A Flourish of Fortifications

On leaving the countryside, Thilo’s fast dwindling time necessitated some hard-core sightseeing and this we did with avengence, seeing more magnificent forts, temples, mosques and palaces in a five day period then many see in a lifetime.

From the stunning forest surroundings of the fortified palaces and temples of Orchra, to the imposing hill-top fort at Gwaliar and the showy Maharajah’s palace - complete with absurd family memorabilia, two of the largest chandeliers in the world (3 and a half tons each – it is said a 1.5km ramp was built so that they could test the structural strength of the dining room roof with 8 elephants) and a literal drinks train that delivers your whisky et al.. to you at dinner - to the pristinely preserved grand mosque and palace at Fatehpur Sikri with its charming Hiran Minar complete with stone tusks jutting out, believed to be built to commemorate Akbar’s favourite elephant and offering wonderful views of the borderland of UP with Rajastan. More great sights then it is possible to fully take in in such a limited time.

Saying that, it was one of those great periods of travel when you bound with energy from one place to another on dirty smelly bumpy buses and end up at a final destination (unfortunately - due to the nasty tourist industry- this detination was Agra) a little bit dazed but thoroughly happy with the bucket load of memories that you have collected in such a short space of time.

This is the advantage and disadvantage of traveling with someone who has much less time then yourself. It is true that you can not take the time you would ideally like to get a real feel for your surroundings, but at the same time left to my own devices I would probably still be in Varanasi bonging drums - and that would be far less efficient as Thilo would be sure to acknowledge. A great few days of flurry!

For your info the pictures are bottom to top from Orchra, Gwaliar Fort, a rather interesting statue from the Maharaja’s Palace (a deity at play I believe), and the Jami Masjid (Friday Mosque) from Fatehpur Sikri.

Kinky Kujaraho

We rocked into Kujaraho for a really interesting 3 days amongst the exceedingly impressive set of circa thousand year old Hindu and Jain temples made famous by their often raunchy sculptures.

And yes, some of the more sexual sculptures are fun and illuminated a certain level of frustration in my German colleague and myself. To just concentrate on these multiple images of beautiful women and associated scenes would not though do anything close to justice to these quite magnificent temples.

There are some marked similarities to the Angkor temples and indeed impressed me to a level that exceeds nearly all that I have seen outside of those Cambodian legends in terms of architectural beauty and design. Achieving perhaps the height of Indian design for their era, they especially impress for the exquisite detail in sculpture from the pinnacle of the towers to the most dark inner recesses of the sanctum - quite astonishing.

Alongside the temple viewing came a few beers and fascinating conversation with various people. Long debates late into the darkness with an interesting American called Robert particularly stick out - ummm, who are the most influential figures of the second millennium A.D. - one to ponder over and over (oh and I actually managed to hold conversations with the Spaniards in their native tongue which surprised me).

Perhaps the highlight for me was cycling through tiny picturesque villages to far out temples as our final day drew to a close. Waves from little kids, water-buffalo and my first ever sighting of a mongoose where all special, but sitting on the temple steps aghast at the stark beauty of the sun disappearing behind the hills in an array of colours surely will stay with me longest. A place recommended to all!

Varansi - India in the Raw

Thilo and I spent a full week in the almost indescribable extremity of humanity that is Varanasi. Arguably the most sacred of the 7 holy Hindu cities, it is a place like no other I have experienced or thought I would experience.

Like most Indian cities I have to so far witnessed, it sprawls out from the centre in the usual polluted, over-crowded, and dirty way, with fascinating activity everywhere. It is though the old centre that is of key interest. It coils around the western bank of the mighty Ganga (Ganges) with a maze of tiny ancient crazy streets sprawling behind the numerous ghats (essentially stairs into water) that stretch as far as the eye can see, invading the sacred water.

I have been trying to think how best to describe this truly mad place and the best I can come up with is to describe what you see on a normal days journey from Shanti Guesthouse by the river to the main street. You wander between multi story crumbling buildings (half of them seemingly temples) in streets no wider than a couple of metres which meander each and every direction every few metres. In these streets are hundreds of alive people buying, selling, cooking, chanting, begging, praying, dying and a few very less alive people being carried down in procession on stretchers to be cremated and their remains dropped in the Ganga. You literally have to jump out the way of these walking rituals as the family chant away. Add to this bikes, motor-bikes, mice, monkeys, rats, dogs everywhere and perhaps most importantly numerous holy cow. Some of these are relatively similar to the cows back home, but others are huge with protruding horns and others are quite literally buffalo. Try to picture what this means. You have to dodge and weave deadly cow horns, motorized vehicles, the dead and everything else in the middle of shit-strewn alleys, rancid smells and a whole furore of noise – I loved it!!

