Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Monday, 28 April 2008
Photos
These are a bit out of sync with what's been happening, but I've been trying for an hour to weave these through the blog and it's taking too long, so I'm just going to post a bunch of photos here at random, so there!
Storm warning, before the 10 day storm began. 
A cow. On the beach.
Marty pants with sling. 
Mark and I, boat from Half Moon to Om beach.
Cook up on the beach, Attila, Denis, Sara, Holly. 
The Jones brothers come to play.
Playing dress up for Jewish festival Purim
Purim, dancing in the dark (there was a power cut, the only light going off was the flash from my camera, you can't see from this picture but everyone was dancing in 1 foot of water)
Marty at the hospital
Me Jane, where Tarzan?
Me having a ponder in Anjuna market, Goa 
Classic Indian roads
Marty and Attila drinking a beer 
Down the road from a guesthouse in Kerala 
View from the treehouse up in the Western Ghats
Carla and Ema, legends : ) on their bullet
After a long hot day trekking over the headland 
The bikes, Anook(mine, the pretty silver one) and Brutus (Marty's,the black manly one!)
Storm warning, before the 10 day storm began. A cow. On the beach.Marty pants with sling. Mark and I, boat from Half Moon to Om beach.Cook up on the beach, Attila, Denis, Sara, Holly. The Jones brothers come to play.Playing dress up for Jewish festival PurimPurim, dancing in the dark (there was a power cut, the only light going off was the flash from my camera, you can't see from this picture but everyone was dancing in 1 foot of water)Marty at the hospitalMe Jane, where Tarzan?Me having a ponder in Anjuna market, GoaClassic Indian roads Marty and Attila drinking a beer Down the road from a guesthouse in Kerala View from the treehouse up in the Western Ghats Carla and Ema, legends : ) on their bullet After a long hot day trekking over the headland The bikes, Anook(mine, the pretty silver one) and Brutus (Marty's,the black manly one!) Thursday, 24 April 2008
northward bound...Delhi to Rishikesh
Finally having waited a week in Bangalore we loaded the bikes and ourselves aboard the Karnataka Express bound for Delhi. 42 hours of pure bliss lay before us in second class sleeper. Although having a made a reservation and waiting a week for said seats on this train we still had to share our space with a score or so people. I can imagine the uproar if several people tried to squeeze onto your first class seat on an Inter city in England. I'm sure blood would be spilled. However in India everyone makes room for those less fortunate than the seat holders, squeezes up and distributes whatever food stuffs they have equally until everyone is best friends. We did at least to secure a bunk each to ourselves. One enterprising young german took the opportunity to string up his hammock in the aisle much to the delight and amusement of everyone...exept the transport police who made him cut it down again. Savages.
So nearly two days later we pulled into Delhi and decanted at New Delhi station. Holls and I were not exactly blown away by Delhi the first time, so it was with heavy hearts that we battled across the city to the Tibetan settlement at Manju Ta killa on the bank of the Yamuna river. This was a smart move as you are effectively cocooned from India by a small piece of Tibet, Tibetans being possibly the kindest people we've met so far. A couple of days proper rest after the train had as chomping at the bit to hit the road again and head for the hills. It was actually way hotter up here on the plains than it had been in Bangalore. 38 degrees to be precise, not exactly the time to be sporting a black motorcycle helmet. We were in no mood to hang around and blasted through the 200kms to Hardiwar where we stopped for a spot of lunch. Hardiwar is holy. Holy than a pair of old y-fronts you might say. It is the point where the mighty Ganges emerges from the Himalaya and pilgrims flock to bathe in its cool, and relatively unpolluted (at this stage anyway) waters. Not particularly enamoured by Hardiwar we pushed on 25ks to Rishikesh, famous world over for it's Yoga Ashrams and, probably more memorably because of a visit from four scouse lads back in the early 70s who sought inspiration and divine intervention. We didn't any beatles, but we did find we had lost our guide book somewhere on the highway from Delhi.
