Up and down Annapurna and Chitwan's elephant water massage

A funny thing about the overly courteous Nepalese. Every time I reply them the recurrent *which country from?* question with the answer 'Belgium', they all seem to know Belgium and where it is situated and so on. Remarkable! Or actually not so remarkable at all, because Belgium has the largest Nepalese immigrant population in the west ever since they started receiving a lot political refugees in the 1990's. Especially students currently make up a lot of these numbers and Belgian universities welcome Nepali students by the load. That's what the people here tell me. Good news, Belgium is finally known for something social and positive which is not related to food, drink or painting. I'm happy for the Nepalese, who otherwise have a real hard time getting into the west. I do hope their gained knowledge will be brought back to Nepal, to better conditions here.

Ah yes, the 5 day trek to Annapurna sanctuary, the large mountain region above Pokhara stretching out towards the Tibetan border (perhaps better say 'Chinese border' before they put me down). In the morning we got my permit done and off we were to Nayapul, the starting point. It was just me and Hem, my guide who is born in a village in the Annapurna's. We had customized the trek and made a mix of the 2 famous treks, the Ghandruk - Ghorapani loop and the Jomsom trail, to take a slight diversion so that we could also visit a special hot spring which not many trekkers get to see.
I only took the minimum for 5 days; a small backpack with just a few clothes and my duck down sleeping bag. No need for a porter that many other trekkers would have, to have them carry all their stuff. Stuff which they probably wouldn't even use and had better left behind in their hotel, like me and most younger trekkers had done. Easy goes best, light is even better.
From Nayapul on, there would be no road anymore on our track. Just footpaths that were shared withy mules, the only different transportation system to human porters on the trail to all the villages high up or low down in cut-off valleys. Their bells always tolled a beautiful hymn of broken melodies, rhytmically out of tune, yet so in place on those moments. Echoing from the hills and through the forests. Given my allergy to all horse-like animals (it's a weird one, I know) I wasn't too thrilled to walk behind them, but their cling-clanging pace made more than up for it. 'But was it music?' to quote Henry Miller. Why, gorge-ous!

We walked up along the river, where kids were fishing. With hammers. Seriously. They hit upon the big rocks in the shallow river because the small fish that they were after always seem to hide under rocks. Death through vibration and pressure, food for the table. The mountains slowly started rising, but as this was just the first day we wouldn't see the high peaks for now, smaller mountains still concealing them.
We arrived in Hille end of the afternoon, a little village full of lodges for the trekkers -as every village is filled with-. The mule express overpassed us again, for them their working day surely wasn't over yet. Hot shower, relaxation and waiting for dinner while watching some emotional Korean movie. I met fellow-trekkers there. 3 friendly young folks from the Jersey island in the UK and a Norwegian son and his 74year old mother. Except from the hardship-shaped elderly locals, the Norwegian lady must have been the oldest person I met doing this trek.

2nd day. After an early breakfast we left towards Ghorapani, which promised a be a steep 6 hour walk. It was, especially the first bit. The day before I had met Martin, a kind German man who was giving trekkers a course in film shooting with as less equipment as possible. A creative thing to combine on such a nice trek. He comes to Nepal every year for several months and knows the Annapurna circuit and its villages by heart. He pointed to a nearby slope above a string of houses and told me in an affected tone that last year, there had been a landslide that divulged several houses and killed 17 people. Landslides are a common phenomenon here and we would encounter much more of their traces in the next days. Up on the way near a little village called Tikedungha, we passed a Nepali church that held a service. Vocal music of praise was oozing out of the doorway, kids playing around, making scattering noises. I went inside, not to pray or anything but just to hear and see as I found the sound quite intriguing, very un-western, they sung in Nepali which gave it a special shine. Here a song:

Tikedungha church members - Song of praise
We arrived in Ghorapani quicker than we thought, as our pace was very swift and we constantly overtook trekkers. Sure I knew the pain was gonna come later, ah what did I care. I loved the climbing up, heavy as it was, but it got me into a nice trance of near walking meditation, walking slowly over all my thoughts while focusing on natural surroundings at the same time. In Ghorapani it was cold and foggy as we now were at 2500 meter altitude. Tibetan people hawked their wares on the street and they liked getting into ironic arguments with trekkers about buying their crafts. If you're trekking, the last thing you want to do is to by a solid metal singing bowl or anything else heavy or useless to you. Unless you have porters perhaps. In the lodge we met 2 funny German-Australian sisters from the woods of Tasmania, Elia and Johanna. I nicknamed them the pagan sisters, natureloving and spiritual as they were.
They had been trekking for nearly 10 days without guide, just on their own which was no problem at all as the trekking trails are quit easy to follow. We had a long evening at the fireplace, talking about all things spiritual, natural and creative.

Day 3, early morning wake up call at 5.30am. To see the famous sunrise at Poon Hill, a 3200 meters high peak from where all of the Annapurna mountains could be seen. It was pretty cold and we packed ourselves into layers, wrapped in fleece, wool, gore-tex or whatnot. The sisters also joined us. Walking uphill for 40 minutes does make you warm quickly. But yeah, what is the Poon Hill vibe? In the nutty dialogue that me and Elia made up on the spot, this was Poon Hill:

"Welcome to the Gore-tex festival, the Poon Hill 2008 edition. Yes people, there will be live shows on the left, right, under and above by Korean, German, Canadian and Australian clickety-clackers, snapshot speakers and zany zoomers. They all use special hand instruments and throw poses on this natural stage set under the early morning sky. You are obliged to pose originally. And no, not with the aid of alcohol to loosen yourselves up, but only chia and water will be on offer, at a high cost. As are cakes, crackers or cookies of any sort. Pay up or remain thirsty and hungry at your own sake. The sunlight shall be shared with everyone, like the views and the fresh morning air. The watch tower is for those who care for the VIP treatment. It's not backstage but the abovestage for those higher beings. But alas, everyone is a VIP here! Devil may care, climb up that ladder at your own whim and see for yourself, look beyond the whitest of snow, into that golden trickle of light shining from it!"

Thus ended our Poon Hill stay and we descended down for a much needed breakfast.

The rest of the day was a nice up and down walk through foggy forests, beautifully filled with trees of all sort and we touched upon many packs of blooming Rhododendron trees. We arrived in Tadapani and it seemed as the crossroads for most treks and many people were crowding the lodges. In the evening we were visited by the Gurung mother group, the females of the local Gurung community who have Tibetan roots. They played their traditional songs in a sort of vocal choir, accompanied by a dholak drum. It all were short songs and the local people (and Nepali guides, porters and sherpa's) did traditional Nepali dancing, which looked a bit like Indonesian gamelan dances with a hint of India in it. Ofcourse, the tourists couldn't escape either so me and the sisters got pulled up dancing while others were reluctant to give it a try. Here a song:

Gurung mother group - Gurung folk song

The next day, with limbs starting to ache, we had to do a lot of inconsistent climbs up and down to Jhinu Danda, the special hot spring place. it actually was one of the nicest walks of all days, as we went through even more beautiful forests, covered with moss, ferns and flowers, the smell of fresh earth into our nostrills. Also we passed many little settlements and farms where people were working their fields by hand or by buffalo. The sun shined brightly upon us and we could see all the forested ridges clear and green while we still had the Annapurna mountains in our hindsight. Such air and view. It's too hard to describe it with the right words as that would take up another post, so I'll leave that for your imagination. Just let the photo's put the words in your head. We arrived in Jhinu in the late afternoon and lazied about as we were all tired, the sisters surely even more as they had been walking so long already and were quite fed up of mountains in their sincere honesty. Around 9pm, we went down to the hot spring, about a 20 minute walk. It was pitch dark and through a narrow stone path down into the forest, which was amazing. We heard the river getting louder and it was flowing at a rapid pace. The hot springs were just next to the river, in a cut-out and rock-layered pool of 4 by 6 meters, made by locals. Wow, they were so cosily warm, as if it was nature massaging your limbs and body. We had brought candles for light and it only added more to the special atmosphere. Many shadows flickered on the rocks while the sky above us was filled with stars, so many! We just felt lucky to experience this unspoilt place, especially at the time of the darkened day. The walk up, well, that was a bit harder again after this softening experience. Exhausting we went to bed.zzzzz.

