Full Stop at Puri

 

We spent 9 days here, in the tourist section of this not particularly beautiful or quaint seaside town of Puri, in the state of Orissa/Odisha. Place names in India are in a process of becoming de- British-ized- hence the two spellings. We just ‘stopped’ for a long while. We had time to spend before our ashram experience down south, happy to be near cool ocean breezes. As far as I am concerned, we reached a bit of a 'flat spot' in our travels. A lull. A resting place, monotony, call it what you will. Puri had everything we wanted (in no particular order); a comfortable room with a balcony, wifi in the restaurant/lobby, TV in the room with 3 English channels to choose between, the beach minutes from our door and the food in local restaurants an orgy of tasty and inexpensive western fare. With all that, it still wasn’t a very inspiring place.

If I had taken a nine day holiday in Canada, I wouldn’t have done as little as we managed to accomplish here. It was like taking a vacation from our vacation, but my headspace wasn’t particularly optimistic. I spent some time wondering “Did we make a mistake choosing to be on the road for nine months?” We’re over the half-way point, having almost completed five months, and it feels like a very long time. Some days, even though we are half a world away, surrounded by both the exquisite and sordid details of another culture's lives, my day to day existence can feel like a slow-mo version of a day at home or work. Time evaporated in Puri, even though we weren’t ‘doing’ much. Somehow it seemed like there was still no time left for the important things in life such as the betterment of self through meditation and having truly meaningful moments with my family. I try to work on being a better mother, partner and friend through ‘quality’ time spent with daughter and husband, to be more present for myself and them, even though we are with each other 24/7.  India is proving to be an exhausting country to be in.

Traveling through India visiting interesting sites has confirmed the way I like to travel. I highly enjoy going to animal and bird sanctuaries, but I find being a tourist fairly meaningless, as there is little connection to local peoples. There are many incredible things to see (and taste), but no deeper connection. Part of this is me, in this pessimistic headspace. I am unwilling to spend much time with other travelers, knowing that we are all moving on, and not wanting to bother with any trivial conversations. I am now shying away from the locals, as most of them approach us to sell something, take our picture, or ask us for money. India is challenging me on many levels, and during the time in Puri I wanted to insulate myself. Unfortunately the hotel room is the only place a person can go and not be ‘bugged’. Forget sitting on the beach with a good book, and enjoying the peace. Someone will interrupt the moment.

Our completely different cultures and population count promote such disparate personal physical boundaries, or bubbles, as I like to call them. Canada is a vast empty country so our personal space bubbles are huge compared to the average Indian. We feel the need to take up big space, and can feel crowded in a busy Indian location, be it the beach, train station or market place. The women I see here, in the tourist zone are mothers, grandmothers and daughters of other tourist families, come to sacred Puri to worship in the very special Hindu Jagannath Mandir (temple) and the sea. The other women are beggars. In this tourist section, it is the men and boys who work; taking orders in the restaurants and hotels, working the shops, rickshaw and tut tut drivers.

Puri is a very religious place for many religions and sects, including Krishnas. Even European and American travellers come here to worship Hare Krishna. I see them walk by, all decked out in white robes, bare feet and beige tikkas painted on their foreheads. Part of me envies the security and peace they must find in their religion. They travel half the world to be near their guru to worship in mother India. It is incredible to watch the throngs of Indian tourists come to take puja at the ocean. They walk to the water and splash it on their foreheads. Hindu’s day can include simple worships, such as touching a roadside cow then touching their foreheads with the same hand, or lighting incense every day in prayer, waving it around their shrines. These simple repetitive movements hold such beauty.

I was hoping this town was a place I could start jogging again, as I saw some Indian men beach running, so I tried it once, but it wasn't worth the attention I got. I chose to run through to the other side of the fishing village, where there were less people, and the forest sanctuary began. The beach was perfect for running- long and flat at the high tide line- solid under foot and easy to get a nice pace going. What I wasn't bargaining for was the fact the villagers use the ocean as an open latrine. They do their business at the high tide line and wait for the ocean to take their deposits away. My run became a bit of a poop obstacle course. I kept my eyes down and dodge- jogged for the hopeful solitude of the far beach.

Many of the men and boys I passed waved or yelled 'jogging' to me. A few jogged along for a few steps. That wasn’t so bad, and expected, but when I reached my turn around point and started running back I was soon tailed by a couple of 12 year old boys who were making fun of my chest going up and down (yes I was dressed respectfully), they started getting a little closer, one running on either side of me, then one tried to touch my bum- I shooed them away, but it had ruined the desire for another day’s exercise. If I ran the other way, into the more populated beach, I would have had to cross the stinky river, getting my shoes wet with sewer water, and run through crowds of bathers.  I took to taking 2 hour walks through the business side of town and returning along the Indian side of the crowded beach instead. I was trying to find a bank machine that would let me take out more than $200 dollars at a time, because the banking charges at either side will get out of hand if this is the limit in every city. It was easy in Kujaharo and Nepal to find machines with the limit of $400, so we are hoping this is just a 'state of Orrissa/Odisha' thing.

India has special tourist police, because over time, there have been issues of tourists being robbed, going missing and/or murdered. Like any country, I suppose, but India has created an infrastructure to deal with it. When we took the moped ride to a deserted beach North of Puri, some of these officers had noticed our bikes by the side of the road and come down to check on us. By then a couple of young men had joined us. Back to the personal space issues- we had chosen a beach for its complete solitude, not a soul for half a kilometer, to be away from people, then, surprise surprise, people (small packs of young men) would materialize from nowhere. They wouldn’t go a few hundred metres down the empty beach, but hang out a few metres from us. Kilometers of empty beach on either side of our spot, and they choose to near us. Remind me never to get famous, I’d hate it. We desire solitude, they are unnerved by it? On one occasion the cops came down to tell the guys to go away. There were only two of them at this point, one swimming, one having a relaxed conversation with me on shore, but the cops came and told them to find another section of beach. They said if we, the tourists, made a complaint about something being stolen, they would be to blame. I can see both sides of this- it was a huge beach and many places to go for a swim- they didn't need to choose our particular spot, but on the other hand, they weren't bugging us, just chatting, and the one guy was swimming. They eventually left, but it was time for us to go, as we wanted to see a few of the temples on the road back to Puri before the bikes were due. Not that that happened, as one of the bikes didn’t start again, but Heath told that story.