This threw us a little as despite (loving and) loathing the Lonely Planet we had relied on it a little to at least start us off in the right direction for finding a hotel that suited us. After asking several vague Indians and doing a little internet research we pushed on further north still to the village of Lashman Gula. The ride here defies description and gravity too sometimes as we skirted up the valley and crossed over the Ganges on a wire/rope bridge. Suspended on our bikes 50 feet above the fast flowing water we jostled with cows, and people to reach the other side.
We have now spent three very relaxing days eating good old western food and people watching all the new age spiritual types who flock here to realise their full cosmic potential. Most of the travellers here look like they bought a DIY travel in India dress up kit. Matching clothes and experimental facial hair and manicured dreadlocks abound as do the vacant stares of people who obviously have some really big questions on their minds.
It obviously isn't working for everyone though. Our first night lounging in a cafe watching the sun set we witnessed an older American lady - dressed in her new age uniform - enter the cafe and begin a rather heated discussion with the boy working there entitled 'the distance bassy music can travel, and how it upsets my spiritual practise'. She blew a gasket lashing out at the kid, slapping him about a bit and calling him a chump. The other punters stared on agog as this evil witch ranted and raved until she was encouraged to leave by one of the other cafe goers, muttering to herself as she went. Holly & I both agreed that perhaps she had possibly overstayed her welcome in India, or needed to change Yoga teachers, and that maybe the path for enlightenment for her was indeed a long and arduous one. In a land where one billion people have utmost tolerance for each others disturbances, day in day out - I'm almost sure there has been a festival of some description and of every religious nomination every day since we arrived - we were quietly comforted by the fact that even those who dress and talk zen are deep down still uptight westerns. Made us laugh anyway...
So nearly two days later we pulled into Delhi and decanted at New Delhi station. Holls and I were not exactly blown away by Delhi the first time, so it was with heavy hearts that we battled across the city to the Tibetan settlement at Manju Ta killa on the bank of the Yamuna river. This was a smart move as you are effectively cocooned from India by a small piece of Tibet, Tibetans being possibly the kindest people we've met so far. A couple of days proper rest after the train had as chomping at the bit to hit the road again and head for the hills. It was actually way hotter up here on the plains than it had been in Bangalore. 38 degrees to be precise, not exactly the time to be sporting a black motorcycle helmet. We were in no mood to hang around and blasted through the 200kms to Hardiwar where we stopped for a spot of lunch. Hardiwar is holy. Holy than a pair of old y-fronts you might say. It is the point where the mighty Ganges emerges from the Himalaya and pilgrims flock to bathe in its cool, and relatively unpolluted (at this stage anyway) waters. Not particularly enamoured by Hardiwar we pushed on 25ks to Rishikesh, famous world over for it's Yoga Ashrams and, probably more memorably because of a visit from four scouse lads back in the early 70s who sought inspiration and divine intervention. We didn't any beatles, but we did find we had lost our guide book somewhere on the highway from Delhi.
This threw us a little as despite (loving and) loathing the Lonely Planet we had relied on it a little to at least start us off in the right direction for finding a hotel that suited us. After asking several vague Indians and doing a little internet research we pushed on further north still to the village of Lashman Gula. The ride here defies description and gravity too sometimes as we skirted up the valley and crossed over the Ganges on a wire/rope bridge. Suspended on our bikes 50 feet above the fast flowing water we jostled with cows, and people to reach the other side.
We have now spent three very relaxing days eating good old western food and people watching all the new age spiritual types who flock here to realise their full cosmic potential. Most of the travellers here look like they bought a DIY travel in India dress up kit. Matching clothes and experimental facial hair and manicured dreadlocks abound as do the vacant stares of people who obviously have some really big questions on their minds.