On the 5th day, my camera went *crack* and refused to open and focus again. Like an early eternal sleep, the little cheapskate. The walk down to Nayapul, to get the bus back to Pokhara, was again beautiful just like the day before. This day we passed more little villages and farmer dwellings, more and more beautifully cultivated fields. It was a long but easy walk, as the trail mostly went down. Though I have found out that I rather like walking up than downhill since my muscle pains all came from the irregular downhill walks. Those really kill you more if anything. Back on the road, civilisation and shops. It felt so weird for a little moment to be back out of the wild, as in the days that you are walking, you feel much more in touch with your natural surroundings, the sounds and the crisp clean air. Except for the stunning views that they offered, the villages all were quite bare, except for Jhinu Danda that was more placed in a natural spot. These little villages solely serve as trekking stops instead of beautiful spots, filled with lodges as they are, but it offers the locals a way of income, an income that they otherwise never could earn if it were not for the trekking trails. On the 1,5 hour ride back, all for of us, me, Hem and the sisters, sat on the roof. Such beautiful views again, turning away from the Annapurna's. We did had to stay low and dodge the electricity cables, as they flashed near overhead.

Back in Pokhara, me and the sisters just relaxed. Had a 1,5 hour massage of acupressure and ayurvedic matters. Plush luxury indeed, but I felt revived. In the swell Peace Eye hotel we had some good nights with cheese and red wine (such combination, first time in months!). The sisters bumped into friends that they had met in India and they joined us in the evenings. Raul from Spain, a funny fella like a true storyteller, did a lot of his tricky magician tricks. Hello to Giorgios from Greece too! Travel well etc. I packed all my shit together and decided to move for Chitwan national park on my own, as the sisters were unable to move out of their relaxtion mode yet.

In a packed bus, on a tourist package. That, because the easiest and cheapest way to get to the Chitwan wild reserve was on such a deal. On the too well paved tourist trail indeed. The oh so kind hotel manager of Peace Eye had arranged a too cheap deal to refuse, much cheaper than any of the commission hunting agencies offered.
After a 6,5 hour ride we suddenly were in the tropical bush, away from the mountains. We got picked up by jeep and delivered at our lodging like a packet. There I met an irish couple, Tony and Emma, and a Dutch couple, Ed and his wie (whose name I forgot, sorry!) and with them I would do most of the excursions. The excursions, as corny as they may have sounded to me, I did enjoy them a lot.
In the afternoon we walked around a Tharu village. The Tharu people are believed to have moved all the way from Rajasthan to the tropical Nepalian forests in medieval times, when the mughuls were slayering tribes at will. Their name springs from the Thar desert perhaps? We went to the elephant breeding centre and saw several elephants relaxing. With chains, which make them look sad. In the evening, I met some other tourists in the lodge from Japan and the UK, who invited me for an evening tour to the edge of the jungle. We walked in darkness as the power had been vut off and from far we could already hear the cacaphony of mostly birds and insects. We just sat there silent for half an hour, listening and peeking into the bushy darkness across the river. The next day we had a canoe ride. They didn't let us peddle so I felt a bit useless and once again the typical tourist. We saw crocodiles (gharials and muggers) and many birds, like kingfishers, ducks, maraboe's and storks. The walk into the jungle was promised to be something special. Though we walked a good hour or more in the dense vegetation, we saw only some birds and insects. Only footprints or droppings of the wilder animals like the sloth bear, tiger and rhinoceros. When we came back to the river, they were washing the elephants. That was really why I wanted to go to Chitwan, to swim with the elephants and wash them! I was the only one of my tourist pack who went into the water, and no sooner I found myself looking an elephant in the face upclose and being hosted up into the air by it, woah! I got a tarzan style elephant snout shower while I sat on it's back. The elephant sometimes rolled over and I fell softly into the water, laughing from the sensation. Like a kid, again and again. After my own bath and play, I helped the mahout driver to clean the elephant and he gave me a porous stone. The elephant skin is thick and crusty so only a stone can wash him good. The elephant lay on his side, enjoying the rub and stoned massage. You could hear her groan out of satisfaction, bizarre. In the afternoon we would have the elephant jungle ride, riding in a wooden seat atop the animal, which I didn't know what to expect of. The beginning was boring, but as soon we went into the jungle, it was great to be so high up, getting branches and bush slapped into your face. We soon saw rhinoceros, a mother and her baby. We also encountered 3 different types of wild deer and all these wild animals weren't afraid of us. Because they couldn't see or smell us, sitting high on the elephant and that was the whole trick with having elephant jungle rides and getting so close -right next!- to wild animals. In the evening there was a Tharu cultural programme planned for all the tourists of the different lodges. It was an ok performance, except for the chattering noise most tourists made, ones who perhaps didn't care for the Tharu music or culture but came anyway. The dances and music were very similar to the Indian tribal stick dances of Gujarat and Haryana, places were Rajasthani tribes also have settled in the last few hundred years, if that's not a clear link enough. Also hello to the fellow Belgian person from Antwerp (Essen) that I met, I'm so bad with names sometimes, so forgetful.

That was the end of 3 days and 2 nights in Chitwan. It was long enough for me and I was itching to get to the Kathmandu valley. We entered the city in its most vile and smoggiest form. wow, after all the natural quality of Annapurna and Chitwan, it did feel awkward.

I turned my camera into repair in Kathmandu, to see if first help can reanimate him. Breathe oh little one, breathe!
-and guess what, they fixed it; gone is then asthma and its bad cough, yay-

Today (friday) is Holi, the special Hindu day for coloring one another by throwing powder or colored water on each other. I've already been waterbagged a few times in the last days as a warm-up. But today, me and friends can throw back as we have bought powder and plastic bags. We're prepared, mwhahaha ;)
Ok, time to sign off and run through the water barricades that are happening right in front the internet shop. Many tourists covered in colours have stepped into here looking bewildered. Better be prepared, I'm on my way to get and throw some colours, yeah! :)

More on these savage wet celebrations and Kathmandu's surroundings in the next post.

just photo's of the 4 days trekking....

awareness poster

staring point Nayapul

kitchen at our first stop

where no roads can go....the mule express always delivers. Chickin' on the move!

fishing with the hammer

some views....


local folks

...with baby asleep on the back

gentle german Martin in shooting pose

Nepali church at Thikedungha

first sigh of the red Rhododendron, Nepal's national symbol

elderly woman, breaking for a smoke.

stupa at Ghorapani

the Machhapuchhare just at the first of dawn

view of the Annapurna I

'hereby I declare the Poon Hill gore tex festival 2008, opened!'

the crowd goes mental...

our pose

sisterly hug

a view for the fun of it...(this guy told me I already was the 5th person who asked to photograph him. such copycats we all are!)

been here, done nothing

must admit, the Koreans did the best posing poses!



the forests and its trees

The disdained junkie from Palpa and a playfully pestering ride to Pokhara. And then....Shivaratri time!

I arrived yesterday in smoggy Kathmandu, back into metropolitan atmospheres so it feels. Dirty and foul smelling Kathmandu, crammed to the neck with tourists. Still a lot to experience in the KTM valley in the next full week.
It has been nearly over 2 weeks ago since last letters. Times moves faster than you think, when on the move, on wild treks or enclosed by nature and wildlife.

