Searching for the True Nehru

Aurangabad, another non-touristy city with no discernible features except a fake Taj Mahal that begun its creation with marble but they ran out of money after just two metres and finished it with stone, thus we refused to pay to get any closer than the outer fence

People mainly used this as a transit route as you could reach a hill fort and the Ellora caves from here but the one other "tourist" attraction that this city boasted was described as a refreshing lake with a beautiful temple and wonderful working water wheel, after visiting this area I can safely say that what I have written already has already given this attraction too much time. Here's a picture anyway, makes it look alot nicer than it really is.

After mincing around the faux tourists attractions we decide to head out to the hill fort and the Ellora caves with a friendly tuk-tuk driver who offered his services. We hit the fort first, at sometime around midday, and endured a sweaty, hot march to the top of the fort.

Here's my favourite bits of the fort in a list format (no particular order).

1. Deep moat, no paddling through this with your battle gear on.

2. The Bat Cave, to reach the top of the fort you must feel your way through the pitch black caverns and up the stairs to the top, luckily we had torches with us.

3. View from the top, can just about make out the background through the Indian perma-smog.

Jumping back into the tuk-tuk, with a couple of freshly cut coconuts to sip, we speed off to the Ellora caves, built over 1000 years ago and hand carved from the top down so mistakes were not allowed and punished with death (or chopping off your hands).

A wide, low chamber with hundreds of pillars leads towards this shrine to Vishnu (maybe Shiva).

After the arduous train journey we arrive in Nagpur and quickly realise that this city is not a "tourist" city. Luckily after a few hours of bumbling around in the dusty streets we spot a few brits, who have come here to watch the cricket, and they point us in the direction of the cheap hotel district.

(nothing pretty or photogenic exists in Nagpur so here's a cow in traffic)

After booking into the hotel, which was outrageously expensive due to the cricket match, we get our first taste of Nagpurian chow, colourful and spicy chicken curries sitting in pools of grease accompanied by huge naans and bowls delicious jeera rice, with the added bonus of being watched by a confused, curious and sometimes aroused bunch of indian men. This zoo like atmosphere became the norm in Nagpur and the fours of us must be in the in the phones and cameras of over 500 insatiable indians, many taken during the cricket match.

Anyway, our first day at the cricket started with a 40 minute, sweaty, jam-packed bus ride to the ground for about 5p each, where, of course, we were studied closely. By this time word had spread and people knew there were English in the city and, growing in confidence, the more daring indians tried to make contact with us and spark up conversation. Almost all of these conversations were cricket based and when I say conversations, it was more of a one way affair where they would list off the players names and expectantly wait for a nod or a shake of the head.

After Battling through the throngs of Indian supporters we finally found ourselves in the ground, with the best seats in the house, sitting amongst the "Barmy Army", Englands most loyal cricket fans who follow them all over the world. Almost immediately they spark up with "Jerusalem", one of their favourite songs, with the rest of the crowd falling silent in awe and confusion of the noise made by a cluster of 50 or so rather portly Englishmen.

Needless to say, anyone who has been to a test match before must be able to appreciate the boredom that sets in after the first few hours on the first day...... and the second....... and the third, and this can be seen in photographic evidence in the look on one Christopher Thompsons face below,

One of the most exciting parts of the day was the rush back into the city from the cricket stadium. You had two options, number one, try to clamber into a packed bus and sweat half of your body mass away, or number two, walk along the road and wait for friendly Indians to offer the four of us a ride. We opted for the latter, which on the third day resulted in the four of us and six Indian teenagers piling onto the back of a pick up truck. The open air was awesome but we soon realised that we had picked up a following of scooters and motorbikes which stretched back about 500m and consisted of hundreds of Indians trying to take pictures and get close enough for a cheeky drive-by handshake, thus boosting our celebrity status within the city. This carried on for the entirety of the half an hour ride back ensuring that by the time we were home I no longer had the energy to put my fake smile on or chat with any more Indians for the day.

Back to the cricket, day four and five got a bit more exciting with it swinging from England in front to India and ended in a battle for England to force a draw and so win the series 2-1 on aggregate.

