We drove
through the arch into India. Absolutely
EVERONE else - & there were hundreds if not thousands – were coming &
going as if just moving from one end of the high street to the other. There were no passports in sight. No one slowed down in their lorries, tractors,
tuk-tuks, horse & carts! No one
walking stopped anywhere to flash any ID.
There were a few people in various uniforms wandering about, & one
old man not wearing any uniform but with a long stick randomly whacking the
side of oil lorries to check they were empty of cargo as they passed. We figured out he was customs. It’s funny how some land border crossings
were closed, because this seemed open to everyone.
Anyway, the
Brits on the trip had paid £90 for this visa & we were flying out Kolkata
international airport so we wanted an entrance stamp – A for the novelty as we
had paid so much & B to enable an exit stamp to be given & actually let
out the country – surely we would be getting one of those at an international
airport?
Simon &
Teresa found a small dusty old room containing two men. One who was wearing a clean shirt &
trousers aged about 55. The other man
appeared to be his dad wearing a scruffy dirty shirt & trousers. These 2 turned out to be immigration
control. We were all unsure of the last
time they checked any passports. All 22
of us tried to cram in the room around the large old wooden desk placed in the
centre under a ceiling fan that was turning very slowly. There were no computers or anything
electrical in the room. There were a
couple of rusty filing cabinets & plenty of leather bound books. No one wanted to be interrogated alone! But, it got too hot & there were only 6
plastic patio type seats slowly melting in the heat, so most of us moved back
out the room into the sun so we could at least breathe! Surely we would only be standing around 20
minutes for everyone’s passports to be looked at & given a stamp anyway.
Three hours
later the final person had received their entry stamp & had their passport
details + occupation handwritten down in one of those leather bound books by
the 55 year old man whilst his ‘dad’ occasionally walked out the room, hocking
up saliva & spitting on the floor!
In these 3
hours standing outside this immigration shed the group had gone deaf from the
constant sound of vehicle horns. We had
also gone blind from the constant staring contest with most of the thousands
passing who had stopped for about 5 minutes & stared at us without saying
anything.
Welcome to
India!
The Indian
side of the border – the other end of the high street – was called Raxaul. We stayed in Hotel Kaven. It was above shops on the main street. Some rooms had been renovated, others
not. I was in an old room. Success!
It was a bit
grotty due to lack of cleaning, old wooden furnishings, mat as a mattress, cast
iron bars across the very small windows & the fact there was a bolt + padlock
on the outside of the door. This did
resemble a cell especially when Simon locked Mary, Yvonne & I in the
room! He had earlier been in for a chat,
as he left (he later said through habit), bolted the door. It was a bit embarrassing having to shout for
someone to let us out!
Anyway, we
were successful with the room because it was lovely & cold as we had
working air-con (unlike Mary whose air-con was being installed with power tool
wires jammed into the socket which then leaked on the bed & never worked),
& the fact we were at the opposite end of the corridor to the very noisy
generator which kept starting up all through the night due to the consistent
power cuts. There did not appear to be
any other hotels in the town.
There did
not appear to be any restaurants in the town either. The hotel offered to deliver food. That was delivered to our hotel door by a
youth aged about 19 who continued to stare at us without saying anything as we
began to chat! Eventually, he told us he
was a student, wanted to engage in conversation to practice English &
wanted to take our photos. The encounter
took a turn for the worst when he wanted to sit on the bed for the photo rather
than outside in the corridor, put his arm around me, whittled on about liking
my legs & then wanted more photos – he soon made a swift exit with my
help! Next morning we discovered he had
been letching at the other girls.
The town was
another Janakpur, but with added Indian spice.
In the morning we saw more of Raxaul as we started our drive to
Patna. There is no doubt about it; we
were all shocked at the number of people living in absolute poverty. There were mud huts after mud huts all along
the road for at least half an hour where large families appeared to be crammed
in living alongside their goats & water buffalo. Most children were wandering around
naked. Men were just wearing cloths to
cover their modesty. I saw people
sitting under the communal cast iron water pumps having so called showers
whilst women scrubbed clothes on the concrete platforms around the water
pumps. The few clothes worn were dirty
& thread bare. At home where a
garden wall or hedgerow would be, here existed open sewers & piles of the
towns rubbish. The smell was
revolting. There were no pavements or kerbstones,
just mud where the unsurfaced roads came to an end. This was living in squalor.