So, to continue in the steep mountain region district of Tansen, where I found myself during the writing of last post. In the town of Palpa to be exact. I strolled around town, mostly uphill, to see the prime spots that it offered. No sooner had I set off or a young man came walking by my side. It was at the local sport pitch, which was a long plateau where young military men were playing various sports (football, volleyball and cricket) and a carnival had just been dismantled, cabins of rides and plastic animal seat lying all about. He introduced himself as Kiran and offered me to walk me to my desired spots and to tell me something about each place. Sure deal. We saw Palpa’s main temple and its pornographic woodcarvings (see below) on several poles. Wooden erotism, excitingly cut. Then the town square which was empty due to the rain, followed by a demolished palace. Tansen Durbar, as the LP guide had expected me to found it untouched, former place of the provincial governor, built in Rana style in 1927. Interesting info? Nope, very much former indeed as it was now reduced to heaps of red stones and eloquent stone carvings lying about. Kiran told me that the Maoists attacked in January 2006 and destroyed the palace, more about the siege. For a short time there were fights between the few thousand Maoist rebels and the Nepalese army. The army sent more troops and prevailed to regain its controlled spot on the Palpa hills again. Their camps more fortified since then, as I could see with my own eyes. “There still are some Maoist rebels active, but the scarce few are all down in the valley in spot where there isn’t much army”, Kiran said in a common tone. We sat down on a wall for a while, looking at the misty view of valleys and people walking by, talking about his business studies, his life in Palpa, his dreams and hopes. He wasn’t positive or inspired about each subject that passed and instead quite gloomy in all his answers and thoughts. To remain, live and work in Palpa seemed to be his reluctant wish for the future but rather a wish that came from experiences while working in Dubai, UAE for nearly a year. Not good experiences by all means, as he didn't like the spirit of the people and their big money lifestyles so that he resigned and went back to Nepal, back home to Palpa and so his life re-took its slow course.
Kiran invited me to his local hangout, a small, dingy and dark bar/eatery, hazily lit by candlelight and owned by an elderly Gurung woman who ran the place with a still vital energy. Soon his friends joined, introduced themselves to me and it became clear that alcohol was their recurring ritual for ending a day of work or non-work, evening after evening. Here I got my first taste of the local raksy wine, which is not wine as in the red/white tradition, but more like a rice wine made out of millet. Fermentation through moonlight, that sort of natural strong spirited jest. It tasts quite ok for a sip, lighter than vodka, whiskey or rum, but surely heavier than wine. No one knows the percentage of alcohol in it, as every raksy brew seems to vary. Perhaps depending how yellow or heavy the moon shines. I tasted some of the local food, a sort of small donut made out of chickpeas and spicy herbs which I forgot the name of and some crispy cubes of buffalo meat for the novelty. Meanwhile the friends drank beer or raksy in a tempo that speeded past my slow chia orderings. My friend was visibly nervous about something, his hands unsteady and trembling, with a weary look on his face. I nearly felt it was time to go, as I wanted to relax on my own and eat somewhere. And then he confided to me that he had a problem, 'a drug problem', and with bits the story came out of him, pulled from his worried mind. His friends nodded solemnly in confirmation. He was a junkie of the brown, which is the nickname for opium around here. Kiran wanted me to tell him, to advise him what would be best to do, though at the same time he already answered his own question by informing me that he thought of checking into a clinic in Kathmandu. I could only agree and usher him to do such without more to add. We went out of the dim bar and it was pitch dark on the street as the power has failed again -which almost is a daily norm in Nepal between 6pm and 9.30pm, I've learned by now-. He really wanted to show me his house and as he kept acting so nervous and giving me awkward vibes, I didn't really want to. I gave in and I walked behind him over a narrow muddy ridge down past a military post down to his house. Soon enough I found myself sitting inside, in a room with his studying brother and a sister who was sleeping in a bed nearby, with a hot cup of chia in my hands. I stayed about an hour, talking about god knows what with the brother while my man for most part of the time was elsewhere, doing something else until he popped up again. After that, it really was time to go to my hotel as they had the urge to lock the gate at 10pm every evening. Kiran somehow felt compelled to accompany me. "Just for a small moment", he said, "and then I will leave you". Indeed the gate was locked and we had to wake up the moaning Tibetan woman to let us in. Up in my room we talked some more, me trying to butter him with positive subject to make him feel more at easy. Still the nervousness persisted and it came to the point that he wanted to leave with me giving him a souvenir. A personal souvenir. Errr, well you can have this postcard of Pakistan, this passport photo of me if you really must, and some other nicknacks. That all took a while and I became slightly annoyed by his reluctance to accept and go, while I had been as fair to him as I could be while my tiredness was setting in. We exchanged addresses and I did promise to send him some postcards and a cassette compilation. Such promises are no problem. It's more hard talking people into positivity if they can't follow your drift or direction and feel quickly at loss when listening. Perhaps the book of James Frey 'Inot Million Pieces' would be of any help to him, if only I had it with me or to be bought in a non-existent international bookshop. I don't know. I do hope that Kiran will get through this episode and get his life back on track.

The next morning, I woke up realizing that it was my birthday. Not a special day to me otherwise, but the fact being on this trip, alone, and in such a nice mountain area, it did make it more special for once. I bought myself some cakes, a few small flowery banana's, fresh bread and walked up the Srinagar Danda mountain, the high hill looming over Palpa, where my guide and guidebook promised a nice view of the Annapurna's was to be seen. If clear weather. It was clear by a bright sun, but misty clouds shrouded the distant mountains, so I enjoyed looking down into the valley and onto the wall of clouds. Special to me nonetheless in this moment of morning time, on my b-day. In the late morning I took a bus to Pokhara. A busride that should normally take 4 hours, if with a mini-bus and not a government bus. I got into a government bus and the ride lasted over 6.5 hours. But what a ride it was, those views! Valleys, gorges, ridges, rivers, forests and many dwindling roads curving around mountains. The full package of driving in mountain territory. That the whole ride a few persistent gypsy kids were pestering me from behind and next to me, didn't bother me too much. There were 2 poor families sitting in the back who let their kids run aloof on me, perhaps sent with a silent mission to get anything from me. I really didn't mind and actually had fun with the kids, especially with the timid young girl who was most persistent of all. In a dull yet lush begging voice, she constantly said *hey* to me. A voice that already sounded like it had endured rejection beyond a certain limit so that it had become blunt, worn out into a monotonous strain, emptied of any negative or positive emotions. From time to time I gave her an the other little things. cookies, some loose change I found in my bag and pockets. The rest of the time I ignored the begging, reading my book. Except to disrupt it by pulling funny idiotic faces and grins now and then. Or mimick her, which she found brilliant play. Or by tickling her unexpectedly on her arm or fingers when not looking. Pure and free fun. That reminds me, to quickly get rid of the more annoying streetkids -not the sweet ones-, the best method is to tickle them and see how quickly they run away and stay at a safe distance from the tickler. It's harmless and playful. Anyway, I think the girl and her siblings must have thought of me as a weird cuckoo since my behavior was too inconsistent for their own planned tactics. But yeah, 6,5 hours of begging would leave many a westerner crazed so I rather played a play that I could enjoy too ;)