It obviously isn't working for everyone though. Our first night lounging in a cafe watching the sun set we witnessed an older American lady - dressed in her new age uniform - enter the cafe and begin a rather heated discussion with the boy working there entitled 'the distance bassy music can travel, and how it upsets my spiritual practise'. She blew a gasket lashing out at the kid, slapping him about a bit and calling him a chump. The other punters stared on agog as this evil witch ranted and raved until she was encouraged to leave by one of the other cafe goers, muttering to herself as she went. Holly & I both agreed that perhaps she had possibly overstayed her welcome in India, or needed to change Yoga teachers, and that maybe the path for enlightenment for her was indeed a long and arduous one. In a land where one billion people have utmost tolerance for each others disturbances, day in day out - I'm almost sure there has been a festival of some description and of every religious nomination every day since we arrived - we were quietly comforted by the fact that even those who dress and talk zen are deep down still uptight westerns. Made us laugh anyway...
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
A conversation at the post office
Holly and Martyn arrive at Bangalore post office to send some parcels to friends and family back home. Holly takes a turn for the worst from the mornings breakfast of curry and pickle which leaves her with her head between her legs and turning a bit yellow whilst Martyn tackles the post office queue.
M: Hello Sir, I would like to send these parcels to the UK
PO: No Sir
M: Yes please Sir. These parcels here, from this post office, I want to send them to England.
PO: No possible here.
M: Where is it possible?
PO: Next counter.
M: Thank you.
Next counter
M: Hello Sir, I would like to send these parcels to the UK
PO: That will be 8000 rupess (holds out hands for parcels)
M: (Eyebrow raised) Don't you want to weigh them first?
PO: (Grabs parcels and throws them on the scale to weigh) 5000 rupees.
M: Is that the cheapest way to send them?
PO: Air mail. By sea maybe 2500 rupees.
M: I send by sea then please.
PO: Yes please, 5000 rupees.
M: No, I want to send by sea.
PO: Yes please, so air mail 5000 rupees
M: No. Sea. 2500 rupees... please.
PO: By sea you want to send for cheap?
M: Yes.
PO: Well is 3000 rupees.
M: (very very deep breath) Why 3000 rupees
PO: Large package cheaper by sea, small package cheaper by air.
M: So can I send large by sea please and small by air?
PO: Yes please, airmail 5000 rupees.
etc etc. for 15 minutes or so until finally post master and Martyn understand one another.
Post Master begins to stick stamps on to canvas package. They're not sticking.
M: Excuse me Sir, this will fall off.
PO: No Sir.
M: Yes Sir
Marty brushes stamps lightly with hand and it comes away - post master shrugs.
M: (in exasperation) Do you have any tape?
PO: Of course
M: Please, can I have some?
Post master hands it over. Marty sticks down stamps.
All done.
Post master throws parcels from a great height at floor. Martyn considers suggesting he might like to be more careful, but considering it is nearly dark and the little patience he has is quickly turning into fetid wrath, he goes to fetch a now green-around-the-gills Holly and leaves.
M: Hello Sir, I would like to send these parcels to the UK
PO: No Sir
M: Yes please Sir. These parcels here, from this post office, I want to send them to England.
PO: No possible here.
M: Where is it possible?
PO: Next counter.
M: Thank you.
Next counter
M: Hello Sir, I would like to send these parcels to the UK
PO: That will be 8000 rupess (holds out hands for parcels)
M: (Eyebrow raised) Don't you want to weigh them first?
PO: (Grabs parcels and throws them on the scale to weigh) 5000 rupees.
M: Is that the cheapest way to send them?
PO: Air mail. By sea maybe 2500 rupees.
M: I send by sea then please.
PO: Yes please, 5000 rupees.
M: No, I want to send by sea.
PO: Yes please, so air mail 5000 rupees
M: No. Sea. 2500 rupees... please.
PO: By sea you want to send for cheap?
M: Yes.
PO: Well is 3000 rupees.
M: (very very deep breath) Why 3000 rupees
PO: Large package cheaper by sea, small package cheaper by air.
M: So can I send large by sea please and small by air?