The T.V.s in hotel rooms continue! We’ve had a marathon of English shows- Guinness Book of World Records (Australia beats New Zealand and vice versa) CSI Las Vegas, action films, and the nightly romance movie in February. But there are so many commercials…probably 4 minutes between shows, and they are louder than the show you are watching. They are just as repetitive and inane as western ads, and it isn’t unusual for them to repeat the same ad within the same 4 minutes. The funniest to us being the ‘sliver’ brand face wash – “recycle your face” is the catch-line. What? That doesn’t even make sense!  As if we’d like to wash our faces with slivers! Most of the ads are half in Hindi and half English. Cream and soap ads promote face and skin whitening, while cel phone ads promote a better life.  

Many Indian families are asking to have pictures with us, now that we are in quieter areas. The parents think it is a most excellent idea, but the children are typically a little more reserved and shy. Sometime they even start to cry, terrified of being in a white persons arms! Heath probably gets the most attention, being a blond hairy giant among small dark people. By this stage of the game, Raven is getting a little tired of being stared at constantly. She deals with it really well, especially when we are all getting stared at together, like the time we were waiting for a bus on a quiet country road, and we had probably 25 locals around us, just looking. Because Raven looks like she is 16, the young men check her out, but not in a crude or lewd way, just looking.

Post office

Since running on the beach was not a pleasant enough experience to repeat, I stuck to walking. One day I walked to the post office. Raven and I wanted to send our favourite winter fleece pants home, as well as a few other assorted items, like a school text book she had finished. Our packs are monsters, and as the heat will only be increasing, I wanted to downsize and make room for souvenirs that we will purchase near the end of our India stay. I had procured a cardboard box, but had run out of tape. I was under the assumption that the ‘packers’ near post offices were quick and cheap, so I thought I would try them. I had no idea they would SEW the packages up with a nice quality white linen-type fabric. The seamster (what is the male equivalent to a seamstress?) sewed most of the two packages up by machine, first measuring and cutting the fabric to size, then hand sewing the ends.  The text I had them wrap separately, as I had read that India Post had a separate rate for books. It cost 150rs (3$) for both, and they were done in about 20 minutes.

After writing the addresses in permanent marker on the fabric, I got in the queue. People don’t actually queue in this country- they just crowd around whatever teller or shop counter they need. I was given 4 sheets of forms- “please fill in 2 of each per parcel”. They wanted customs details and addresses, both in Canada and India. I did that, then stood ‘in line’ again. Thankfully it wasn’t really busy, so that part wasn’t a long wait. When the teller served me again, he had me complete a few of the spaces I had missed because I was unsure of what they wanted, then asked me for copies of my passport, and visa information. The amount of time passport numbers are collected in India, I was smart enough to have that with me- but not 4 copies of both! Outside I went – looking for a copy shop. A few rupees per page and I returned. The mail system has tracking numbers, so I may be able to track when things leave for Canada. I was then told that the book rate only applied within India, and while balking at the cost of sending things home, I wished I had searched harder for packing tape and taped the box up myself, so I could have slipped the book into the package going to my parents’ house. Leaving things in India Post, and praying that my items make their destination, I returned along the water front for a beach walk home.

The India beach scene is unreal. People don’t really ‘swim’. They play in the waves and the women typically enter the ocean in full saris, up to their ankles or they may sort of sit in the water and let the waves wash over them. I am assuming that swimming lessons are uncommon. The beach closest to the post office is the Indian’s main beach, nearest their hotels and the city centre. It is a sea of bodies. No one tans here, but they do enjoy the seaside as a family unit, or the young men hang out together. A little ways down the beach where it is less populated, you can see young couples sitting close to each other, perhaps holding hands, or engaged in innocent ‘love play’. A person of any race can’t walk down the beach without being asked to buy (fake) pearls, and camels were available for rides.

Since leaving Puri, we have experienced incredible nature, fun and even solitude! Stay Tuned

 

Heath and Raven at the Sun Temple in Konarth

Beach Bliss

Puri has been pure laziness. It's nice and hot here, around 32 in the day, 20 at night, so it was a sweaty walk from the train station to our hotel. We settled on what happened to be the only internet cafe around, with a great restaurant/bakery, two minutes from the beach. The room even has Television, this time with three English channels, including HBO. Most importantly, there are two other restaurants right across the street that have excellent and cheap food. We're easily staying within a 1000 rupee budget for the three of us, including hotel, three meals a day, drinks and snacks. The beach isn't amazing compared to many, but if you can ignore some of the garbage, avoid the sewage outlets, and keep away from the fishing village stench, it's pretty nice. I flew the kite for the first time since Thailand, in a nice strong breeze that had me skidding down the beach. Raven and Su both had a turn, and besides the guys trying to sell us hash and fish, there wasn’t too much of a crowd. I couldn't stop myself from swimming after the surf picked up, the 3-4 foot waves breaking on the smooth, sandy beach. I caught the first wave I went for, and was in for an hour, thinking about the pollution the whole time. The taste of my mouth finally drove me back to the hotel, for a drink and a shower.

Puri is another very holy city, with some popular and important temples and festivals. We're lucky to be here while it's quiet, as room prices skyrocket during the festivals. Another World Heritage Site is just north of town, the Sun Temple in Konark. It's only 35 km away, so we went on a day trip by public bus. We had a pretty late start, so it was good and hot for the walk to the bus station. The road to Konark is fantastic; smooth and straight, with little traffic. It runs through another wildlife preserve, then cuts close to the ocean, before turning inland. The Sun Temple was originally at the shore, but the sea has receded a full three kilometers since it was built in the 13^th century. It was damaged by Muslim invaders, then partially destroyed by successive cyclones, before being enveloped in the shifting sands. The interior has been filled with stone and sand, to prevent a potential collapse, but it is still an incredible structure. Similar in style to the temples in Khujaraho, but on a grander scale, and built to represent the cosmic chariot of the sun god, Surya. We had our picture taken dozens of times with different Indian families and their crying babies, but it was pretty laid back.

After seeing how nice the road was, we decided that renting scooters to explore the beaches on the way to Konark would be a great idea. We had such a late start the next day, after staying up late watching the boob tube, that we skipped the scooters in favor of a trip to the Jagannath temple. It's closed to non-Hindus, but you're supposed to be able to get a decent view from the old library across the street. After wandering through the derelict building and paying 200 rupees as a 'donation', we were led up to the rooftop viewing area. We should have saved our money, because the temple is surrounded by a massive wall, and all the action happens inside the temple, anyway. Duped again...The god Jagannath, an incarnation of Vishnu, and his brother and sister, all carved from black stone, look a lot like the characters from South Park. They are continuously draped with garlands, and dressed in different costumes throughout the day, with over 6000 men involved in caring for the deities. It's a pretty big deal. During Rath Yatra festival, Jagannath and his siblings are dressed up and paraded through town on massive chariots, up to 15 meters tall. Devoted pilgrims used to throw themselves under the wheels, to die within sight of the gods. I can't even imagine believing something so strongly, and it makes me wonder if I've missed out on some part of the human journey. Should we all worship a god that is worth dying for?