Finally, Pokhara in sight and quick enough I found myself sitting on a motorbike, with all 3 bags heavily hanging on me. I was taken to a better hotel, by that I mean a hotel that is more expensive than a backpacker place but to pay 3 euro's for a huge room, a big plush bed and hot shower, it does not cripple your budget really. And still my b-day, so to refuse a bit of luxury would be very stubborn. At the hands of irony I found myself in company of many Dutch tourists from the southern provinces, the actual owner of the hotel also being Dutch -sigh-. But why should I moan here, out of poised exclusiveness or nomadic elitism? Pah, let it rest. I dwelled easily in my plush surroundings though I kept a low profile either way not to be marked out by the few-week-holiday'ers. There, elitism. I'm flawed and doomed in my own sauce.
My Dinner was served in a small shack where I could enjoy the choice of Tibetan food again. Momo's, thukpe and thentuks. Yum. Up to then, it had been quite difficult -read, nearly impossible- to find any Tibetan food in the previous places. The Pokhara streets were dark and I could not see much of its glory as people told me of. Several shops were open, such as internet cafe's, souvenir joints and luxury supermarkets. Super swell supermarkets I must say beyond my initial detested feeling, as I found cheese. Real cheese. In the big, round shape where pieces could be cut from. Wow. Luxury. And it was yak cheese, the furry Tibetan buffalo animal. Oh so happy, just by cheese. There were many bars in the street, more than I have seen anywhere in the past 5 months and even a cslight shock came to me to see so many foreigners gulping down alcopop of every form. Did I get so strayed away from that to feel that? I sat down in a blues bar, in the hope to hear blues that weren't played and asked for the local raksy, which they did not have. They had to re-import it from the very same shack where I ate my nice Tibetan meal. I might have better stayed there and had more fun. There were all these booming places above the bars and shops, which called themselves *dancing restaurants*. What? The neatly dressed fella at the stairs ushered me up. So I went up to inspect, though I should have known from my first feeling. From the door opening I saw many guys sitting around tables, drinking alcopop and eating bits n bobs. In front of them, a Nepali Asian beauty dancing on a podium, while Nepali disco echoed all around her. Description; very short skirt, luscious moves and entertaining the rowdy males like a monkey doing its taught trick. I was out in a whim and down at the stairs the host fella asked me if I liked it. Or if I would like some more, like some live action with his female employees, like on cue a well shaped Nepali gal walked past and gave me a wink. "No thanks, I got yak cheese", I answered with sincere happiness. I was happy indeed. Cheese! The guy just looked puzzled at me, as if realizing he was dealing with a stoner or some other insanely drugged, out-of-place male creature that was beyond reasoning with and I left him to juggle his jigsawed thoughts. Bzzzz. Off I was, to do some reading and cutting cheese in between pages. Happiness. You find it in the most banal forms or situations while traveling, away from the routines of home.
The next days in Pokhara I spent with buying pirated arthouse movies (legal crime I say!) and planning my trek in the Annapurna mountains with my to-be guide Hem, who I met through the ever handy couchsurfing network. Also I rented a mountainbike with suspension and drove around the lakeside, the big nice Phewa Tal lake and the surrounding hills. One of the days was the day of Shivaratri, which signifies Shiva's birthday and the marriage between him and goddess Parvati. Just search for Shivaratri on youtube and you'll find loads of viddy's of saddhu's and locals getting high and do some spinning dances or other crazed things out of Shiva's holy name. The day is actually all about people, young and old alike, to get severely high on bhang, a brew of a cannabis product. (funny factoid, the pictured Bhang shop in Jaisalmer is actually the place where we got our brew one night in November) So, the day of celebration. The one day in the year that cannabis/bhang is not illegal in Nepal. And the people celebrate with a righteous vigor as if solely ment for spiritual use. Isn't that what drugs are about in fairness? Back to my story. I cycled away from the lake to smaller villages past the hills stretching to the far end of the lake. Slowly raising roads and muddy tracks soon appeared. Having passed a few villages, I could see a little temple in the distance right next to the lake, where a crowd of locals had gathered. I drove up to it and looked at the ceremony. People invited me in straight away and they even wanted to make me drink the bhang, but since it was just morning.....naaah. A cup of sweet chia was good enough. Some people were seated and were making flower garlands while other were cutting fruits, dough and nuts for the offerings. A fire burned in the middle meanwhile. I looked in the small temple, filled with offerings and burning incense sticks. Suddenly an old men inside the small space woke up with a shout and shook all over his body and stood up. "The spirit is in him" somebody told me, and the old men pushed his way past us and ran towards the fire, kneeled down and put his bald head on the bright glowing wood for several seconds, only to be helped up again by others so they could sit him down. An ashen flesh mark decorating the crown of his head, ouch. I stayed a while, seeing the ceremony of reading the Shiva story while the temple bell tolled by people's touches. Kids were surrounding me whenever they could. I think they were still without bhang. Wait till tonight kids, just wait. I took photo's of some scenes, the temple, the kids and the mother with her 2 bug eyed children. I cycled on and went back to the Pokhara lakeside, where I drove to the northern part of the city. I wanted to make it up to Sarankot, a 4 km steep drive into the mountains. I only got halfway since the gears of the bike weren't working well and it was heavier than I expected. Halfway I met some kids driving on self-made carts down the curved mountain road, in the same dangerous barrier-less way that kids do in Southern American countries like Colombia. Action pics below. On my way down, I reached the Bhagwati temple, one of the biggest temples of Pokhara and I saw many people going inside and hearing music. When I came in, what a chaos of sound came over me! On one side a performance of local folk artists, on the other side a open aired temple with saddhu's singing acoustic songs and behind that another temple where 2 priests were playing live temple music, which was amplified to outside. 3 different sounds, 3 angles. Full on Shivaratri temple mashup. I couldn't resist recording it. Here.

Unknown artists - Bhagwati temple songs (3 angles)

Quite special stuff to see and I was the sole tourist there out of the thousand or so people walking around. It was a great experience and folks came up to me to have their pic taken with me in front of the temples, bells or shrines. I couldn't escape it. It was nearly getting dark and it ended. What would the evening bring? I again ate momo's and chowmein in one of those cheap eating shacks, by the guiding hand of my soon-to-be guide Hem. Next morning we would leave to do a 5 day trek in the Annapurna mountain sanctuary. So for the sake of fitness it was out of the question that I could drink alcohol or get hammered with bhang. Not that I wanted to. When I went back to the hotel, I heard people singing nearby. Ofcourse, curiosity could not kill this cat, so what else could I do than to witness it and perhaps take part?
In a courtyard there were about 30 people sitting around each other. The men were playing dhol drums and khartals and sung together with the women next to them. The women took separate turns of dancing to each short song, lasting about 30 seconds to a minute at the time. A young boy around the age of 10, introduced him as Raju and it was clear that he had tasted the vivid virtues of bhang. haha, how high he was, but so positive and enjoying it too! He asked me if I was married and without waiting for my answer and said " here, you can have my sister, she is single". The 12 year old girl next to him looked up in shy disbelief as her brother's spontaneous words. Pure cheekiness from this little fella, though he meant it sincerely. I really think he did. At one dance, a voluptuous women got into a trance and she dropped on the floor, still having dance spasms. The other women just laughed, helped her up and she kept on dancing while several women were cautious enough to keep her up. Soon another women got into a bhang trance and she was more out of control, as she was still too fast to stop and stept on some of the musical males or other folks. Fun! Laughs! The release of spiritual joy! Nothing was spared it seemed. Next to me sat an middle aged English fella, who also wasn't completely sober anymore. Liquor being his spiritual guide. He was utterly filled with love and joy as he spoke livid poetry to me about his soon-to-be wife, "a Nepalese beauty of 32 years of age", according to his own words. "Right now, I am the luckiest man in the world, the luckiest!" The man, having tattooed *love* on his 4 fingers of each hands surely looked lucky and happy for he had experienced 2 badly ended marriages in his life. Sure he could use some luck. So could his woman (a hardworking nurse) and her family. Luck. A good thing by all means, if it works out both ways in this case. The lucky man left as quickly as he had entered the scene. I left soon afterwards, waved goodbye to the Nepalese mothers who had so many times tried to lure me on the dance clearing, but which calls I sorrowfully didn't answer as I was trying to record some songs. Like this one.

Unknown artists - Shivaratri courtyard dance song

That was the end of the night for me, way past midnight and I had to rise early enough to arrange my trekking permit, sanctuary fees and taking the bus with Hem to the starting point. Next post will be about the 5 day trek, the relaxing days of Pokhara and the Chitwan wildlife park. About time I enjoy Kathmandu a bit.

Here some more recordings, taken from the radio. This is the Lok Geet style. Vocal folk with instruments and digital adjustments. As I said, it feels like a happy dubstep riddim with sweet and fast lyrics. I really like it. Especially this female version.

Unknown artist - Lok Geet song (female)
....and it gets rougher, yay to bad reception!

Unknown artist - Lok Geet song (rough)

here the riddleboutbunch of photo's....

dark cloudy view on Tansen valley



hear.

The heaps of stone, what once was Tansen Durbar palace

narrow streets of Palpa

Maoist graffiti

Yes, vote for sun! It was allover several walls.

Kiran, the confessed


Tansen - Pokhara ride, our bus had to wait as an accident blocked the road. Took photo of kind father and daughter.


View on river and hills beneath

misty Pokhara at the lakeside


The temple at the other side of lake at Shivaratri

The kids at the temple, peace y'all

Mother with her two children, nice eyes.