PO: Yes please, airmail 5000 rupees.
etc etc. for 15 minutes or so until finally post master and Martyn understand one another.
Post Master begins to stick stamps on to canvas package. They're not sticking.
M: Excuse me Sir, this will fall off.
PO: No Sir.
M: Yes Sir
Marty brushes stamps lightly with hand and it comes away - post master shrugs.
M: (in exasperation) Do you have any tape?
PO: Of course
M: Please, can I have some?
Post master hands it over. Marty sticks down stamps.
All done.
Post master throws parcels from a great height at floor. Martyn considers suggesting he might like to be more careful, but considering it is nearly dark and the little patience he has is quickly turning into fetid wrath, he goes to fetch a now green-around-the-gills Holly and leaves.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Tuskers, Monks and an egg
We left Mark and Henry in Goa to head back to Gokarna and pick up the bikes, rubbish. Very strange to see our link with back home disappearing in the back of a taxi. Our odyssey together the last couple of weeks had been awesome, there's nothing quite like catching up with old mates, from a standing start it is always good times and easy going. Now it's just Marty and I, the bikes and a few thousand kilometers (oh, and a thousand million Indians)Having said good bye to our bullet comrades Denis and Sarah the week before who were heading off to Germany, Gokarna was feeling pretty empty. But no time to dwell on absent friends, we packed our bags ready to head further south towards Mangalore, after a couple off weeks off the bikes we were both keen to saddle up and get going again.
The best thing that has happened to me so far in India happened on the way to Mangalore. Riding through the beautiful backwaters of Karnataka and Kerala I got stuck behind a truck that was full to the hilt with eggs. There were a couple of chaps sat on the back of the truck looking pretty miserable, so I have them my biggest brightest smile, which when you have a big black helmet that covers half your mouth can make you look a bit retarded, anyway big smiles right back at me and the chap nearest the side of the truck waved me forward. Just as I was about to overtake the truck he leant right out and handed me, still with a smile bigger than the moon, an
egg. I laughed for about 30 kilometer, every time I caught Marty's attention in his wing mirror I kept waving the egg around. Happy me : )
Mangalore is the friendliest place I've ever been, apart from getting there in the middle of the day and slogging around in 35 degree heat for 3 hours to find a guesthouse (it seems all Magaloreans live in hotels) we met some of the friendliest, charming, helpful people, which goes a little way to explaining the egg episode. We met a chap called Ashoka who owned the best bookshop in the world (in my opinion) he had travelled all over India on a motorbike, unusual least of all because his wife had accompanied him - he was also incredibly environmentally aware having bought 15 acres of local rainforest in order to preserve it from loggers. Later that night at his invitation Marty and I went to his house for some food and a gander at their travel photos. A very nice man.
Next stop the treehouse. I can't really do justice to this other than to say it was 3000 feet + up in the Western Ghat mountains and the treeshouse itself was 100 meters above ground level. A birthday present from Marty's brother and and sister-in-law (hi Wid and Em!) was absolutely phenomenal. 360degree panorama of the surrounding westwern ghats among tea and coffee plantations. I will post photos because I can't begin to describe how high up we were and how amazing it was. As a result I think I have developed a mild form of vertigo.
Onwards to Wyanad wildife sanctuary. On the way there about 20 feet from the road was a wild elephant, locally known as a tusker or tusked male elephant, chowing down on some undergrowth. As you do when you see a wild elephant for the first time we stopped to gawp at it and take photos for a few minutes. On arrival at our guesthouse feeling pretty pleased with ourselves we told everyone what we'd seen.
Apparently this is unbelievably dangerous - lone male elephants like this are incredibly aggresive, on top of this they hate the sound of motorbikes (which we had left running while taking photos) we were lucky to still be standing - a German dude on an Enfield had been attacked the year before and had not been so lucky. So, we live and learn! A 6 hour trek through the rainforest the next day and although wildlife was a bit thin on the ground we did see a leopard and a tiger, notoriously elusive animals. Oh, and a dead cow that had been hunted - maybe the aforementioned tiger?!
