space, not even in Bangkok. By vehicles I mean cars, buses, vans, motorcycles, autorickshaws, bicycles, cycle rickshaws, horse-drawn carriages and bullock carts – primarily anything on wheels that have the capacity to transport. Imagine all these cramped on a two-way street on a two-lane wide bridge.

As the dusk draws an end to yet another day in Agra, the Taj refuses to fade into darkness without pulling a technicolour display of its own. As the heavily polluted air over Agra lent a deep orange tone to the sunset, the white marble of Taj steadily changes from ochre to pink and then purple before heaving a sigh of deep yellow before the eye disappears below the horizon. To put the sequence of events in words would do little justice to the true beauty of Taj Mahal at sunset.

That night, we had dinner with Nasta, Katya and Katya, the 3 Russian ladies, before their departure to Jaipur. It was a simple affair at Joney’s, a pinnacle to 2 great days together. Faruq was only too happy as he got to nurse his crush on Katya whom he affectionately calls Olga-Wong. That night, we turned in early so much so that I only had sketchy recollections bidding them farewell at 11pm the morning after.

I.N.spired - In Taj

31.12.08:

I just realized that I’m not one for bite-size accounts. My travelogue is best read with a hot cuppa and lots of spare time.

We were paid to board the pre-paid taxi from Indira Gandhi Airport to Sarai Kale Khan Bus Terminal at the heart of New Delhi. What could have burnt 280Rs in our pockets gained us 120Rs through a mistake in accounting on the taxi receptionist’s end.

Delhi is a non-descript administration concrete jungle but we were treated to a generous dosage of men taking a piss on road sides. Sarai Kale Khan was no exception as the stench of urine quickly greeted our olfactory senses. By all means, we were lucky to have arrived on time for the bus to Agra. For 195Rs each and a 6-hour ride which seemed like an eternity, we were ushered into the ancient Mughal capital by dusk.

350Rs for a room at Saii Palace was reasonable enough at the infamous Taj Ganj. Upon checking in, we rushed up to the rooftop terrace and there it was – the pride of Shah Jahan. By then, the sun was fast disappearing below the horizon, which left us with nothing much to do for the day except to await the arrival of the new year.

Having been traveling for the past 24 hours, we quickly made a quick dash for the recommended Joney’s Place, but not before buying marble souvenirs from the ultra-persuasive and equally charming Mr. Mohamed Ahmed Khan. Earning a place in Lonely Planet India is a mean feat for this quaint old-timer. The banana lassi is to-die-for and the simple spicy mains are a definite draw, so much so that Marty, a German whom we asked to have dinner with us as this lone figure wandered into the eatery, had been returning for more in his 10 days in Agra.

We wasted no time after dinner and returned to the lodge for a countdown party. For 300Rs, I must say the spread of Indian staples were impressive but not quite worth the cover charge, especially considering that the owner killed the party on us shortly after midnight. This led to a tiff between Emile, a French who’s currently studying in Singapore, and a staff, which his mum mediated quite professionally. Unbattered, the party of 3 Mexicans, 3 Russians, 2 French and 2 Singaporeans stomped the party at Shanti Lodge and outstayed – let alone outdanced – the lodge’s guests themselves. By 0300h local time, we were ready to head back.

The night could have ended then but the younger lads decided for a chat on the roof deck. It was freezing to say the least but we enjoyed a rather meaningful and humour-riddled exchange under Agra’s twilight. New year, new environment, new company, and a whole new world before our very eyes – one could not have asked for a better night.

I.N.spired - Chennai Touchdown

30.12.08:

Mum teared as she bade farewell. To her, it’s yet another developing nation on the verge of an arm’s race. 2 weeks proved too long. To me, it’s the beginning of an Indian dream 6 months in the making. Watching her face crumple under the weight of worry made my heart wrench.

Faizal, Layla and Farhani made for a pleasant send-off. After making me worried for half-an-hour at the prospects of running late, they rose to the occasion with a pre-planned drive to Changi. The worries melted instantly.

1945h Singapore time at the Budget Terminal and the group of 7 assembled. Faruq came in arms with his mum and aunt. India never seemed so real. We took off an hour and a half later, touching down on Indian soil for the first time at 2250h local time after a 4-hour flight. First impression counts and Chennai Airport fell short of that. Our baggage came 30 minutes late and watching a local squabble over a mistaken order of chicken sandwich at the Café Coffee Day made for an interesting yet frustrating scene. But much of Chennai was too sleepy to care.

Pacing up and down the main corridor between halls was somewhat excruciating to our backs. It was this deciding moment that led to purchasing a 7940Rs return trip to Delhi. We’re SGD228 poorer each but 72 hours richer. That’s worth at least an entirely new Indian city, or a trek in the great Himalayas.

It’s 0135h local time and we’re on the cold ceramic tiles of the Departure Hall. Not the first night of our dreams but we still hold high hopes for Agra and its Mughal wonder.