Anyway, back to the scooters...We were up and ready to go for the 8:30 opening, but the rental shop next to our hotel had no scooters left. We walked up the road a bit looking for another shop, but a large group had rented all the best machines. We finally found a shop with bikes, but he only had one scooter left. The bikes are actually slower, so we were about to wait until the next day when a guy on a pink scooter pulled up. We could have it and another older grey one for a good price, so off we went. There's nothing like cruising around on rental bikes somewhere tropical. Freedom, warm wind in your hair, palm trees whizzing by. Just perfect. We pulled off the highway, climbed over some sand dunes, and had a beach all to ourselves for as far as the eye could see. Not much shade, but I was looking for waves, so I didn't really care. A few groups of Indian men managed to find us, maybe looking to see who left their bikes on the side of the road. It was mildly annoying, considering how empty this stretch of the coast is. No one for kilometers, and they come and hang out 10 meters from us. I just shook my head and shot some disapproving looks, and after a bit of gawking, they eventually left. Another couple of guys showed up, one joining Raven and I in the water, and the other chatting with Su. This time the police showed up to chase them away, even though they weren't really bothering us. We played in the waves for hours, getting a pretty good sunburn in the process.

The scooters were due back by 5:30, so eventually we packed up, planning to ride up towards Konark for a late lunch. I started my scooter and pushed it out of the sand onto the road, but Su's wouldn't start. I tried and tried, but it just wouldn't fire. It had run perfectly in the morning, but now we were stuck. We had the other scooter, but couldn't just leave the broken down one on the side of the road. The police came by again, and we used their phone to call the rental shop. The owner said he'd send a mechanic out, so I waited while Su and Raven went to grab some snacks. Over an hour later, the mechanic finally showed up, but after working on it for another hour, he still couldn't get it to run. He needed to take it to his shop to work on it, but it was starting to get dark by now. There was no way we were going to pay for an autorickshaw to get it there, so we just bailed out. I told the police and the mechanic to get ahold of the owner, it wasn't my problem anymore, then we all piled onto the one scooter, and drove away. I kept the throttle wide open almost all the way back to Puri, trying to make it back to town before it got too dark. It's hard enough dodging cows, goats, dogs, people, and head-on traffic in the daylight. The next day I tried to get a free day out of the scooter guy, but I knew it would never happen. I complained that we'd only used it for an hour, got stuck out in the middle of no-where, and still had tons of fuel left in the tank. He countered by complaining about how much he'd had to spend on the repairs, and would only give us some free fuel if we wanted to rent another bike at full price. Bah. All in all, it was still a great day.

Puri was all about the food. The Peace Restaurant, across the street from our hotel, was by far our favourite. Like their menus says: World Famous in Puri, but Unknown Everywhere-Else. They had egg and tomato sandwiches for 35 rupees, cheese and garlic sandwiches, a delicious stir-fried potato dish with peppers and sauteed veggies for 35, and Om Rice; fried rice poured into an omelette with cheese for 50 rupees! Yum. Yum. Yum. We did start planning our meals around TV shows, though, which was a bit much, but a necessity under the circumstances. The day we planned to leave, it rained in the morning, so we stayed for an extra night, making nine in total, a nice long rest. We're off to Chilika Lake, a huge lagoon with dolphins and over 250 species of birds, before continuing south. Loving Orissa.

To Tala and Beyond

Feb 2- 7^th

We spent a relaxing 5 full days and 4 nights in a small 'one tiger' town called Tala, where the entrance to Bandhavgarh Park is located in the state of Madhya Pradesh. As Heath will recollect, a little off the beaten track, it took 12 hours riding on 4 different busses and 2 auto rickshaws to arrive at this town with only one main street that is also the highway. The dusty and dirty road is dotted with small restaurants, lodges and tiny souvenir shops. We came to hunt tigers, and this park boasts the highest density of them in India, if not the world. It was a peaceful and relaxing place. At first I was worried I’d be bored spending so much time here, as the overnight train from nearby Umaria to the coast ran once a week. We had decided to spend a long time here, rather than a quick ‘fly by’. There could be worse places to relax. Heath and I took one memorable walk in tiger country, in the buffer zone, along the grazing fields behind our hotel. We joked about looking up for tigers and down for poisonous snakes, neither of which we’d hear coming to attack us! Luckily we made it back to our hotel alive! I am sure it wasn’t that dangerous, as there were a few herders in the area. Someone told us later that the snakes are mostly in hibernation as it is still winter. Doesn’t feel like winter, as the heat of the day is in the high 20’s now. This is quiet season in the area. As winter turns into summer it gets hotter and drier, the watering holes in the park diminish, and the opportunity for tiger spotting grows as all of the animals, predator and prey, cluster around a smaller wet area. Because of this our hotel and, in fact, the whole town seemed pretty quiet. There are villagers that live and farm here, but the town must be pretty dependent on the tourist dollar. It is mandatory to have a guide and a jeep driver to enter the park, so this provides great employment to the local men. It was a relief to be away from the over-zealous touts of Khajuraho.

Raven fell in love with the hotel’s puppy. It was super friendly and she taught it to swing on the wide metal swing that was in the yard. It loved snuggling her, and would fall asleep on her lap. Between safaris, school work, eating and visits to the internet place, the puppy and her would hang out and play.  If the puppy was busy playing with its mother, Raven would hang out with one of the wandering cows. She is intent on petting every cow in this country. Every walk we ever take has at least two ‘cow pet’ stops. Every puppy is ‘the cutest puppy’ and every calf ‘the cutest cow’.  Some days there is little else that she enjoys about India, so we patiently give her the time to do this en route to where ever we are going. Personally, I pass on petting the ‘scabby dogs’, but Heath and Raven love to scratch the cows and will pet the friendly puppies. We are leery off petting the ‘odd ones’ as the potential for rabies is high. Hand washing is mandatory after these ‘hands on’ experiences.   

We enjoyed cooling rains and a sky show on one of our nights in Tala. The storm moved quickly over us but we enjoyed the wicked thunder and lightning, the first rain storm in India for us. The lightning and thunder arrived just at sundown, after dinner. We happily ran through the warm rain, then sat on our porch watching the sky light up and the storm pass. 