Light
hearted topics of discussion on the truck soon turned to serious debates about
poverty & this unfair world of wealth distribution. We realized we were all lucky to be born
where we had been.
It took 11
hours for us to arrive at the hotel in Patna.
We had driven about 250km. It was
not fun seeing all the deprivation for miles & miles. People had to fend for themselves. The infrastructure was terrible. The population of India is massive & it
shows. Even in the countryside which
consisted mostly of rice fields there were people everywhere walking along the rice
field levees using them as footpaths, riding cycles or motorbikes. When we stopped to do a truck lunch somewhere
we thought was quiet, we were mobbed by people just staring & not saying
anything.
The truck was surrounded as we stopped.
The average scene
The common use of bamboo
The only
other vehicles on the road were slow moving lorries, tractors, low powered motorbikes
& buses rammed with passengers.
There appeared to be no traffic rules except use your horn as often as
possible to let other road users know you’re overtaking. We all had headaches by the time we got to
Patna in the dark. It took ages to find
the hotel within the city which added to the long day on the truck. At one stage we were driving along the wrong
side of the only duel carriage way we had come across after being waved on by
someone as if it was fine! We had less
horns honked at us than when stationary in a traffic jam. I saw people grazing their goats in the
central reservation of India’s main trunk road & cows sitting in the fast
lane. On this road vehicles flash their
lights to let you know they are coming at you head on, because they are on the
wrong side of the duel carriageway! No
rules. Anything goes. Thank god Simon is an excellent driver. I hope Odyssey give him a good wage because
he deserves it.
Tuesday 6th
August was a memorable day. It was our
longest drive day yet consisting of 14 hours to travel 250km.
Since entering
Nepal there were hardly any shops selling groceries to create a truck lunch,
certainly no supermarkets. In India
shops were market stalls or wooden sheds in the dirty smelly streets. Yesterday we had Chinese jam sandwiches (picking
off mould). Today Teresa & Simon
bought us the safest looking food possible which was deep fried curried potato
samosas & bananas from a street seller.
This was to become the truck lunch staple throughout India hence deep
fried goodness.
We were stuck
in a traffic jam for about 2 hours. (During
this jam people were running out of drinking water & guessing how long it
would take to get to the hotel. I
guessed about 8.30pm & mentioned to Mahala I’d know we were in a desperate
state if people began drinking the milky teas in the fridge). It would have taken even longer if we had not
copied buses & driven over the central reservation to travel along the
wrong way. It turned out this was the
correct thing to do as the jam was for freight only waiting to enter the next state.
At 8.30pm we
were still on the Trunk Road. I offered
Mahala a milky tea! Eventually Varanasi
was found. This time before we even
entered the city we managed to find a local who jumped in the cab &
directed us through the streets to the hotel.
We arrived at 10pm. Most people
in the truck were not happy. Many were
not happy before today’s journey because the revised India itinerary could not
involve any of India’s highlights except Varanasi. Self-itineraries had been created, but the
train tickets still needed buying. We
had arrived in Patna to buy train tickets too late. We had arrived in Varanasi far too late. Were train tickets still available? People were desperate to get off the truck
& see some highlights this country had to offer. The unhappiness was turning to anger.
The hotel in
Varanasi was fantastic because it had a lovely swimming pool & bar
area. I missed out on the breakfast
buffet 1st morning as I did not know it was included, but the waiter
was fab & offered mango juice, coffee, toast & boiled eggs. I was looking forward to see the river Ganges
because this is the city where Hindus bathe & worship the river. It is also the most sought after place for
Hindus to be cremated as they believe they’ll be purified & go straight to
heaven. Warren & Bruce had been
before & both said it was a magical place along the Ghats (steps into the
river), early in the morning as Hindus perform ceremonies where they place
candles & flowers into the river. I
was looking forward to seeing a highlight of India/something special after long
days of travel from Chitwan national park in Nepal involving just en-route 1
night stop overs.
Lovely pool
The hotel
had a travel agent that advertised morning & evening tours on the
river. I went to book & was told “No
tours this time of year. It’s monsoon
season & The Ganges is flooded. It’s
too dangerous. You can’t even see the
Ghats”. We had driven for days with the
last being 14 hours west to experience this.
Just our luck.
Apparently,
the chanting & light ceremony was still on.