View on ridges and road to Pokhara

lake mound view

kids on cart

and cart going down......zoefffff

a sunnier lake, not all days were grey in Pokhara

Touring Terai, the tropical underbelly of Nepal

My dear Maarten, (and family, friends, pets etc)
ps. -some extra pics uploaded!-

It has just been recent that we parted, each going our own way, chasing our own (dis)modes of travel.
And what a first lone day it already was, exhausting yet exciting. The night train was same old overcrowded full. People sleeping on floor or double cramped in the same bunk. I had a fellow traveler to talk to, Paul from Wales who had been living several months in Kathmandu where his Nepalese brothers have a trekking company. Interesting chats about natural self-providing living, politics of trade, paganism and trancedentalism and futuristic capitalist ploys in regards to globalisation. Those last thoughts are already burned in the mental trashbin, before they could become general knowledge for evil persons to tap into. I didn't catch much sleep and woke up in time to get off at Gonda in search of the irregular Nepalganj border crossing. Everyone else was on their way to Gorakhpur for the more logical Sunauli crossing. Stepping off at Gonda with sleepy sand still in my eyes, I got be-hustled by the many rickshaw men. Perhaps more than in Delhi. I guess that's Uttar Pradesh for you, where folks scramble for every penny they might make in this poorest state of the India. The men fought over my custody and overquoting themselves even beyond the Delhi level. At a hotel I relaxed and wasted morning time by having a breakfast, changing money and checking the web. In Nepal they accept Indian currency, as it is regarded as a strong currency over there, but they only accept notes of 100 rupees or less and I was stuck with a couple of 1000's notes. Gonda probably never sees tourists, let alone white people as everyone was staring at me in utter
(or uttar?) amazement in ways that we experienced in Kota. I took a bus to the city of Bahraich as there was no direct bus to Nanpara from where all border traffic headed to. I should have taken the later morning train to Nanpara instead and saved me a lot of hassle. Alas, that option only occured to me during and afterwards. The bus to Bahraich was one of the bumpiest, even when sitting on the front next to the driver. There was no dashboard where it normaly would be to cover the noise of the engine and through several gaps you could see the road beneath you. In search of the bus to Nanpara I had to take a cycle rickshaw, which was the only mode of quick transport available. -It wouldn't be my last cycle rickshaw either as small-town Uttar Pradesh is filled with them as well as Nepal-
It was a real nice ride through the small alleys and streets of Bahraich and in some way it really looked almost like being back in a mix of Ucch Sharif and Bahawalpur in Pakistan. Perhaps more so because the city is completely muslim with many ornamental little mosques and darkly veiled women and frowning bearded men everywhere. A pretty nice town to explore, if I had the time. The bus to Nanpara took long enough. I had a lot of goats sitting behind me and they were surprisingly quiet. However the children on the bus weren't. Like a child standing next to me in the cramped footpath and when I was about to let his father put the boy on my lap, he vomited. A bit on my shoe, but most in the hands of his father, who had been quick enough to fold his hands into a cup to catch his boy's yellow-orange fluid. I quickly gave him a plastic bag so he could dispose of it. Poor kid being sick and all on this busy hot ride. Bus to the border took longer than expected. 17 slow km's, one hour. It was 5pm, 6 hours since I left Gonda. The border was a 2km stretched road so had to take a rickshaw again. Better than walking with my bags.
Indian customs stamped all very quickly, even got chai from them. It was also funny in the Nepali office. The official, a small lean man wearing a colourful traditional topi hat, greeted me kindly and took his time for things. To pay for a visa can be funny if you don't have dollars as you have to pay 30 dollars and in dollars only. Guess what I didn't have and no exchange office in sight since mostly Indian people use this crossing. (since early Feb, only a Spanish family and a Dutch couple had passed here, I read in the log book). I only had stronger euro's or Indian rupees. The man sensed I was sincerely unaware of this and accepted me to pay him in rupees. I purposely said that 1 dollar is 50 rupees to butter him up and play stupid (1 dollar is worth 40 rupees actually) and after silently calculating his profit he was happy to accept my Indian money. "Give me 1600 rupees and it's ok", meaning 400 rupees profit for this non-dollar service. I just wanted to get my visa and to be on way again, so I actually paid him in rupees worth closer to 30 euro's than 30 dollars. I handed him a note of 1000 rupees. "This one could be false you know" he said. "I surely didn't make it myself" I replied with a smirk and he accepted. I asked him some questions about the situation in the Terai where I now was, which he dodged in a vague manner. A negative advice decorated with a positive answer! This was my first taste of how Nepalese do not like to give negative answers, like the guidebook said. I again tried, more subtle, but to no avail. Not to get frustrated about as the Nepalese themselves are such composed people that don't raise their voice or show aggressive behaviour. Tip for tourists coming from India: always stay calm when facing frustration in Nepal, active and controlling behaviour lead nowhere here, unlike India.
Just as I walked outside the custom office, we heard noise and a group of 200 or so young people approached in a sort of protest march. The Nepali office quickly pulled me inside and closed the door as if something bad was about to happen. "Terai group" he said, pointing at the Indian-like flag with a black star in it. The youngsters did seem a bit agitated and unpredictable in their gestures and they marched on to the border gate while chanting "Terai zindabad!" (as is also done by muslims at the Wagha border crossing at Pakistan). A few minutes after the official allowed me to continue my way towards Nepalganj as the protesters were far away. A minute on the way with the rickshaw, I saw some big red stains on the road while a shopkeeper was putting salt on them. Could those stains be....? We passed several buildings of the UN food help programme and of Concern, the UK charity. Soon we entered town and on the first roundabout there were 20 or so soldiers in riot gear posted at the middle who kept an eye on things, though all seemed fine. At the 2nd roundabout, same scenario, another team of riot geared soldiers waiting around and overlooking the road. In the hotel I relaxed and had a shower. Meanwhile I heard more chanting again as if the same protesters had come marching back. When I went out 20 minutes afterwards, the streets were all dark and empty, most shops closed except for food stall, liquor stores and little canteens. As if people had given themselves their own curfew as even the soldiers were slowly driving away from the roundabout nearby.

Oh Maarten, I must confess that I sinned and ate meat again. Just like that one time in Lahore. This time just for the novelty of tasting water buffalo meat. Paul had told me that in Nepal they love eating buffalo meat and I must say that it is quite tasty. More tasting like a mix of mutton and beef, but then a taste of beef that has a darker and more freely living essence. Not the caged and hormonal-pumped taste of red cow beef, thankfully. As the Nepalese eat a lot of meat, Mutton, chicken and buffalo, the food here is very much like in Pakistan. Perhaps because there are a lot of muslims in the Terai region but the native Nepali's like to eat meat too. I hope to encounter momo's and noodle soups soon enough but so far not seen or tasted.

That it is tropical here, I experienced here through the nightly presence of many mosquito's but so far haven't been bitten. Lucky deet.

I already bought a bunch of Nepali tapes and mp3 cd's. Can't break a habit ey? I especially like the truly Nepali *Lok geet* folkpop style, that sounds like a mix of Indian and Chinese pop with a hint of Burmese tap drumming. It's lightheaded sweet pop in a rhythm that somehow resembles Jamaican riddims and even distant acoustic dubstep.

After Nepalganj I took an 8 hour bus to Butwal, a very nice afternoon ride through the forest and hills of the Terai. Butwal is a nice city on the highway towards Chitwan natural park and the has the river Tinau flowing through it. I walked through the shanty part of town which was on the banks of the Tinau river and a small water canal, dug by the UN. People live in small tin roofed houses and wash themselves in the river, kids playing everywhere. People greeted me and I stopped at several houses to take pictures and kids wanting to have their picture taken without asking for rupees as kids do in India, even while Nepal is more poor. I stumbled upon a local market and for 20 rupees and I ate 2 plates of fish and chuti pieces. Chuti is a sort of dry crisp grain that when it gets wet (with sauce) it soaks it up and becomes soft as a sort of rice or soft pasta. Quite nice! Good fish too, fresh from the Tinau river.

I took a bus to Lumbini, the birthplace of Siddartha Gautama, otherwise known as the first Buddha. I rented a bicycle and drove through the tree forest area and stopped at the Mayadevi temple, the birthplace of Buddha. King Ashoka around 250BC had even placed a stone on the spot to be believed to be the exact point of Siddartha's birth and this stone can still be seen, protected by a glass case 2 meters underground in the temple structure. Many buddhist pilgrims walked about in their white, red or orange robes.
You can also find a place to sleep in this buddhist sanctuary wood as buddhist temples of various countries are built of being built by governments and/or institutions from Japan, Thailand, China, Korea, France, German, Sri Lank and Burma to name a few. A lot of people that I had met, like Jim and a German fella on bicycle, had advised to stay at the Korean buddhist temple for it's good peace and especially the good food. The vegetarian food was very good indeed as it was like a buffet with maby dishes. Also the dorms were simple, nice and clean. Stone beds consisting of a little bit of foam and thick blankets, but they were fine to sleep on. The most important room of the temple is the buddha room, which is used for meditation and ceremony. I saw the evening ceremony where 4 monks sang in a different tone and recited mantra's for about 30 minutes. It was very nice to close your eyes and listen, just listening to their drone and peacefull tone and I felt refreshed afterwards.
We were woken up at 6am by the monks for breakfast, but as everyone had gone to sleep around 10pm, it wasn't hard to wake up. Besides, I wanted to wake up early to go cycling to Kapilavastu which was nearly 30km's away. Even on the heavy iron bike, it just took me more than 2 hours as the road was in quite good condition. I passed through many villages which mostly were muslim by the sight of mosques and bearded shopkeepers. People waved, young and old alike, also some bewildered and bemused looks from locals as I overtook them on their bike and it was a fun ride. At least it was still fresh in the morning mist which was better for when the sun would settle. I first went to Kudan, the monastery where Siddartha went to seek enlightenment after he left the palace in Kapilavastu and before he went down to India to spread his teachings. It seemed like a deserted place, only the huts of local farmers nearby and I walked around the crumbled structure and the many beautiful huge trees. Other than that, not much to see there. It depends what you are looking for. I took the road to Tilaurkot, which is the settlement where the remains Kapilavastu are, the old kingdom of Siddartha's family which he left to pursue enlightenment. Here there was more to see than at Kudan. More indication of marked structures and you could imagine the whole complex on this field, with the bathing places and courtyards. There were still some remains of the gate from where Siddartha had left the complex, never to return. The place had a special atmosphere about it, especially in sound because there were several things to hear and see; the little Hindu elephant temple overgrown by a tree where and old man and women sat, a little boy playing a drum. The sound of religious Hindu music from a little farm on the right. The live wedding music of a muslim marriage from the village at the front of the gate (which I passed just before). The group of Sri Lankese buddhist pilgrims who wandered through the site. Quite a bizarre mix of religious intonations. These 3 religions, Buddhism, Hinduism and Islamism, manifesting themselves at this very spot, playing or just existing through and with each other. That to me was the more special meaning of this place instead of the old value of the site.
I drove the same way back to the Korean temple, 30km's again, but now with the sun settled on me. All in all a very nice ride of 60km's. But to again do it on a heavy iron bike like this one? Euh, no.