Last night, we stayed in a Buddhist monastery in a Tibetan settlement out in the countryside. A surreal but wonderful experience. I looked out the window at about 5 o'clock and the grass parkland outside the rooms was full with maroon robed trainee monks running amok in the grounds spinning tyres with a stick and being generally pretty cheeky I could have been in any decade between 2000BC and 2008 AD.
In the next week or so we are planning to catch a train to Bangalore with the bikes and then onward to the great Himalayas.
ps not sure if anyone is reading this, but if you are please leave a comment so we know you're out there! Big love holly and marty xxx.
The best thing that has happened to me so far in India happened on the way to Mangalore. Riding through the beautiful backwaters of Karnataka and Kerala I got stuck behind a truck that was full to the hilt with eggs. There were a couple of chaps sat on the back of the truck looking pretty miserable, so I have them my biggest brightest smile, which when you have a big black helmet that covers half your mouth can make you look a bit retarded, anyway big smiles right back at me and the chap nearest the side of the truck waved me forward. Just as I was about to overtake the truck he leant right out and handed me, still with a smile bigger than the moon, an
egg. I laughed for about 30 kilometer, every time I caught Marty's attention in his wing mirror I kept waving the egg around. Happy me : )
Mangalore is the friendliest place I've ever been, apart from getting there in the middle of the day and slogging around in 35 degree heat for 3 hours to find a guesthouse (it seems all Magaloreans live in hotels) we met some of the friendliest, charming, helpful people, which goes a little way to explaining the egg episode. We met a chap called Ashoka who owned the best bookshop in the world (in my opinion) he had travelled all over India on a motorbike, unusual least of all because his wife had accompanied him - he was also incredibly environmentally aware having bought 15 acres of local rainforest in order to preserve it from loggers. Later that night at his invitation Marty and I went to his house for some food and a gander at their travel photos. A very nice man.
Next stop the treehouse. I can't really do justice to this other than to say it was 3000 feet + up in the Western Ghat mountains and the treeshouse itself was 100 meters above ground level. A birthday present from Marty's brother and and sister-in-law (hi Wid and Em!) was absolutely phenomenal. 360degree panorama of the surrounding westwern ghats among tea and coffee plantations. I will post photos because I can't begin to describe how high up we were and how amazing it was. As a result I think I have developed a mild form of vertigo.
Onwards to Wyanad wildife sanctuary. On the way there about 20 feet from the road was a wild elephant, locally known as a tusker or tusked male elephant, chowing down on some undergrowth. As you do when you see a wild elephant for the first time we stopped to gawp at it and take photos for a few minutes. On arrival at our guesthouse feeling pretty pleased with ourselves we told everyone what we'd seen.
Apparently this is unbelievably dangerous - lone male elephants like this are incredibly aggresive, on top of this they hate the sound of motorbikes (which we had left running while taking photos) we were lucky to still be standing - a German dude on an Enfield had been attacked the year before and had not been so lucky. So, we live and learn! A 6 hour trek through the rainforest the next day and although wildlife was a bit thin on the ground we did see a leopard and a tiger, notoriously elusive animals. Oh, and a dead cow that had been hunted - maybe the aforementioned tiger?!Last night, we stayed in a Buddhist monastery in a Tibetan settlement out in the countryside. A surreal but wonderful experience. I looked out the window at about 5 o'clock and the grass parkland outside the rooms was full with maroon robed trainee monks running amok in the grounds spinning tyres with a stick and being generally pretty cheeky I could have been in any decade between 2000BC and 2008 AD.
In the next week or so we are planning to catch a train to Bangalore with the bikes and then onward to the great Himalayas.
ps not sure if anyone is reading this, but if you are please leave a comment so we know you're out there! Big love holly and marty xxx.