Some of us took rickshaws to the main ghat area to hopefully see
it. We could not see anything. The river came up to the road. There were no boats whatsoever as The Ganges
was a swollen torrent of murky brown water.
Hundreds of tourists were being crammed onto dangerous looking roofs by
hawkers for about £2. It was so busy,
hot, humid, dirty & smelly.
Rickshaw ride
Although
this was a tourist town, it was just like all the previous towns we had been in
or driven through since entering India – hedgerows of smelly rubbish, open
sewers, muddy roads, dogs/goats/pigs/cows/chickens wandering about eating in
the rubbish, high density falling down buildings, people wearing dirty/grubby
clothes & most people looking of ill health. I’m not exaggerating here. I’m not talking about the minority of
people. I’m talking about the
majority. In the main road right next to
the main ghat I counted about 50 beggars lined up next to each other. They appeared destitute. Limbs missing, skinny & gangrenous
looking wounds through dirty bandages.
Like every
Indian town, everywhere we went we were hassled by hawkers. Pestered beyond belief. Many followed & kept persuading us to buy
goods for about 3 minutes. “Come into my
shop. Look around. You have not looked around long enough. I give you very good price. You want silk scarf. You want flute. Give me money…blah blah blah”. Within 30 seconds of leaving the hotel front
door I was accosted with “You want rickshaw/tuk-tuk/taxi”. You had to be in a good mood to be patient
enough to walk on the streets.
On Thursday
1st August most of us got up at 4.15am for a tuk-tuk tour to include
the morning sunrise ceremony on The Ganges, see the main cremation ghat &
then temples. I was hoping for sights of
a lovely sunrise, Hindus bathing, flowers/candles floating in the river,
chanting, prayers, spiritual, magical & photogenic scenes. We got dodgy tuk-tuk deals, a misty grey sky
that just got lighter & none of the above.
The main tuk-tuk guy offered to get us in rickety wooden rowing boats
for a price, saying it would be a 1hour tour!
We all said “No Thanks”. An hour
in one of those & if still floating we’d have all been in Bangladesh. I nor anyone else did not have a visa for
Bangladesh! Still, it would have been a
new destination for the Odyssey Overland Istanbul to Singapore trip.
For me, the
most shocking moment so far along this 6 month journey was about to
happen. We were taken to the main
cremation ghat called Manikarnika. This
is the most sought after place in the world for Hindus to be cremated as it is
thought they will be purified & go straight to heaven. I was expecting a bright white marble
platform surrounded by lovely bright flowers I have seen on sale which Hindus
offer to the various Gods, with Hindu priests managing the cremation.
Instead, we
were taken through a slum called The Old Town.
Hindus have a cast system & this is where The Untouchables live (the
lowest of the low cast). It is only the
untouchables who cremate the dead as the other casts don’t want to be directly
connected to it. The high density decrepit
buildings had alleyways running between them only wide enough for cycle
rickshaws. As we walked I brushed pass
cows, goats & dogs all crapping in the dirty alleyways. It was so hot that doors were open to
buildings where on average I could see 5 people sleeping on the floor
inside. There were thousands of wood
logs along most these alleyways which were for the funeral pyres.
I was
allowed onto the pyre platform (at a financial cost of course). Due to the flooded Ganges it appeared to be a
grey flat concrete roof of a building about the size of a standard 25m
rectangular swimming pool. A mass of
burning & charred wood covered most of the area. I could clearly make out a single pyre at one
end of this mass & another pyre almost just embers. The people stoking the mass bonfire were
dressed in grubby t-shirts & shorts.
I saw dogs & goats chewing on the charred wood (maybe it was
bone). It was the most undignified
funeral I could imagine. Yes, I know
there is a ceremony when the body is placed on the pyre & it is 1st
lit, but that would have taken place on this concrete platform whilst other pyres
were still burning alongside the goats & dogs. It was not a pleasant or sanitary setting at
all. I was told they can cremate up to
300 bodies over a 24 hour period on this ghat.
No wonder it looked like one big bonfire.
View of The Ganges from a slum roof about 5am
Clothes washing where whites just don't get white even if they used Persil! Next to the pyre logs
Next to the
temples. Most of us were templed
out. If not, our minds were still in
shock concerning our early morning tour.
At the 1st (university) temple we were shouted at for carrying
our shoes & not paying the Rupees to place them in the shoe room, even
though many pilgrims were carrying their shoes.