The food at our hotel took over an hour to prepare, but it was excellent and cheap.  They had no physical menu, so we’d order the traditional tali each dinner and stuff ourselves with fresh chapatti and curried vegetables.  Like Nepal, food takes a long time to make, and it isn’t unusual for a kitchen staff to run to the store or market to purchase an item such as bread or curd. Many times in restaurants we’ll order something on the menu and be told it is unavailable. Menus are typically fairly expansive, but they don’t stock all the ingredients, nor do any western style ‘in advance’ food prep. If you order an item that takes a while to cook, for example, potatoes, expect to wait a while. Dishes don’t always come to the table in the order you’d expect. Often Heath’s coke or our chai would arrive after the main course. We have learnt (and I am still learning) to be fairly patient with this process, as there isn’t anything we can do about it, except don’t arrive at dinner gnawingly famished. 

Feb 7^th

This morning we tried to leave on a 10 am bus to take us 30 kms to Umaria, where we planned to get a hotel near the train station, sleep until 4am then catch our train at 5:30 am. The cheapest option was catching a local bus instead of a taxi and we could just stand outside our hotel on the main road and flag the next one down. There was about 2 buses an hour, costing Rs 30 each person.

We had a bit of a stall in morning, as we couldn't find the ceramic innards to our water filter. I had washed it yesterday, and set it in the sun to dry, then placed it on the patio table in the evening. We searched this morning for it, but it was gone. I asked one of the hotel guys- and they seemed to think the puppy had taken it to chew. We looked under bushes, in leaves, everywhere, but no filter. After about half an hour, another hotel guy showed up with our guide book, the filter part and a couple other random items we had left on the table. He had noticed them and taken them off the table after we had gone to bed so a wandering cow wouldn't eat them. As noted in a previous blog, with the cow eating newspaper right out of the garbage can, we should have been smarter and not left items out....

The delay did make us miss the bus we wanted, so we sat on the road with our bags for over an hour and a half. One bus came by, but it was so full, passengers were hanging out the doors. We knew we'd never be able to squeeze on, so we waited for the next one, which wasn't quite so full. We threw our bags on the roof and crammed on, standing room only.

The road through the park is really rough. The government bans fixing it, so drivers don't speed through and kill crossing wild animals. There is a bit of pavement consisting of one lane in the middle of the road, which drops into a dirt road lane on either side. Vehicles drive on one side or the other, choosing the smoothest path, ir-regardless of oncoming of traffic, much like our logging roads, but busier.

The bus ride was standing room only. One Hindu guy was pretty excited to see us on the bus. He had spent time in Chicago and Iowa and proceeded to pull out his digital camera to show us his photos of various fat Americans, houses, the university he attended and even an Iowan Walmart. The bus was warm and lurching and I was getting motion sick while trying to be polite and focus on the tiny screen of his camera. I’d quickly look, then look out the window for a stomach easing horizon view. Eventually he offered Raven and I his seat, which was super sweet and we accepted gladly. The bus trip took over an hour to go 30 bumpy kilometers. Raven and I were relieved to arrive in Umaria. From the bus station we piled into an auto rickshaw for the 3 kms to the train station to check out the status of our on line reserved ‘waitlist' tickets.

Success!  Our overnight sleeper tickets were confirmed. We drank a few cups of chai at the station, snacked on coconut cookies for lunch then walked just under a kilometer to the nearest hotel. After some bargaining, we found a small room. The bonus? It came with a television. This was the first television we’ve seen or had in a hotel room since Malaysia or Thailand. Guess what Heath and Raven did?  Yup that’s right- both of them are confirmed T. V. Heads, so the first thing they did was switch it on, find an English channel, park on the bed and remain prone for the rest of the evening, with a short break for Linner (lunch and dinner).

The best ad-  Sliver face wash with the motto “Recycle your face”.

Temples, Tigers, and Trains

  After literally jumping onto the train from Sarnath, our overnight trip to to Khujaraho went smoothly. We had time to go for dinner in Varanasi while waiting for our next train to leave. We took turns watching the bags in the station, Raven and I going first for chai and thalis across the street. A thali is a platter of rice, dhal, curried vegetables, spicy pickle, and usually a few chapatis, a staple food in India, cheap and usually delicious. The train was only a few minutes late leaving the station, very encouraging. Su and Raven had the outside sleeper berths, the ones that run parallel to the aisle, and I took the upper berth on the inside, the only place I can stretch my legs without getting jostled by people passing by all night. It was a little chilly, but Raven shared her sleeping bag, so I had a great sleep. Raven's window wouldn't shut properly, so she didn't sleep well, and I felt guilty for using her warmest layer. The train was nearly on time, which was very surprising. I was sure it would be at least a few hours late, giving the sun time to rise before we had to navigate our way to a hotel. Just like Varanasi, Khujaraho has the hotel/rickshaw commission racket, so after getting a ride to town, we tried to ditch the rickshaw driver by having breakfast before finding the hotel we wanted. None of the restaurants were open at 6:30, so we drank chai in the main square, watching the bright green parrots squawking overhead. The driver just wouldn't give up! He waited for over half an hour until Su tried to sneak off to the hotel, while Raven and I stayed with our pile of bags. As soon as she wondered away, he started following her, still intent on collecting a commission from the hotel, at our expense. Su is catching on very quickly, and has no qualms about being confrontational. 'Are you following me?! Don't be rude. Go away!' Ha! She found the hotel, but eventually stormed out, frustrated with the haggling process after being on a train all night. Since she'd already chased the rickshaw driver away, we packed up and went back, settling on a room with three beds for 500 rupees. They were supposed to have WIFI, but it was down, but after a hot shower, Su and I went up to the roof for the free yoga class.

We had been warned about the overbearing and very persistent touts and 'guides' in Khujaraho, and they weren't an exaggeration! The guidebook also had warnings about the free yoga classes and massage guys most hotels have on staff. I hadn't taken someone-else's yoga class since I left Victoria, so I was really looking forward to my first yoga experience in India. Boy, was I in for a surprise! This guy was brutal! It turned into a lesson on what never to do in a yoga class. He was forcing people into advanced poses, causing them to literally cry out in pain! He wanted us to do a 'toe to forehead pose', so he grabbed my ankle and the back of my head, and pulled them together with all his strength, until he was shaking with the effort. He also twisted our arms behind our backs, attempting to achieve a palms together, pointing upwards posture. My shoulders have never been able to bend so far, and I had to tell him to back off before he tore something. Every body is different, but flexibility can be improved over time, with regular practice. Forcing anyone past their pain threshold is unproductive and dangerous. I wonder how many people this guy has injured, and how many more will never attempt another yoga class. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I wasn't flexible enough, or had the 'right' body type to do yoga. I'm still looking forward to a genuine yoga experience, with a yogi who is aware and knowledgeable. It did give me even more of an appreciation for the excellent and comprehensive training at Feel Good Yoga. Thanks again Laura, you are an inspiration and an embodiment of the Yogic tradition.