I arrived last night in Tansen, the Palpa district. Finally, the mountains! It was a 2 hour ride from Butwal and as the bus was full I had to sit on the roof, such magnificent views I got! I sat between a pack of baba's, holy men dressed in orange robes who are on a spiritual journey. They were quite the funny characters as they cracked one joke after the other and were smoking weed spliffs. The mix of these funny folks, the smell of weed and views into deep ravines where valleys of rice terraces, rocky river flows and villages dwelled beneath while rough forested peaks rose above us. Wow. How small a human indeed can feel. And so lucky too. As we drove by dusk I even spotted a small lynx (or wildcat) on the road and it swiftly ducked into the nearest bushes. Settled in a cosy yet basic hotel, overlooking the Tansen valleys from high up, I spend my evening in local food-drink-gathering places, where locals drink, eat and watch tv together, either Nepali soaps or US movies.

Oh yeah, people here all understand Hindi and it helps me a great deal to get around, even through giggles or small talk. Nepali is a sort of Hindi dialect with more Asian pronounciation. To chai (tea) they say *chia*, pronounced as *tsjia*.

In the next days I will go towards Pokhara. The mountains and villages around here are so nice, maybe I will hang around here a bit longer.

Do tell me Maarten, how do you fare on your freedom journey?
much regards,
your pal Seb


Tek, the kind customs official

Torn movie poster art in Nepalganj. Love that gallow.

Dusty ride on the Terai forest roads

Water canal in Butwal, shantytown on the side.

Chicken feet in sauce in shantytown market, Butwal.

half a pig with puddle, full a man gracing above

man with colorful Nepali topi hat that many folks wear here

Maya Devi temple, birthplace of Siddartha (Buddha)

scriptures on Kudan monastery

ridin' on the roof of the bus with the baba's in tow

some more snapshot views from the roof......

Pakistani flashbacks

and suddenly a second post within the day, such inspiration ey?

-little side update, in a few hours I am taking the train to northern Uttar Pradesh towards the mid-western Nepalese border. It's next to the Maoist territory, where not many tourists go to as it is a crossing off the beaten track. Hopefully in Nepal by lunch tomorrow. It's a bit unstable in Nepal right now as they just had an oil crisis that lasted 2 weeks. Things seem to turn back to normal but in the south western Terai area there are still some curfews in effect in several towns. And rara, where am I heading? Yup. I do feel that things are safe enough in Terai and the curfew area's are out of my way so far I checked. Like this report, the place is out of my way: http://www.nepalnews.com/archive/2008/feb/feb27/news07.php
From the Terai on I'll move towards Pokhara and the Annapurna region. For more current affairs in Nepal, keep a tab on the insightful news site www.nepalnews.com.
-The negative travel advice from western embassies can be taken with a pinch of salt. For instance, the negative advice list on Pakistan is still double as big as Nepal's and you all know we encountered no problems in Pakistan-
Maarten has just decided not to go down to Karnataka after some pondering. Who knows where'll he go but he might choose for north eastern Jharkand, Bihar or Sikkim. He can better tell you himself.

Some Muharram photo's inserted below in this post, finally. By luck we met beardy Maciek (Magic) here in Delhi a few days ago while sitting in the same web spot , nearly next to each other! We had met him in Lahore during the bloody Muharram days and he promised give us some photo's of the Muharram ceremony. Which he did now, scroll below. Therefore, Pakistani flashbacks!
Big thanks to Maciek for these detailed and atmosphere-filled pictures. Travel safe and fine, ye m*thrf*cker ;)

and yeah, before we are off and will not upload much stuff anymore...here some last Pakistani radiophonic candy that I found in the dusty corners of the krazy korg. Cooked in static, salted with hiss and cracks.

Soft disco synth beats and traditional sounds combined in a movie song, perhaps as a remix I think. Those 80's beat-rolls are great.

Unknown artists - Pakistani movie disco pop

How the film nostalgia suddenly washed over us hehe. It certainly took our breath away, giggle. In this Urdu version she sings about *no hope*. Oh dear, we hope the Pakistani airforce fared better on screen here.

Unknown artist - Asa nahi (No hope)

It's not Uncle Sam that is invading Pakistan society, but another bearded so-called officer who sells pieces of unhealthy sizzling chicken. Poor Pakistan.

Pakistani US styled ad

Interlude taken off a Karachi station who played more easy and modern styled music (read: westernized). Quite a good piece, sounds like a discostyled Secret Chiefs 3 ;)

Unknown artist - Pakistani rock & beats interlude

Remember that we hitched a ride from the Pakistani highway patrol? Here's the proof in sound, as I sneakily recorded inside the car while they played popfolk tapes and gave us snacks to eat. Sorry for the muffled quality, it was just for the novelty really.

Pakistani highway patrol - police pop ride


words missing.......why go find them.







next first post from Nepal or eastwards...who knows.

Western India round-up in a loophole circle

It's been nearly a full month since our last post here, so beware the lenght beneath. This trip, like a sort of lapsed hiatus within our trip, was as if we needed an extra holiday within a holiday. hah indeed.
It has fully refreshed us though and was perfect for closing the projects.
Well.. closed, that will take a bit longer with the editing ahead back home.

We did get some extra last things done for the Rajasthan project, especially in Rajasthan in Jaisalmer and Pushkar. Recordings that we couldn't do back in November but now were able to do so. Even when travelling in a different mood and quickened rhythm, together with close people this time. Perhaps that was just the most positive part of this ending, to share our experiences and giving our swiftly arrived travellers a seriously good view into our past few months. Ey, at least we haven't been lazy... not too lazy. ;)

At the freshest start of February, our girls Jet and Ness arrived at Delhi airport and it was to be the start of a 23 day trip along the western part of India. We had kinda set upon a blueprint schedule where we would see the desert, sea, lakes and mountains. From west to south-western to north-western surroundings, spawning about 1500 kilometers from up to down. And we managed to do it all, right till the last day! By crikey, after having taken so many long distance buses and some trains we might as well have spent almost a week in transportation if you add up all the hours on the road. All worth it though, as daytime views from our windows were always rewarding, peeking into roadside life, scenery and passenger affairs on board.