We were even more upset at the 2nd (monkey) temple on seeing
the number of beggars outside. Many gave
our hotel packed breakfasts to them & asked to be taken back to the
hotel. Dave, Andy & myself were
nearly attacked at separate times we think, buy the same monkey. I was nowhere near it, & looking
elsewhere. In the corner of my eye I saw
something on the floor running towards me & as I looked it began
hissing. I really thought it was going
to jump at me. I was going to throw my
water bottle at it, but it stopped & then turned around.
On Fri 9th
we should have moved onto Bodhgaya but driver Simon was having blood tests at
the hospital for Typhoid & Hepatitis.
He did not look well at all & was having muscle cramps. A few drugs later he was better.
We drove to
Bodhgaya the next day. There were now
only 8 out of 20 of us on the truck along with Simon & Teresa. The 12 others had left Varanasi on trains to
try & see some highlights of India before re-joining in Kolkata for the
flight to Bangkok.
Bodhgaya was
a small tourist town. It is where a
prince sat under a tree, was enlightened & became Buddha. The town is full of Buddhist temples built by
different Asian countries. There were
still the problems of the standard Indian town I have described above, but on a
smaller scale as there did not seem to be so many people living in the
town. It had suffered a series of bombs
in July! I’m unsure why. I was past really caring, but it’s on the web
if you want to do a Google search.
Inside the Butanese temple
The itinerary
changed again because we could not move onto Rajghr as no accommodation could
be found, so we went for a day trip & survived the minibus ride.
Rajghr's ropeway & Stupa
Rajghr's swimming pool but women only 10am-12noon
Rajghr's hot spring turned out to be another temple
On Tuesday
13th I did hear the good news that my box from Kathmandu had
arrived. I also had a trouser zip fixed
for free in about 2 seconds at a street tailors & a shoe shop fixed my Teva
sandals.
Next towns
were just en-route stop overs to Kolkata.
We stayed in Dhanbad. Could not
stay in Bishnapur due to civil unrest.
Instead, stayed in Burdwan.
Arrived in
Kolkata on Friday 16th August which was our final day on the truck.
In Kolkata I
did a good city tour, watched the Bollywood movie Chennai Express at the packed
out New Empire cinema where the audience participation of
clapping/cheering/whistling at characters was as entertaining as the film,
finally got a Darjeeling + Assam cup of tea at Flurys & a chi from a street
seller.
Housing in Kolkata
Bamboo yard
Bathing near Howrah Bridge
Kolkata flower market - the flowers are for the gods
Potters at work in Kumartuli village, Kolkata
Kolkata post box
The East India Company began in this room within St John's Church
Mother Teresa's tomb in her motherhouse
Tea at last
More tea
The
Bollywood movie actually had an intermission where sellers brought around
popcorn, crisps & hot coffee. I
would say the time in India has been my intermission in this 6 month overland
journey where the popcorn & crisps were stale & the coffee was
cold. Glad I’ve been to India & glad
I went off the tourist beaten track. I
know I have because some people on the truck had been to India before &
enjoyed it. Not this time. It was more an endurance. I did not even end up with Delhi Belly (god
knows how as food handling had no hygiene standards but I could not starve
& goat curry was nice). However, I
will not rush back to India. The visa
was £90 – the most expensive so far. The
number of people living in absolute poverty was a disgrace considering the
owner of Tata motors/steel empire is one of the richest men in the world along
with many other Indian men. Where does all the money go? Where is all the visa money spent? Certainly not on infrastructure (road
surfaces/sewers/waste disposal/compulsory education/supporting the poor). I’m beginning to realize why there are so
many Indian doctors in the UK. Anyone
with education or a bit of money have got the hell out whilst they could. It was really noticeable how men were in
control of women. It was more than irritating
the way white women were learched at by many Indian men. It was revolting putting up with the constant
smell of sewage. It was painful putting
up with the constant noise from two-tone vehicle horns. It was exhausting just putting up with the
number of people – it was so busy everywhere.
There were genuinely hardly any moments when I looked out the truck
window or a hotel window & saw less than 5 people. I still want to sit on a tea plantation, but
now I’m thinking I’ll do that in Sri Lanka.
On Monday 19th
August we said goodbye to Warren. From
the start of this expedition in Istanbul he was only going to Kolkata due to
travel plans fitting in with starting work.
The rest of us (now 21 again) flew to Bangkok.