Besides being the most annoying place I've EVER been to, the temples are still worth the visit to Khujaraho. There was over 80 temples spread out over the area, a thriving city in the 10^th century, that was abandoned and overgrown until the 1830's when it was 'rediscovered'. Home of some famously erotic depictions, the 23 remaining structures are incredibly intricate and well preserved. The scenes include musicians, magical beasts, battles, gods, bestiality, and orgiastic indulgences. Definitely a must see, on par with any archeological site anywhere in the world. It's too bad the people are so overbearing. Shopkeepers actually yelling at us, competing for business. I had a guy try to pull me into his sari shop, despite my firm reply of 'I don't wear saris!' The kids learn early, and it's impossible to walk anywhere without someone following along, buttering you up for a sale or a plea for money. Even in the hotel, which is usually a safe place to hide out from propositions, the staff were constantly asking where we were going, did we need a bike rental, or a rickshaw, or a massage, or henna. On the morning we left, during breakfast the kitchen staff just stood over us, asking for baksheesh (tips), over and over. Whew, was I happy to leave town, even though I knew we had a long day of travel ahead of us.

There is no straightforward connection between Khujaraho and Tala, the access point for Bandhavgarh National Park, which boasts the highest concentration of tigers in the world. We started with a four hour bus ride to Satna, then got suckered into a bus going to Rewa. We wanted to go to Umaria, around four more hours to the southeast, and I was very clear about the destination. The bus was literally pulling away as we pushed our bags into the 'trunk', assured we would be heading to Umaria. Sure enough, two hours later, we arrived in Rewa, northeast of Satna. We'd skipped lunch at the last bus depot, so after a rickshaw ride across town to the Rewa bus station (not where the bus had dropped everyone off), we let the first bus leave while we picked up some pakora patties and Mountain Dew. We found seats on a comfortable looking luxury bus, and ate lunch while waiting for it to fill up. The ticket guy said it would be five more hours to Umaria, which is still an hour away from Tala, our final destination. The Very few tourists come through the area, and there was no English on any of the signs, so I really had no idea where we were for quite a while. I turned the gps on my phone on, but it wasn't getting a position. Eventually we went through a town where I spotted a name that I could read. I wasn't sure if it was just the store name or not, until I saw it again. I checked the map again, and found out where we were, on the other side of the 1100 square kilometer park! The highway would eventually wind around to Umaria, but we had already been on the road for 8 hours. There is a junction, with a small road leading through the park directly to Tala, so we kept our eyes peeled, and jumped out when we saw the turnoff. What a pleasant change from Khujaharo! The people we met while waiting for a local bus to Tala were so curious and kind. A teacher from a village nearby spoke English, and acted as translator, while others asked questions about our religion, jobs, family, Canada, our impressions of India and the local area. It was so nice to meet Indians living away from the sphere of tourism and foreigners. This is best type of encounter you can hope for while travelling; open, accepting curiosity. “Hey. Wow. Where are you guys from? And what's it like there?” We had some tea and chatted until the bus came past. Ahhh. The last step in a tiring day. Or so we thought. Why do buses never go all the way to where you need to go?! Arrrg! We got dropped off in the town 13 kms before Tala, and the auto rickshaw driver wanted 500 rupees to make the trip. We were starving by now, but couldn't find anyone with food that Raven would eat. I decided to try another rickshaw, after getting the price down to a reasonable 200, so we could just get to a hotel, which would have a restaurant, and finish this gruelling day. After four bus rides, two auto rickshaws, and 12 hours, we finally checked into Kum Kum Home Lodge. It was dark, but I could tell it was going to be beautiful, and very quiet.

Considering it's claim to fame, Tala is still a very small rural town. There are a few high end safari lodges that deal with people on packaged tours, and only a few stores, restaurants, and budget hotels. We hardly saw any other travellers, as I suppose most people in the high end, all inclusive resorts have little reason to venture out, except as they drive through town on their way into the park. There are three different 'gates' you can enter through, and only by jeep. The package tour operators have booked up the best gate, with the highest number of tiger sightings, Tala gate. There is a limited number of jeeps allowed into each area per day, so it was frustrating to not be able to get tickets for that area. During the drier months, tigers are spotted every day in Tala gate, as the watering holes dry up, and the prey become more concentrated. We settled for door #3, Khatali gate, for our early morning safari. We had left our passports in the hotel, and couldn't get through the gate without them, even after an attempted bribe. Su got a great ride back, as the driver flew along the terrible road back to the hotel, while the rest of us waited, throwing icy stares at the stubborn guards. We heard some warning calls from the barking deer, an indication that a tiger is in the area. After Su returned with a crazy grin on her face, describing how far she had bounced out of her seat on the way back, we slowly worked our way deeper into the park, eyes peeled. We heard more alarm calls, and started racing around the sandy tracks, trying to locate the tiger causing the excitement. We met some other jeeps, and the drivers and guides talked excitedly, before racing off in a new direction. We did hear a tiger roar in the distance, but our time was up before long, and we left a little disappointed. Since we'd found enough people to fill a jeep, and split the costs, we decided to double up, and take the evening safari as well. This time we managed to get VIP passes to gate # 2, Maghdi gate, which was much better, all around. There were so many more animals; many different types of deer, wild boar, peacocks, and finally, a Tiger! We must have missed the best part of the show, because there was a pair of tigers who had just mated, but the female was still visible through the trees, resting in the shade. We got lots of pictures of tiger stripes while jostling for position with the other jeeps, but couldn't really tell which way she was facing. This is the only area that has elephants to spot the tigers, so the rangers rode into the bush, trying to flush the tigers out. That's when she sat up, just long enough to snap one picture, before moving away. Then came the roar. Oh My God. I've heard the expression 'Strike fear into the hearts of man,' but...Wow. All of a sudden, I realized how close we were to a massive predator. Chills ran down my spine, and I could actually feel the roar reverberate in my chest. Think Tyrannosaurus Rex loud. I'll never forget it for as long as I live. Everyone looked stunned, eyes wide, jaws agape, looking around desperately, like the tiger was about to leap from the shadows and snatch one of us away.

After our encounter, I still wanted to try to get a better view of a tiger, so we joined up with another jeep for the next evenings safari. Su thought we should end it on a positive note, but I figured that after the effort it had taken to reach Tala, we should take one more shot, so to speak. We ended up back behind door #3, which was a real disappointment. We only saw a handful of deer, and the driver and guide were so bored, that we just parked and sat around for half the time. We were laughing and joking about how deserted it was, and started amusing ourselves by pretending to be watching something in the bushes very intently when other jeeps would approach. The passengers would invariably stand up and start snapping photos of the empty treeline, as we broke into uproarious laughter. They would turn to us with confused expressions, before realizing the joke and laughing along.