We started in Jaisalmer, where we arrived after a 18 hour ride. Again we settled in the Hillview hotel of the modest Kirta and found ourselves back in the local gypsy area of the Lohar blacksmiths and the musicians, among the goats sitting or lying everywhere on the street. We finally recorded the Kamaycha musician who was sick last time we were here and the setting at the temple lake was just perfect to film. The Kamaycha is a horesehair stringed violin of 3 thick snares that resonates through several thinner metal snares behind the main ones and is like a rounder Sarangi with a darker sound. Kinda like a small desert cello. We did the typical touristic thing by having a camel safari, but we did it in good ecotouristic fashion with local people from desert villages through the help of our kind hotel manager Kirta. Only one night though, but it still was great since we stayed of the main camel routes of all the other tourist treks and got better taken care of. We had heard previous stories from other people, how their camel safari was boring, overpriced and had bad food. But none of this on our trek as we indeed had gotten a special deal with good and earnest people. During the day we sat on the camels, us bobbing up and down with its walking rhythm and listening to the many squeezy animal farts while we passed high dunes. The quietness in the valley and the dunes was impressive. Hardly any sound at all, it was as if everything natural was muffled, silenced like a play-dead organism.
We spent the night around a campfire talking and staring into the fire and looking at the far away and closer stars. So many, we could see nearly all constellations and patterns that you otherwise can not see in city spheres. It was so intensely dark, no artificial lights or anything except for the sparse jeeps of motorbikes passing on the distant road down below the valley.
We tasted a bit of local desert millet brew brought by our funny guides, which tasted like a soft poteen whiskey spirit. . At some point a bit of manical dancing around the campfire by the hand of the elastic legged guide who had quite some to drink. Fun fun. We slept in the desert that night. It was cold, but not as bad as people are led to believe. In the early morning me and Ness woke up to see the sunrise on the chilly dunes. The sun slowly crawling up to reheat the sand once more, continuing the neverending cycle. We had already seen a lot of antilope deers running around the previous day and during the morning we saw many grey desert foxes (fenixes) who didn't really seem scared of us, looking from a safe distance.
Back in Jaisalmer, we met Mohan Lal and his family again where we got some freshmade lassi yoghurt drink, straight from their cow hours before. We wanted to record Mohan with his cousins this time, as they have a band where they play various instruments. Their sound is way different from any Rajasthani folk that we have encountered, so we coined it the *Lohar* style. The central instrument in this group was the tambura, a long 4 metal stringed lute that is played in a repetitive manner, strumming a melody near like a Northern African desert guitar. The sound was accompanied by chanting vocals, clinging kartals, a dholak and an earthwork jug that was thrown into the air while being blowed in (which created a seriously sweet deep and subtle echo!). 60 minutes of pure trancedental Lohar folk with holy lyrics and the longer it went on, the more hypnotic the atmosphere in the room became. Wow.
It was time to leave Jaisalmer after 5 days, how quick time goes. A quick stop in Jodhpur and then down to Gujarat, the coastal state in the midwest of India. Gujarat is a non tourist place for reasons unknown as there is so much to discover and enjoy. A bit of a link to Holland, as Gujarat is the place from where most ancestors of Surinam's hindu people come from. The people were like a true mix of Rajasthani's and Maharastrans (the state of Bombay), since it is situated beween those states. They sometimes had the folkloric dress and looks of nomads or either the open faces of more southern people. There also were quite a lot of people from African descent who most likely have been brought over by Portugese slavetraders in colonial times, one can only guess to where those roots lead in Africa. Perhaps from Angola or Mozambique? We went to Junagadh and the island Diu. In Junagadh we also visited the old Uperkot fort that dates from 300 BC, built during the Mauryan rule and controlled in the era of the Ashoka kingdom (India's first national kingdom in ancient times).
The fort had a big waterbasin behind it that looked out onto the Girnar mountain, of which locals say it looks like Vishnu's face (well faintly, but better on the postcards in a sort of photoshopped version hah). After Junagadh we took various slow rides to Diu. Just 150 km's away, it took us about 8 hours to finally arrive on the island, to give you an idea of the slow pace in local buses and waiting time.
Diu is cut off from the Indian/Gujarati continent by a narrow water passage and straight away it felt like not being in India anymore. The atmosphere was more relaxed than elsewhere in Gujarat and the place had a sleepytown feel to it like an eternal siesta time. We had a hotel just a minute walking from the sea, the Arabian sea! Quite a peacefull sea with no wild waves and open water ahead. The coast was very rocky with darkish grey and sometimes sharp formations. Many shards of old pottery lay in the shallow water pools in which also crabs and small green shrimps lived. We hired motorpeds and spent the next days exploring the island, which was about 15 km's long. The best was a morning trip to Vanakbara, a small fishing town on the other side of the island. The ride to the village through the lush and slightly hilly roads with palm and green vegetation was quite amazing. Many children and townfolks waving to us in the fresh sunlight, various tropical birds shrieking from the trees. In Vanakbara we saw the harbour and visted to fishing market where only women were selling fish (quite unusual in India). Such choice of fish too! Fish we never had seen before, big and small ones. They also sold various types an sizes of shark, ray, tuna, squid and swordfish and we bought some unknown fish pieces to cook up later at the beach with massala and in the oven (which was very tasty by the way). Walking through the harbour, we also encountered many fishmongers cutting up fish. Big ones, like 1,5m sharks, a huge rayshark and fat tuna's. We asked where they sell the fish and most of it was to be sent to the richer cities of Kolkata, Bangalore, Mumbai and Delhi and not as international export. Except for the shark's finns. Those were put apart for the London restuarant market. Indian people don't really eat finns anyway, one monger said. After having relaxed in Diu, enjoying the sea an eating a lot of freshly made ice cream (like anywhere in Gujarat where it is very well made, with special tastes of figs, dates, flowers, guava, nuts and so on), it was time to go up north again, back into Rajasthan. We visited Udaipur and by pure coincidence it was valentine's day, urgh. Udaipur is tagged as India's most romantic city so there were lots of couples around. But we escaped the mushy valentine feel as we didn't care about it, thank goodness the girls neither.
Next day we left for Pushkar, the holy town where me and Maarten lived for 1 month. We were about to be guides, if we wanted it or not but it was fun as we already knew in the in and outs. When we arrived we bumped into the Bhopa gypsies in town as expected and they told us that the eldest son of our teacher Rampal was going to marry the next day. When they called Rampal (cos although they are indeed poor, they do have mobile phones hah) we were straight invited to the wedding! Such a luck, such chance, ofcourse we couldn't let this pass, especially as it was Rampal's family which we have gotten to know the best during our project time. The ceremony and party would be at seperate locations outside Pushkar, more in the desert so we rented motorcycles to get around. We first went up to the tent camp of the bride's family several km's further tucked between the dusty mountains. Both families joining in to start the traditional ceremony and as it was a low caste wedding, there was very little around of what you otherwise would encounter at an Indian wedding. The lack of richness made it only more special and sincere. During the built up, the women of the girl's family started heavily weeping and the bride even louder. The to-be husband stood there alone in the middle, waiting for it all to happen with shiny sunglasses and a sullen, downward look. An elderly woman, the grandmother of the bride, said some rites while the bride and groom stood together. All the men of both families started throwing purple paint on each other's white nomad kurta's. The purple purely signified happiness, not blood. The women started wailing and singing sort of goodbye songs while the bride wept. The girl would go on to live 10 km's further with Rampal's family and perhaps never come back to stay with her family. The family of the bride stayed in their camp and did not travel to Rampal's village where the party of his family would start. Whether the girl's family was allowed to join the party at one of the other days then, as a Bhopa wedding lasts 5 days, we don't know nor ask. Maybe it's tradition that the other family can not come. In the village and inbetween the many small goats of Rampal's household, we sat down and listened to the talking and the acoustic music played on the ravannatha and dholak. They played songs that we didn't hear before as they were reserved for this special occasion and Rampal even asked us to record it in sound and visuals, for us to use in the project and especially as a souvenir for his family. As dusk was setting in, we had to go back to Pushkar and said goodbye to Rampal and Sita for perhaps a long time. Next day we took a night bus to Agra. Yup the Taj Mahal. Cliche indeed, but it was on our way up north to the mountains so it even proved a handy stop. Arriving at cold dawn, we already made sure to secure a train ticket for a midday train to Delhi so that we would not get stuck in Agra. Up to Taj Mahal in the early morning mist, we walked on the empty path to the gate with no people or tourists in sight. Streets still empty from hustlers, such a bliss. Monkeys all around, who were being fed dry bread by local caretakers. At the gate they demanded a hefty fee of 750rps foreigner entry fee, which is like 12 euro. Perhaps not that much money for us, but if you're a while in India you start to see the real value of such money into an Indian context. We opted not to pay and people told us that at the back of Taj Mahal it was for free. The river Yamuna flows behind it and we could get on a small 100 rupee boat which dropped us on small patches of land in the middle of the river. Lo and behold, we had a full view of Taj Mahal!, the back that is. The sun on our faces and the solitude of our river spot at our disposal for the next 30 minutes, wow! We took the typical posing pics, also of the reflection in the water, making the Taj look like a double fold poster. Plus pics of the garbage on the riverside, the other not so nice side of Taj Mahal that tourist probably never see. Back on the shore, we posed with the many military guards, who are there to counter terrorist threats. We wanted to take pics with us holding their rifles with the Taj Mahal looming behind us in a faux-pas style, but alas, permission refused haha. I did get a photo with me wearing their helmet ;)
We spent several hours in the Kinari bazar of inner city Agra, the bustling muslim merchant area in a maze of alleys where Ness and Jet found various paper design thingies and allsorts for their creative concepts. Train at the station delayed as usual so we arrived in Delhi quite later and took a night train to Chandigarh, capital of Punjab. The city is famous for being India's only planned city out of need for a new capital after the 1947 partition, when former capital Lahore suddenly belonged to Pakistan. It was designed by American urban planners Albert Mayer and Matthew Nowicki and carried out by Le Corbusier and his cousin Pierre Jeanneret, also with the help of the English architect couple Drew and Fry. A city amazing for anyone who has a serious interest in modern and minimal architecture. We were more curious about the design than seriously dedicated to archtecture. We entered the outskirts at night so didn't see much, but the next morning we ventured into the blocks, named as *sectors*. It looked quite bizarre, like a mix of American grid style building with long wide avenues and cubic housing estates which looked very like the new concrete estates in Holland. We first went to the Nek Chand rock garden. Neck Chand was a local who devoted nearly 50 years of his life to living in this spacious garden and building an ornamental garden with the use of riverbed rocks, garbage and recycled building materials. The result is a super special garden that balances between a natural setting and open air art. Man made water cascades, rocky towers, passageways and planted greenery alongside human and animal statues. See our pics when they're uploaded to get a good impression. In the garden cafeteria we met Narinder Singh, a quircky local Sikh man of old age clutching his briefcase and talking to us in a funny jib. He was a guide, but not one that you would normally encounter as he could take us to many special places. Untill his retirement in 1994, he had been a vivid secretary at the Punjab ministry of finance. Because according to him the city lacks any human guides for backpackers, he voluntarily declared himself a non-profit guide and thus guides around young foreigners, for his own fun basicly. We let him show us around a bit and he even had the contacts and stringpulling skills to get us into the special high court building, one of those special structures designed by Le Corbusier. Normally you have to get permission downtown and deliver all kinda documents, passpart and photo's, but Narendra arranged it all within an hour. Wow.
So there we walked, inbetween the lawyers and judges with their white slabs hanging from their necks while we saw all the corners and levels of the building. Click click went the camera of the girls, with design on their minds.
In the interesting city museum we learned that a lot of the housing estates were indeed built with the help of the Dutch, so no surprise there with our thoughts earlier that day. The museum was a nice collection of old pre-partition photo's of the city area and showed the whole story of the operation to build the city from scratch, before first having to flatten 30 old villages or so from existence as playground for the new concrete. Also the original letters with president Nehru were exhibited, as well as some letters containing funny complaints and requests of Le Corbusier (about some of the quircks of Indians workers). On photo's the structures and designs of Jeanneret, Drew and Fry were shown and I think all of us prefered the more lush organic style of Jeanneret to the cubic garden movement style of Drew and Fry.
We had just a few days left and decided that we wanted to go further north, into Himachal Pradesh to see the Himalaya. In the evening we tried to arrange a night bus to Dharamsala and with the kind help of Narendra we found out how and what. He finally took us to an old cinema for free, one designed by Fry and Drew, where we saw a bit of a bizarre King Kong movie, seriously B style from the late 70's or early haha. The screenwall was designed very special in a broad and outlining way as if the screen oozed into the room. Really nice, bonus points for Drew and Fry.
We said goodbye to sweet Narendra, who could go home satisfied and surely he would go on to look for new tourists the next day.