Over 1000km from Rishikesh to Khajuraho on sleeper trains,

Broken up by a night out in the Bars and Clubs of New Delhi,

We pick up another traveller on the way. He goes by the name of "Pong" and is found most often reading publications entitled "My picture book of English" or "English for Infants". A chinese university lecturer who we take under our wing and find him a taxi and hotel to stay in. However, he mysteriously dissapears the next day, never to be seen again and we continue, once again, as a four.

The town itself had nothing of interest but the temples and only kept us for 2 days, but heres a photo of Thompson with a water buffalo.

The temples, built about 1000 years ago, mainly depict men, women and animals in various positions seemingly taken straight from the Kama Sutra. No one seems to be sure exactly why they were built but our personal theory is simply waterproof porn that can be enoyed by many people at once.

Dotted around a green park, these temples jutted, like small, sexy volcanoes, out of the ground. Adorned in all sorts of sordid sexual acts.

Around ten temples covered the area, all of differing size, shape and sexual exploration.

Also a pretty damn big wasp came at us.

Once we satisfied our appetites we planned our journey down to nagpur to watch England play India in the final test of the series. Our journey did not go to plan.

After a 3 hour bus and a 5 hour wait at the station due to late trains we finally bundled ourselves onto a train packed tighter than the underground. No space to even lie down, we were forced to sit in the bit in between carriages (which means between toilets) for 7 hours, feeling every bump and turn of the track, watching the world slowly pass by through holes in the floor and walls.

Finally, we get off this damned train to make a transfer and finish the rest of this journey, or so we think. The next train is just as packed and, instead of the 2 hours we though we had left, turns out to have been bumped up to 5 hours long. So a total journey time of just over 20 hours. Sleep time, about 2 hours.

Next port of call, the Himalayan foothills. After the heat of west India we decide for a change and find ourselves on a sleeper train to Landour, popular with Indian honeymooners, trekkers and the most famous Indian language school around.

We choose this as our first recharge point of India and end up with a small house for 5 days with cooking facilities and a distant view of the snow capped peaks of the Himalayas.

We spend most of the time walking around the town and mountain paths, hundreds of meters below, where we frequently see signs that give warning of leopards and bears but are not lucky enough to glimpse any for ourselves.

The best walk here was straight down to the bottom of the valley then following a river back up the mountain jumping from boulder to boulder, followed by a vigorous stomp back to the top.

From Landour we make our winding way through more mountain to the hippy haven of Rishikesh, supposedly a famous destination due to the Beatles attending an ashram (yoga and meditation classes) here. This has clearly had an effect on the town, as taking the place of old school,flower power hippys that used to fill the small town next to the Ganges is a new wave of western hipster types coming to find themselves and so on.

One upside of this, however, is the increase of extreme sports available. Our limited budget kept us to white water rafting on the Ganges,

But other options included bungee jumps, paintballing and gliding through the mountains.

Another day here was spent scootering around the steep mountain passes, travelling 100km to the north to see a large, serene lake before rushing back before the freezing cold night set in.

The "Beatles Ashram" was a haunting place, shut down by the government after its owner got into debt, and had been abandoned for years, surrounded by barbed wire and fences. However, greasing the palms of the security guard with 200 rupees ( 2 or 3 quid) saw us quickly past the main gate and into the hippy sanctuary.

Inside was a huge complex of buildings and egg shaped "meditation domes" used by The Beatles and other less famous hippys.

The Beatles church was a roofless building decorated with images of the band surrounded by some random famous peace people plus some other random artwork.

Rishiskesh was a good break from the normal hectic pace of  India but it all felt a little too fake and constructed with huge billboards offering meditation and yoga classes everywhere. Ringo said it reminded him of Butlins, a fair comment I'd say. If you're looking for a place to really relax and find yourself, this is not that place. If you want to meet pretentious westerners however, this is a goldmine willing to be plundered by like minded "lost souls".

One upside, however, was the narrow bridge that it used by man, cow and monkey alike with the former taking every opportunity to steal cameras, phones and food and scampering off under the bridge with them. An amazing sight to behold, one dreadlocked hippy wearing full Indian garb attempting to get a snap of a monkey with his Iphone has it snatched away by another monkey. Welcome to Indian, fool.

Aggra. Home to the famous Taj Mahal and... nope, thats it. The small town had little to offer except a huge tannoy system set up surrounding the area we stayed that played tinny music into the early hours of the morning. This alone was annoying but when you throw a horde of giant water buffalo into the mix it gets even more unbearable. The huge, horned beasts found the music even more offensive than we did, culminating in around 20 conducting a full speed charge down the streets, stopping for nothing, in an attempt to escape to ear splitting noise. For obvious reasons, none of us managed to capture this on camera.