Su and I went for a walk along the dirt track winding through the forest beside the park boundary one day, and I couldn't help questioning the sanity of walking through the area with the Highest Density of Tigers in the world. Hmmm. We ended up staying in Tala for five days, just enjoying the peace and quiet. There were lots of langurs running through the hotel grounds, and once while having dinner, the cooks chased a cow through the dinning room. Raven adopted the resident puppy, and despite the fleas, would spend hours snuggling and swinging on the bench swings in the garden. We had a 25 hour train ride planned, so had no problem relaxing and reading a few afternoons away. We were catching the train from Umaria to Puri, 1250 kms away on the coast of Orissa. It was supposed to leave at 5:30 AM, so we caught the bus to town and got a room in the closest hotel to the train station. When we booked online, we could only get wait-listed tickets. The proliferation of the internet has changed travel both for the better and for the worse. Not only can you book many things online ahead of time, but now you HAVE to book ahead for some things. We didn't want to spend an entire day in a crowded chair car, so we checked in with the station manager, and luckily, our sleeper berths were confirmed. They hold a certain amount of tickets back until 24 hours before departure, so even though we were 78^th on the wait list, we still got seats. Whew. Our hotel in Umaria had a TV, which even had two English channels, so we stayed up late enjoying the novelty. We were up at 4:40AM, not wanting to chance missing the train, on the off chance it was somehow miraculously early. Of course, it was two hours late, so we drank chai and watched the sun come up. The train ride was pleasantly painless, and never once full to capacity. For most of the trip,we had the whole six seat compartment to ourselves. We met lots of locals, and had more pictures taken with assorted men, couples, and crying babies. Away from the tourist hotspots, we enjoy the status of minor celebrities. People approach us at restaurants, on the street, at temples, train stations, all taking turns for their chance to get their picture taken with some foreigners. Strange, but oddly flattering, and usually amusing. The babies almost always cry, but the parents insist we hold the squirming, frightened children. It must be good luck.

Long train trips are a necessity for most Indians, so food is always available. The train serves vegetable cutlet sandwiches, or veg. Biriani rice, depending on the time of day, and the larger stations always have food sellers that work the trains. Snacks, drinks, samosas, eggs, rice; plenty of variety, and since we never got sick, reasonably sanitary. Although, at one station they were serving up diced salads, with chopped tomato, cucumber, onion and peppers. It looked delicious, but fresh vegetables are always suspect. You never know if they've been washed, or with what, so we didn't indulge. Which is good, because as we pulled out, I watched one guy cleaning off his chopping knife by wiping it back and forth on the ground! There's nothing like watching the geography slowly morph through the windows of a train, tiny mud hut villages appearing and disappearing, the passing train causing everyone to stop and stare, kids waving and running alongside for as long as they can. We slept well this time, filling up on some spicy cutlet snadwiches for breakfast. Even though the train was a few hours late, 27 hours in total, I felt great when we finally pulled into Puri, returning to the tropical coast of the Bay of Bengal.

Map It

While frantically writing to keep updated on the blog, we thought we'd better add 

a map of India for ease of following from your computer desk.

I couldn't find the 'perfect' map that overlapped the states with the cities and areas we have and will visit, but these are close. 

Briefly, we left Nepal and entered the state of Uttar Pradesh,
making our way to the city of Varanasi.

Since then we have traveled South-East towards the coast, and Puri in Odisha. 

We will continue down the East coast via Chennai and Puducherry. 

We will spend some time in an ashram near the tip of India before traveling North 

to the state of Kerala, then visiting Goa 's beaches before flying out of Mumbai on May 14th

daily exits

We have not yet given justice to the toilets and bathrooms in Nepal and India yet.

I dedicate this blog to 'poop'
(and tea)

First I will share this heavily edited gem I found on the internet:

How to use a public squat toilet:

Rule One: Exhaust all other possibilities.
If you are truly in need and condemned to use the squat toilet, comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are several thousand miles from friends and family. No one has to know. Remember that this is why the left hand is to never touch food, utensils or be used for greeting others with a hand shake.
Make sure you leave any bags or excess clothing with your family or friend(s) outside the bathroom, as there will be no where to hygienically hang purses or bags.

Proceed as follows:
Most stalls do not have toilet paper. Bring your own or use the water tap and small plastic jug that is located by the squat toilet.
Approach the squat toilet apprehensively and make sure it's not covered in stool. If it is covered in stool, choose another stall. If another stall is not available, accept the cards that have been dealt you.

Close the door to the stall (if there are doors), knowing full well the handle has an uncountable amount of germs on it.
Place your feet on the appropriate foot grids, assuming they are not covered in poop. If they are covered in stool, place your feet on the least fouled space you can find, being careful to maintain balance. While making sure the bottoms of your pants don't touch the floor, at the same time unfasten and drop your pants and underwear, making sure that they do not make contact with the urine and stool covered surface area. This is where skirts would be super- handy, unless you pair them with pants, like I do.

Assume a squatting position like a competitive ski jumper. Stick your butt out.
Use your right hand to prevent the soiling of your trousers and underpants by holding them off the ground and pushing them forward, away from any Danger Zone.
In your left hand should be the assortment of paper/wipes/anti-bacterial sheets you intend to use after you are finished with your production.
You would think you would want your left hand to brace your squatting self against the stall wall. However, the stall wall is covered in nose nuggets and other unknown dark stains and as such is not touchable.

Be sure not to drop any of the objects in your left hand as they will be rendered horribly irretrievable should you do so.
If you are able to maintain balance for several seconds, you are ready to begin bowel evacuation. At this point the bulk of your focus should be towards the quick evacuation of your bowels without soiling your clothing, missing your mark or - God forbid - losing your balance and falling.
For aiming purposes keep your head tucked between your legs - like a bombardier on a very unpleasant mission assigned by General Squalor.
If your aim is true you will have the pleasure of watching poop (yours) drop down a deep, dark hole to a resounding ploot. If it's not true, you will have the pleasure of watching poop (yours) come to rest on the floor between your legs.
After you have completed your bowel evacuation, DO NOT STAND UP. Remain squatting and miserable.
Continue using your right hand to prevent contact of your pants/underpants with urine/stool. Place your tissues and wipes in your left hand on top of your underwear/trousers and select the items you need for wiping.
Wipe and curse culture simultaneously, all the while maintaining the squatting position. If this was a very urgent situation, and you have found yourself without paper, fill the dirty little plastic bucket with water from the dirty handled spigot whilst holding your clothes, raise your butt higher and further into the air and attempt to pour the water from the plastic jug from the top of your bum down, without getting your clothes wet. Continue as many times as necessary, using your left hand to ensure cleanliness.