There is a high military presence everywhere (the political and religious tension is very high in this town as shown through 2 bombs that went off the week before we arrived), which combined with being taken to watch human bodies melt in the flames of small pires in the open, tendered by the untouchables with the ribs for men and hips for women eventually being chucked in the Ganga as the only remaining part of the mortal body – images I will carry with me to my dying day – mean that your emotions should naturally be at there edges. Though, the comparable serenity of our guesthouse with spectacular views over the river and the bone-scattered flood plain beyond, cricket everywhere, a few yoga sessions (thank you Michelle) and drum “lessons” allowed me to be in a very relaxed state of mind in all the chaos.

We spent much time up and down the river by foot, along the ghats or on row-boats witnessing religious ceremonies involving fiery gold cobra heads, bathing, washing, kids playing cricket, cow-cleaning, burning and even a crazy ashen-clad holy man overlooking all from his skull-thrown and only marginally distracted by his mobile. In this place the temples are the biggest drug-dealers.

One particular image that sticks is of untouchable children (the lowest caste who to many are so dirty and low that they are literally untouchable and the only people who can carry out the burning) walking home with some charred wood from the cremation carried over their heads rapped in the bright red funeral cloth with gold tassels (see second picture). Their biggest payment is the charred remains covered in drippage from the fat and much else. As is so often said and I have copied - this is India in the raw!!

Day-trips to the ruined fort, bath and mosque of Islamic kings at Jaunpur and the ancient Buddhist temple and stuppa at Sarnath, where Buddha gave his first sermon, added a beautiful context to the baptism of fire into Hinduism at Varanasi. I have never seen so many things with so many arms, heads and appendages being prayed to in my life. The Hindu pantheon is a lot to get your head around but I am giving it a good go.

So to conclude Varanasi is where they burn the dead and put them in the Ganga and then dogs eat the remains of the bodies, cows impale you in tiny ancient streets, people bathe in the same water and so much more indescribable craziness... a lot to get your head around. I will return before this trip is out!!!

P.s. it is said mosquitos will not bite you if you wash in Ganga water - a quite simply terrifying thought!

Happy Holi from Mathura

HOLI is one of the biggest Hindu festivals of the year and is celebrated all over India. Our original plan was to dash from the cricket to Varanasi in order to celebrate in perhaps the holiest city, BUT on a random whim from a piece of advice and short of time we went to Mathura instead – as it turned out, one of the best decisions that will be made on this trip!

Mathura is also one of the most sacred cities, especially to followers of Vishnu, as Krishna (Vishnu’s 7th incarnation and of Hari or "Lord" Krishna fame) was born here, but comparably off the tourist map. Since Holi is a festival about Krishna, you can imagine this would be the place to be. After our first day wandering around the city and learning about Hinduism in a major temple, on the main day of Holi we jumped in a rickshaw and ended up in Vrindavan, the most sacred site around Mathura.

The core part of the festival, “to play Holi”, involves everyone brave enough to be on the street plastering everyone who is stupid enough to be on the street with colour. This is usually in the form of powder paint of every colour imaginable but predominantly pink for medium term skin discolouration. Unfortunately that is not all you get plastered with. From oil paints to puddle water, silly-string to excrement – anything throws!

Despite the peculiarities of certain missiles I had an amazing time. Often it is just a case of a man coming up to you, blessing you with paint on your forehead or rubbing it on your face followed by three hugs and a ‘Happy Holi’. Other times it is more of a running battle. Packs of men occupy stretches of the road waiting to smother you. Nothing, or nowhere is off limits for the throwing. As the only westerners noticeably present we were prime targets. This generally made it even more fun as I enjoy a bit of a rumble, but at times it was understandably too much for Martina - as a blond female, this meant wondering hands were by no means off the agenda. It is very difficult because here the women are not involved in such celebrations, so if you choose to join as a western woman you should expect some inevitable actions from many a desperate man who sees foreigners as little more then sex-symbols. This is by no means an excuse for some of their disgraceful actions which did on at least one occasion lead her to tears. There was often one really low and pathetic guy who really needed to grow up. If there families knew they would be in disgrace.

The highlight for me was entering a temple at the heart of all the fun on my loansome, as one of us had to look after Martina, and entering one of the craziest environments of my short life. Thousands of people crammed into a temple dancing, singing, holi’ing. The atmosphere was so thick with powder paint that it was hard to breathe. I had no option but to join the crazy dancing and have a great time until I received a particularly vicious projectile of yellow paint into my eyes. I was temporarily blinded in the middle of a huge crowd and had to rely on kind strangers to take me to the nearest water supply in order to at least partially recover my sight before rejoining the fun.

All in all so much fun and an incredible experience. The photos give an idea of just how battered we got. Further, this stuff does not just wash off. All the clothes were forever altered along with Martina’s hair (now pinky-purple) and Thilo has rather effeminate painted toe-nails.To cap the whole experience off, a ride back to Mathura in a rickshaw full of no less then 20 brightly coloured individuals (squeezed on every seat and lap, hanging off the sides and on the roof – my seat was largely a rather pointy gear-stick) on a very bumpy road was something else.

Happy Holi to all!!!