(view from our hostel)

Anyway, we got an early start the next day at around 6am to beat the crowds of tourists, both foreign (entry cost 10 quid) and native (entry drops to 12p). Much to our disappointing the queues were already building up but we were soon inside to see one of the gems of India.

The Taj Mahal, whilst being smaller than expected, still offered a stunning view with the sun rising and the mist rolling in from the river behind.

Camel fairs and cleansing sins in a lake of Shiva. Our last port of call in Rajasthan was the small town of Pushkar, quiet for 11 months of the year then an explosion of tourists, pilgrims and camel traders as the camel festival rolls into town. Over 15,000 camels come and go during the two week fair, peaking around full moon when pilgrims from all over the country come to bath in the lake under the pale light of the moon to cleanse themselves and their sins.

The festival had a strangely familiar atmosphere, fairground rides, the interesting smell and over priced beer (replaced with over priced chai). More camels than people, some escaping their masters and making a run for it, of all different shapes, sizes and colours. Some were having patterns shaved into them for the beauty competitions, others preparing for camel wrestles or races. This marks the end of the year for the camel industry so traders buy or sell for a few days then spend their excess enjoying themselves and watching the random contests.

(Dan Dansn, on the left, is about 6"3'. BIG CAMEL)

After enjoying the sights of the camel festival we decide on a walk to the top of the hill pictured in the second picture above. A ridiculously steep walk, made more interesting by packs of monkeys stealing our fruit. It took us about 2 hours to climb, greeted happily at the top by a steaming cup of chai and a dog that spent its time between lazing in the sun and fending monkeys from the peak.

This guy tried to eat my watermelon then scampered off to watch us from a rock.

After this trek we got baptized in the lake by some "monk/priest/fraud" who painted us with various herbs and spices and made us throw coconuts in the lake followed shortly by a demand for money so Shiva will protect my family. Needless to say we ran away, probably heavily cursed for our inability to find an ATM. (family and friends may want to be careful too, not sure how powerful these curses are). Just before we got the bus to Aggra we necked a Bhang lassi and got our ears pierced, I am now sporting a pair of silver hoops with Elliot going for the slightly more understated hanging battleaxe.

After a bumpy ten hour bus journey through scrubby wasteland, Jaisalmer, a small fort in the heart of the Rajasthan desert, appears on the flat horizon. Fat western familys, troops of OAP's and well to do Indian holidayers fill the narrow streets here and force you to wonder whether the high fortress walls are really stone and not painted plastic.

Fighting our way through the crowded streets, we find ourselves down a small alley negotiating a camel trek with "Kheeta the camel man" and after a special lassi and a short nap we move to a shop the locals use to buy desert clothes. Baggy shirts, long, airy trousers and turbans are procured with Elliot taking the bull by the horns first and going "full native" with the rest following suit.

The next morning we wake early and make our way to Kheeta's house to start the trek. Narrow paths and horned cows make for a dangerous cocktail when you throw humans into the mix. I spot a cow, horned and dangerous, breathing heavily and head swaying side to side. Her eyes lock with mine and we both refuse to look away. Her speed increases and she steers her considerable bulk towards me, almost completely filling the small passage. As we meet she rolls her head towards me and I throw my bag across my body taking the brunt of the assault. The force knocks me against the wall and as she comes around for a second attack I leap behind a lamp post and quicken my pace. Outwitted and embarressed, she puts her head back down and wanders sullenly on. Victorious and pride intact I steal a cheeky, winning grin and stride boldly away.

Kheetas house, a stark contrast with the dangerous streets of Jaisalmer, is filled with excitable children and toddlers playing with tyres, sticks and whatever else is lying about nearby.

Some of the kids were more camera hungry than others. (this particular one has a nice segment on Elliots episode 3 on youtube {young manhood and wonderlust})

After messing around with these guys for a while, quaffing copious amounts of chai and taking a cramped hour long jeep deep into the desert we finally get under way on our camel trek. 4 camels between 5 of us means Elliot hopping on my camel, "Drogo", and we begin a slow, uncomfortable pace towards the distant horizon.