Do not drop soiled tissues. That would be too easy. Sadly, the 16th century plumbing can only handle poo. Soiled tissues are to be placed in the bin behind you. (If there is one. Otherwise, use the floor or take your chances with the drain.) Without leaving the squat position, twist your body in order to see the bin and make a good throw. Don't worry if you miss, as it's obvious from the poo-sheet pile on the floor that the other tourists and perhaps the locals are missing.

Once sufficiently wiped, traumatized, and potentially wet, you may stand and re-underpant and re-clothe yourself.

 

clean public loo

Don't miss on a moving train!

\

The filth-covered flush button is behind you and may or may not work.
Open the door to the stall, again knowing the handle has more germs on it than any bathroom in Canada. Exit the stall and wash your hands with the soap that you hopefully brought with you in a dirty sink that dispenses only cold water.

That may be the dirtier side of a public toilet experience- the bathrooms in the budget hotels we choose are much cleaner! Sit down toilets are typical, but sometimes there are both kinds. Unlike our side of the world, we need to supply our own T.P. In hotels, and there is never a separate stall for the shower. This was the same in our home-stay in Nepal, and every hotel we have been in. The bathrooms floors are slightly slanted, with a drain at the lowest end. Shower shoes are highly recommended. Our home-stay had flip flops outside the bathroom door for all bathroom usage. For religious and cleanliness sake, outside shoes are kept outside the front door of houses and some shops. This rule, for practicality's sake, isn't kept in hotels.

Corner stores sell individual sachets of shampoo and conditioner for 1-4 rupees each. The favoured brands in these mini sizes are Pantene and Garnier Fructus. Large international corporations have taken over the world. 

Coke products are present everywhere, as they own probably all the bottled water companies in India. We are travelling as ethically as possible. We filter our own water so we don't create more plastic waste. There is little recycling that I can see, as the bottles say “Crush after use”. India has less road side garbage fires than Nepal, but it seems that is still the only way to get rid of refuse. There are more cows and dogs on the streets, they eat much of the garbage. Just now, sitting on the porch in the Kum Kum Home hotel in Tala, I watched a small cow reach it's head into the wastebasket and pull out a piece of thick paper (the back page of Raven's math package) and eat it. After getting the basket stuck on its head (oh for the want of a quick camera!) it continued on and found my (folded and wet from the rain) newspaper page and ate the crossword. I wonder how many times it will regurgitate on the English words?

Wasteful (and costly) take out containers thankfully haven't found their way to India to increase garbage. It is a little less convenient, but my leftover curd (plain yogurt) the other day was spooned into a little plastic bag 'to go'. Samosa shops use newspaper to wrap their tasties into before putting them into a plastic bag.

our favourite tea stall in Sarnath

Before leaving for India, Heath had told us about chai being old in single use clay cups. In Varanasi we were excited to see this was still so. The cups are unglazed and brittle, and most probably sun baked instead of being fired in a kiln. Raven really wants to take one home as a souvenir, but I don't think this will be possible, as they are super fragile. Some of the roadside tea sellers use paper cups, and I refused the larger size in one stall after noticing they were using Styrofoam cups. Tea on the street is typically Rs5 (about 10 cents). You don't receive a huge amount of tea, about 1/4 cup (62 ml for our metric readers), but it is super tasty. The vendors have their little business set up along a road, sometimes in a raised wooden box that can be locked up at night and they generally only sell tea. They have a small burner, and the ingredients at hand. Milk, loose black tea, fresh ginger, one pot, one kettle and a strainer. Tea is always served after a rolling boil. They crush the ginger and add it to the tea and milk, stir it, then pour through a strainer into the kettle before pouring into your cup. If there is bench seating, you will get your tea in a glass cup to drink there. Glasses are always washed in cold water, and I am doubtful that soap is used, but we haven't been sick yet, probably because of the boiling process. Tea is served so hot one cannot drink it for the first few minutes. It is usually thick, rich and perfectly spiced. Raven and I dream about making huge pots of masala (spiced) chai at home. Sorry Celestial Seasonings and Stash, but you will not be on my shopping list anymore.

The Ganga

Varanasi is an incredible place. It is such a holy city, that if you die in Varanasi, you are released from the cycle of death and rebirth. It has changed and modernized over the years, and on the way down to our hotel near the river Ganges, we passed a McDonalds and a Dominos Pizza! The old city hasn't changed much in 1000 years, ancient buildings crowding the area above the ghats, the stone steps leading into the fetid waters of the mighty Ganga. People come from all over India to bathe, pray, and die here, with the cremation ghats running 24/7, fires constantly burning, lit from an eternal flame. The waters are able to wash away sins, and the ghats are always full of the faithful, swimming, washing, and doing laundry next to the herders bringing their buffalo herds to drinks and get scrubbed down.

We were very tired when we arrived, so hadn't had the patience to hunt down a good room. We crammed into a double bed reminiscent of Salleri's tight squeeze. It was a decent room, and the wifi in the lobby was nice and fast, but the traffic noise was terrible, being on the first road up from the river. The 2^nd morning was deafening, with load music pumped out of huge speakers drowning out the traffic. It was Mohammed's birthday, and the Muslims were celebrating.

We had been given a recommendation, from a Swiss couple staying at the monastery in Lumbini with us, for a hotel close by. We had looked at it online, but had been scared away by some terrible reviews, including a report of bedbugs, but it had a rooftop restaurant with fantastic views over one of the burning ghats, so we went there to eat lunch, and checked out the rooms for ourselves. We found a nice quiet room in the back corner that was clean and reasonable, and moved over. From high up on the roof, Varanasi can almost look tranquil, but once walking along the ghats, you are immersed in all the vibrant and visceral contrasts of India. Boatmen, beggars, priests and sadhus, postcard sellers and those who will offer you Anything? Fishermen casting nets by hand, rowing dories past boatloads of Indian tourists smiling and throwing flowers into the water. Cows and sheep and goats in coats, burning bodies, and a great cup of chai. It's one of those places that takes you by surprise, no matter how many times you've been. We found a wonderful bakery cafe that had a set western breakfast, with coffee, brown toast and jam, hash browns, and eggs. Such a treat, we went every morning, and even Su didn't complain about the repetition. The comfort of something familiar convinced us to indulge in some pizza from the Dominos at the shopping mall, and it was soooo worth it. It was like an hour long vacation from our trip. I was facing away from the windows, looking at Raven's greasy lips and glowing cheeks, the menu board teasing me with devilish delights. We split a large pizza, fluffy crust, loads of veggies, and cheese, glorious cheese. I could have been in Victoria, LA, New York, London, anywhere...It was a truly bizarre, but not unpleasant interlude to the sensory onslaught of Varanasi.