Our rocky night bus ride to Dharamsala in half stuffed seats. It was said to be a Deluxe bus. That's also what was written on the outside, so at least they didn't lie :) We did sleep a bit, with intervals, but allmighty!!!! The descending freefall speed of the bus made it a plain hair raising ride, adrenaline thrilling :)
Bend after bend, the driver steered the bus with precision on the narrow mountain roads in the stark dark. I wonder how many lives a cat would lose if driving with us. When the first lights of dawn seeped through the windows we were rewarded with a spectacular first view of the Himalaya range. Jawdropping. At the small bus station we waited a bit and took the bus to McLeod Ganj, the village on the mountain above Dharamsala, home to the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan government in exile and many Tibetan refugees. It was very busy on the streets and we had problems to get a hotel. We soon found out why, as the Dalai Lama would deliver his yearly speech to buddhist pilgrims in the big monastery. Many western folks too and we even encountered a camera crew from the freethinking Dutch VPRO broadcasting company from a programme Maarten en Jet knew. By pure unavoided coincidence we bumped into Jim from Austin who we had met in Lahore last month and later on also Hiroshi from Osaka who we had met on the bus to Pushkar days before. Travel paths are still very narrow here. Walking around the streets that were filled with Tibetan buddhists in red robes, we felt refreshed in this clear mountain air. We were about 2000 meters up and several snowpeaked mountain surrounded us, surely between 3000 and 5000 meters high. Mountains make humans always feel puny and humble, it's a nice thing for if you want to feel balanced again. Also the Tibetan food was a delcious change to our greasy and spicy Indian diet and we devoured momo's, thukpe and thenthuk noodle soups with pleasure in little places filled with Tibetans. Overly humble and reserved Tibetans as they are, to contrast them with the all too vivid Indians. next say me and Ness got a ride to the Dal lake, which the night before we had turned into a joke; dal as in greasy lentils and India's national dish, "Don't forget to take chappatis to the lake". The lake was small and more for kids peddling on with pedalo boats in the shape of a dragon or swan, but a pine forest lay quietly around it. We had our breakfast there and therefore missed the first morning speech that the Dalai Lama gave. Maarten en Jet did go and see him and even managed to catch a glimpse of him in the crammed monastey. We went to the midday speech but didn't manage to get in as we had to register blahblah, give passport/photo's and so, which we didn't carry on us. Instead we listened a bit to him outside on the courtyard inbetween Tibetan locals and travellers. Westerners listening to him on handheld radio's as he spoke in Tibetan. I bought a variety of Tibetan folk and temple music from streetside stand, enough to still my audiophonic hunger like I had done weeks before in Gujarat. We only stayed one night as we needed to get back to Delhi the day after for Jet and Ness to take their flights back home. Already. Time always passes quick, just too darn quick when you're enjoying it so much. This time around no rocky ride in a *deluxe* bus, but a real luxury tourist bus where we got a sleeper cabine to lay down. A lot of loud honking at night at some point, when we were stuck at some small construction road with trucks blocking the passage. Or us blocking them. Either way, it wasn't a 2 lane way for sure. Back in Delhi we had full day ahead from the morning we arrived till the midnight flight. We went to Inder's house where we had stored some of our project and souvenir stuff to packmule Ness and Jet with, the poor ones. Dinner with Inder in the same good Punjabi restaurant from our meet-ups with Inder before was good and soon after we left for the airport. It was a typcial chaos there and suddenly the looming goodbye was rushed as me and Maarten were not allowed into the departure hall, since only people holding a flight ticket could enter. Pffff. At least we could see from a distance that all went well for Ness and Jet to check in and last waives were exchanged for now....


so what's next up for us, still having 2 months left to travel about......
After having tasted the first Himalayan mountains and soaking up all the good talk about Nepal, we just can't miss it. At the start of our trip we didn't intend to go into Nepal but how quickly things change. We will seperate our ways in a few days and I will go straight up north and spend a month or so in Nepal. Maarten meanwhile will first go southwards to the coastal Karnataka state before going up north again into Nepal and get himself into Tibet to explore the vast mountain plains and unknown village regions.
No Tibet for me alas, as I will turn eastwards back into India and visit Darjeeling's tea region, communist Kolkata (Calcutta) and then down to the eastern coastal jungle state of Orissa and perhaps inland Chattisgarh. Around that time, Maarten will probably be finding his way to Europe by overland travel through Iran and Turkey and who knows where. So many destinations, possibly criscrossing each other's routes and such.

From the moment we split up, we'll both keep the blog alive with our dislocated stories into digital moulds. Some more nomadic sleeping bag adventures for you all to read, as successive stories from different locations that will mix like colors that don't match. But that's just the fun of it all, we think.

Some photo's are uploaded, some more tomorrow, a fine best-of mishmash taken by all of us! Especially Jet has been a busy bee taking what must be thousands o pics with her much better camera, proving her artistic photographic skills.
Oh perhaps you noticed already: my pictures have a certain hazy blur in the centre right since a while now. Bruised and strained lens, that also doesn't like to close anymore with other bizarre side effects. I guess that's what happens if you expose a cheap camera (samsung fyi) to the elements of backpackerism. yup.

click.