We stop for lunch in the rare shade of a tree and Kheeta the camel man whips out his pots and pans, grabs some wood and gets the curry on. We finish the days ride just as the sun goes down and hobble bow legged to our camp under the stars for more food, beers (chilled from being buried deep in the cool sand) and a sample of traditional song from Kheeta. (video on youtube)

Following our peaceful night under the stars we rise early the next morning to break camp and plod back to Jaisalmer. We are greeted again by a small horde of children (word must have got around of our arrival) and indulge them in an hour of mucking about before returning to our hostel and jumping on a bus to our next destination, Pushkar, and the famous camel fair.

(Thompson sharing some music with a local lad)

Our first stop in Rajasthan is Udaipor where the Bond film, Octopussy, was shot in 1983, but the people here still cling to the shred of fame by showing the film every night in almost every restaurant and hotel.

The main part of the town is focused on a lake with a sparkling white palace in the middle and most of the guesthouses, ours included, had awesome views over this with mountains creeping into the background.

The natives here are known for their excellent crafts like book making, carvings and tailoring so I couldn't leave with out getting myself a tailor made Indian style shirt complete with baggy "ali baba" shorts.

The palace here was for some reason home to hundreds of colourful rocking horses

and mini squirrels jumping all over the place.

We spend three nights here and on each, as Diwali (festival of light) draws closer, more and more bright neon lights dress the buildings in preparation.

Before Diwali starts however we move on to Jodhpur where I meet up with my brother (Nick) and Dan (from Luxembourg). Jodhpur is known well for its huge fort sitting on top of a cliff which has never been taken by enemies.

The market here is pretty hectic, centered around the clock tower, buzzing with people and seemingly patrolled by cows and an elephant.

On our first night here fireworks are already going off and Diwali hasn't even started yet. Kids in the streets light huge bangers with tiny fuses and chuck them about excitedly.

Our second night is the first night of Diwali and the moon has totally disappeared to leave a clear black slate for the fireworks to light up. We are staying with an ex-politician who is famous all over the city and she takes us to a media event where we (me and Nick) are interviewed by an Indian television company about our views on Diwali followed by more fireworks and crazed kids with bombs.

The fireworks must have lasted 5 hours and with such a large town the sky always had a colour exploding somewhere.

Tim(me), Elliot, Tom (Livesy) and Thompson are heading to India  for a bit, not sure exactly where or for how long and not entirely sure why, but it seems like a good idea to write a few bits down so I don't forget it all/anyone anywhere is slightly interested in the experience.

Elliot in Heathrow airport

We landed in a stuffy, 30 degree Mumbai airport at 5am and got a 10 minute cab to the northern suburb where we booked into our guest house "Eden" surrounded by trash, open sewers and rats.

A few hours sleep, one hours walk and one malaria tablet later we are sitting lost, tired and with Thompson being sick on a busy street corner. Crossing the road is akin to playing frogger on hard mode and none of us have eaten in over 24 hours so we grab a taxi to the beach and chow down on some mushroom biryani. After walking up and down the beach for a couple hours a couple of local teens come and sit with us for a chat with the British, asking to see british money and if we have girlfriends back home. The couple quickly attracts attention and in minutes we are surrounded by 20 or so enthusiastic Indians attempting conversations of varying quality.

 As it gets later the light leaves us, any chance of a sunset smothered by the Mumbai smog, we jump inside two tuk-tuks .We swerve in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding crashes at every junction , aromas of street food, sewage and petrol thick in the air, stopping at a nameless bar near our guest house. Much to our delight, whiskey cost us about £2 for a 180ml bottle (7 singles) so we settle in for a while and are shortly joined by two locals, Tony and Aldren (as in Buzz).  10 bottles down and we head to Tonys place and are greeted by another, much larger, bottle of whiskey which we are all extremely excited about. Aldren is a 39 year old I.T. guy and Tony is a 56 year old retired policeman who worked all over the world and earned 3 stars on his shoulders as well as a well stocked medal cabinet which he proudly shows us. The rest of the night is taken up by "karim" which is, I suppose, Indian pool; it is played on a square wooden board with holes in each corner and 12 black, 12 white and 1 red disc in the middle of the board. The players then aim to flick their own, larger disc into the smaller discs and pot one of their colours as a result.