Su posted her account of the Golden Temple visit, but it doesn't quite impart the fervent religiousness of the experience. As in Nepal, religion here is a living, passionate affair, even more so for the Hindus. They LOVE the gods, and the Golden Temple is the most important temple in Varanasi and one of the very holiest temples in all of India. You'll never see a picture of it, because no cameras are allowed, no phones, cigarettes, lighters, knives, pens, or sharp objects. I was amazed we were allowed inside, as non-Hindus have always been banned. People will wait for hours and hours on special occasions, and as you get close to the sacred Shiva lingam, they start getting very animated, pushing closer, praying loudly. Making offerings brings good kharma, good fortune, a long and prosperous life. Since it has been proven that intention can change the outcome of events, even alter the physical properties of matter, I find their devotion powerful and captivating, even intoxicating.

When we first arrived, we must have had 'fresh meat' written all over us, and we were constantly bombarded with offers of boat rides, massage, postcards, hash and opium. On our 2^nd day, Su decided to count how many times we would be offered a boat ride on the way back from breakfast. I was surprised that it was only nine times. As the days passed, the offers became less frequent, and the first price offered became less and less. Only then did we decide to take a traditional dawn boat ride along the ghats, the golden light illuminating the faithful performing prayers, those in need of purification bathing, the spectacle of the cremations, all set to the rhythmic splash of the oars dipping into the Ganges. I kept my eyes open for the rare gangetic dolphin, but only saw a few fish jumping, which is surprising in it's own right, given the pollution and raw sewage pumped into the river non-stop.

Raven feeding a cow her scarf

One afternoon, we walked up to Manikarnika, the busiest burning ghat. After watching the funerals for a while, Raven and I, always on the look out for a cute cow to pet, spotted one munching on a pile of discarded marigold flowers. It had a litter of young puppies playing at it's feet, licking and nipping as it munched away. The marigolds were still on the string in a garland, and one of the puppies got it's leg caught, and was lifted off the ground as the cow lifted it's head, oblivious to the puppy dangling under it's chin! It managed to get free the next time the cow bent down for another bite, but Raven and I were laughing enough to draw attention away from the pyres. We were trying to coax one of the adorable puppies over for a snuggle, when one of the spectators grabbed it and passed it over. Raven always attracts attention while petting various creatures. The day before, we had stopped to pet a young calf in a narrow alleyway, but while bent over, Raven's scarf dangled enticingly in front of the mother. Sure enough, while we were distracted with the fuzzy little calf, the cow started chewing on the scarf! As Raven stood up, yanking the drool covered fabric from it's mouth, I caught the wide eyed stare of a boy frozen in place watching us. His face scrunched up, and he let out a loud 'Blaaaaagh' while sticking out his tongue. We laughed and laughed! Back near the burning ghat, as we wound our way through the maze of narrow, winding passageways, we came across a chai 'shop', and decided to rinse the taste of burning bodies away with some masala tea. These shops are everywhere, and usually serve deliciously spiced chai, each one with it's own special recipe. This one was especially good, sweet and tasty, with hints of ginger. As we sat on a narrow bench along the red brick wall, making conversation with the other patrons, a funeral procession made it's way towards us. The alleys in this part of the old city are usually no more than 10 feet wide, and there happened to be a motorcycle parked directly across from us, and a cow beside the bike. When the procession passed us, six men carrying the body on a bamboo ladder, we had to pull our cups of chai in tight, and turn our knees sideways to let them past. Raven's eyes were wide, not exactly a horrified look, just amazed with the constant contrasts, delicious tea and dead bodies, all as normal here as a trip to Beacon Hill for an ice cream. These kinds of experiences are just so far from our sphere of knowledge, they are completely surreal. From the quiet of suburban Langford, it's hard to imagine people living this way, but the experience makes you more accepting, more compassionate, gives you a different perspective on your own culture. Travel enriches your life, deepens your sense of kinship with others no matter how, or where they live. I am forever thankful to be able to do this with Su and Raven, and to be able to write about it for all who care to share the journey.

As incredible as Varanasi is, it gets tiring quickly, so after four days, we made the move out to Sarnath, where Buddha gave his first sermon after achieving enlightenment. It's only 10 kms from the Ganges, but is quiet and tranquil. We stayed at the Japanese monastery, where they have five dorm beds available by donation. It is staffed by Tibetan monks, and we were invited in for the morning and evening prayer. Very different from the Korean monastery, it involved drumming and chanting. There were two large, double sided drums mounted on stands, so one monk could beat on each end. The senior monk sat next to a solid wood block and a large cauldron. He chanted along to the beating drums, tapping the block of wood with a stick with a ball on the end of it, and also struck the cauldron, which rang out resonantly. We were given hand-held drums and sticks to beat, as the small crowd of Tibetan families were doing opposite us, on the other side of the monastery. It was wonderfully inclusive, and we soon found our timing, drumming along joyously, even if we didn't know the chants. Unfortunately, the smoke from the cremations had brought on a vicious cold, and I couldn't drag myself out of bed for the morning prayer at 6 AM. It was all I could do to drag my feet over to the stupa that marked the spot where Buddha had started to share his wisdom, after 6 years of fasting and meditation. Some of the ruins here date back to 230 BC, and the nearby museum kept the more fragile artifacts safe. Exhausted, I went straight back to bed.

The large stupa behind us is the exact place Buddha gave his first speech.
Some of these ruins date to 230 BC.

Before we left Varanasi, we'd booked another overnight train to Khujaraho, home to some of the most impressive temples is India, and the world. We'd planned to catch a train from Sarnath, an easy way to go directly to the train station in Varanasi, even if it would be slow and possibly crowded. We arrived early, as is always prudent with the trains here, even though we had hours before our train would depart from Varanasi Junction for the 12 hour trip. It's a good thing, because the 2:48 train from Sarnath didn't go to the Junction station, only Varanasi City station. No worries, we could still take an auto-rickshaw. The station manager told us to wait a second, then came back with three tickets, saying “OK. This other train goes to the Junction. Hurry. Hurry.” There was a train at the far platform, but we had to go up and over the tracks by the stairs and over-head walkway. We moved as quickly as possible with our excessive amount of baggage, but just as I reached the train, it started to pull away. Raven was right behind me, so I helped her up, and yelled at Su to Run! She looked up, horrified to see the train already moving, however slowly. She waddled quickly to the door, tossed her front mounted backpack in, got one foot on the steps as I kept pace along side, still on the platform. As soon as there was room for me to get a foot on, I grabbed the handrails and pulled myself up, pushing Su forward into the nearly empty train. Another first, jumping onto a moving train...I love India.