Baggage, birthdays, and goodbyes
Mark and Henry arrived, tired yet excited. Unfortunately their luggage did not. A cancellation of their flight from Heathrow had thrown everything off kilter. They were met at Mumbai with an attendant waving a fistful of rupees and an apology that their bags would be sent on when they arrived the following day. Amazingly they did just that. A rick-shaw pulled up in Agonda two days later, with two shrink wrapped bags. And not a moment to soon as the limited beach wear I owned had been shared out between us.
Next it was in a taxi and down the coast to Gokarna in Karnataka state. Initially there was talk of loading all four of us onto the two bikes and heading down, but on seeing the amount of luggage Mark and Henry had brought from England, this plan was never going to get off the ground. - Secretly I think it was intentional as both Joneses only ever sceptically eyed our bikes. - Holly and I followed the taxi for the three hour run down to Gokarana, blasting through both the Goa and Karnatkan state police road blocks sans interruption to save a hefty baksheesh.
Om beach is named for the beautiful curving shape the two bays make resembling the symbol that Hindus believe to be representative of the divine, and source of all manifest existence - although heard as a sound and not a word. And divine it was.
Two beautiful golden sandy beaches, sloping down to a tranquil Arabian Sea where we were to spend the next week. 8kms north, Gokarna town, represents one of the holiest towns in India. The beaches appeared to be an extension of this with pilgrims coming to bathe daily. This made for an interesting mix of devout Hindus, drunk India men, and horizontal westerners all vying for a spot of beach. Fortunately the competition was never that fierce and Om beach remains one of the most relaxing places we've visited so far. Hammock time was maximised as were the many hours of ruthless hands of shithead and dirty sevens (Attila's Turkish card game). Unseasonally we experienced thunderstorms nearly every night. More a novelty than an annoyance we made do. Coincidentally perhaps the rains arrived along with the Joneses lost luggage.
My birthday fell on Good Friday. It was also full moon that day, the Hindu festival holi and the Jewish festival of Purim the night before. This alone was inspiring. A lot of the Israeli travellers on the beach were throwing a fancy dress party- as is traditional - so Thursday night saw us dressed as Leopard, bumblebee, Harry Potter, Ganesh - Hindu elephant god, a lotus flower, and cap'n Jack Sparra respectively. It was a fairly raucous affair which left many feeling sore for the following day. My birthday was as good a birthday as one could hope for. A beautiful spot, my best friends from home and those we had made in India, and of course all organised expertly by Holly and rounded off with some of the biggest fireworks I have ever had the pleasure of lighting.
Holly had even bought a cake from a bakery in the local village and stashed it at the restaurant we were going to have dinner. However there was a massive thunderstorm that night so we ended up having dinner at our guesthouse. When the raining had ceased a bit she walked along the beach to get the cake and bring it back. On her return, literally out of no-where a cow, horns down, comes charging at me from the shadows. Holly started to run but the damn thing was much faster than a half drunk cake wielding Holly, so the only way to go was into the sea, where she walked the remainder of the beach and lost the cow and delivered the cake in perfect chocolatey condition to the birthday boy.
Moral of the story: cows like cake, but they won't swim for it
It was with some sadness a day later that we all packed up to head back up to Goa, waving goodbye to those who had travel from north to south with us - Denis & Sara heading back to Mumbai, then Germany and Attila heading north to meet his sister. They would be sorely missed.
Back in Anjuna we fluked a house rental for three days. Right near the beach and with bedrooms, kitchen and a lovely porch to sit out on we were pretty spoiled. A lot of rum was drunk and a few more drunken swimming episodes occurred. A trip to the weekly flea market furnished Mark and Henry with all the gifts they could ever need to take back home. A hike up to Chapora fort on the penultimate day of their stay only being marred slightly by a policeman trying his luck for a bit of extra rupee. When seeing we were up to good rather than no good he slunk away tail between his legs. Then it was off for one last supper with the boys and a farewell glass of Indian red - not advisable, by the way.
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