Our Itinerary

12th Oct 2017 Thursday Newcastle to Sydney (train)

13th Oct 2017 Friday Syd 12pm to KL 5.35pm KL 10.35pm to Calcutta 12pm

14th Oct 2017 Saturday Calcutta fly to Delhi

15th Oct 2017 Sunday Delhi

16th Oct 2017 Monday Delhi fly to Kashmir

17th Oct 2017 Tuesday Kashmir

18th Oct 2017 Wednesday Kashmir fly to Dehrudan car (1 hr) to Rishikesh

19th Oct 2017 Thursday Rishikesh

20th Oct 2017 Friday Rishikesh

21st Oct 2017 Saturday Rishikesh car (8hrs) to Shimla

22nd Oct 2017 Sunday Shimla

23rd Oct 2017 Monday Shimla car to (8 hrs) to McLeod Ganj

24th Oct 2017 Tuesday McLeod Ganj

25th Oct 2017 Wednesday McLeod Ganj

26th Oct 2017 Thursday Mc Leod Ganj car (4.5 hrs) to Amritsar

27th Oct 2017 Friday Amritsar

28th Oct 2017 Saturday Amritsar 14.10 to Singapore 23.00

29th Oct 2017 Sunday Singapore 1.45am to Sydney 12.30pm

Thursday 12^th October, 2017

 Newcastle to Sydney

Lauren and Mark are both at work, so I take darling little Abi to school (Year 1) then Elkie and I hang out at home. I play with her in the car park. She ‘wide my bike’ which she got for her birthday which is actually tomorrow and we’re going to miss out on it – dear little one. She tells me all her news which is basically about spiders and how she ‘wubs’ us all.

At 3:30, Lauren drives us to Hamilton Station for the train to Sydney arriving at 6:30pm. We get off at Saint James Station and walk over to Jillian‘s. Jillian and Michael have both put their homes on the market and are hoping to buy at the Finger Wharf in Woolloomooloo. We walk over to the Bells Hotel for dinner and drinks, sitting outside as the weather is really mild tonight – home by 9:30 pm.

Friday 13^th October, 2017

Sydney to Calcutta

It’s Elkie‘s fourth birthday. Ma and Pa hope you have a lovely day, little Dolly. We’re so sorry we can’t be with you.

We’re up early to shower then walk across Hyde Park to Saint James Station at 8.15am. It’s a beautiful clear day and we love this part of Sydney. After catching the train to the international terminal we check in our bags.

For some reason we’re over. Mark has 14 kg and I have 16 kg. This airline only allows for 10 kg each, but the nice lady at the desk changes them back down to 10 kg. Hopefully this means that the plane isn’t full. At immigration there are long lines, but we go through fairly quickly.

We’re on Air Asia which means we need to take our own food so we buy fruit salad and muffins. Boardng is on time and amazingly, we have three seats each which means I sleep for three hours with a Temazapan and Mark even manages a few hours as well. Unbelievably, we have a snuggle.

At 5:30 pm, we land at KLIA2 which is Kuala Lumpur’s low-cost carrier airport. Here we hang out in the Air Asia lounge for $28 each. The food is crap and there’s no booze but at least we can sleep on beanbags, setting the alarm for 9:30 pm.

The gate is packed with Indians, not surprisingly as we’re heading for India, but there’s also a group of American Christians – you know, collared shirts with sensible haircuts – probably on their way to volunteer with Mother Theresa’s charity – ‘save the poor’ wankers!

The plane is full and for some reason Mark and I have seats in different rows, but the kind air hostess arranges for people to change spots so we can sit together. We’re in back row seats which can’t recline so we sit ramrod straight for the whole flight. But I do have a lovely Indian girl from Sydney sitting next to me so we chat most of the way.

After five hours, our flight lands in Calcutta at midnight. With only six people in the e-visa line and about 300 in the other we smugly imagine we’ll be through in no time, but for some reason, the e-visa line is ridiculously slow so that the 300 get through before us. A bloody shemozzle! Ha, Ha! Welcome to India!

Mark withdraws some Rupee while I line up for the prepaid taxi. Again, it takes forever, but we chat to a South African couple behind us. As expected, it’s hot and humid outside but we’re soon in a taxi for 650 Rp to take us Dum Dum just outside Calcutta (Kolkata).

I’d booked the New Generation Guesthouse on Priceline but our driver can’t find the right address so after an hour of driving around in circles we finally give up. For some reason he takes us all the way back to the airport to a hotel in a dingy side street. It’s the Shree Krishna International which luckily isn’t as fancy as it sounds. We’re just happy to find anywhere open at this time in the morning – 2am by now.

But we love it. In the foyer two men are on the desk surrounded by flashing photos of Hindu gods while the lift, too, is over-the-top painted in brightly coloured temples and more flashing lights. We’re shown a big room for $60 – expensive so Mark has a look at a cheaper $40 room but he says it’s too depressing. Our $60 room has noisy air conditioning, twenty-two ceiling lights (I kid you not), two beds and a big bathroom with cold water. Ha ha – this is India!

 Of course, a lot of noise is coming from the foyer as well as from the street below so Mark puts in earplugs. We crash out at 2:30 am.

Saturday 14^th October, 2017

Calcutta to Delhi

I wake at 5:30 am to read texts from Lauren. She’s okay so we both sleep till 7.30. Starving by now we head downstairs to the restaurant for a buffet breakfast of dahl, pappadams, curry, bananas and Chai – all good.

Outside the narrow street is the usual chaos of cows, rickshaws and autorickshaws (like tuktuks). Our plan today is to catch a train to Varanasi so we quickly pack and grab a taxi to take us to Howrah Station on the other side of the Hooghly River. We cross over the imposing Howrah Bridge which is one of Calcutta’s most recognisable and iconic landmarks. As expected, there are traffic jams with ambulances screaming to get through, taxis, rickshaws, more cows and even goats so it takes over an hour to drive the short distance to the station.

Here, we find even more chaos. The whole place is a mess with no English signs at all and no-one to ask for help with long lines of people at every window. I squeeze myself into one line with two men next to me having a loud argument. In fact, everyone seems to be talking at the top of their lungs.

Mark eventually finds a woman who says we need to catch a ferry across the river to the main ticket office for tourists. I’ve really screwed up this time thinking that we could just get a local train. But why the hell can’t we? I’ve no idea why tourists would have to buy tickets from a different place. Again, this is India!

Anyway, we drag our packs across the gridlocked road to the ferry wharf. We’re not sure which direction we need to go, so we ask the people around us. One man says we’re in the wrong place so back up and down concrete steps to another wharf. We’re given more directions and these are wrong again.

In the end, we just buy tickets and it’s a mad rush to get on the ferry, which not surprisingly goes down the river instead of across. No use stressing and we just make the most of it. All the passengers are friendly and it’s nice to be out on the water anyway. We can see people washing and bathing on the ghats all along the river’s edge.

After fifteen minutes, the ferry pulls into the bank so we drag our packs up into a residential area of dusty laneways. All very poor but appealing in some way. Up on the main road, we ask people about getting to the main ticket office but no one knows what we’re talking about so we decide to get a tuktuk to Howrah Bridge where we now have to get out because tuktuks aren’t allowed across the bridge – who knows why?

More confusion so we decide to get a taxi but naturally we’re taken to the wrong ticket office – more asking directions till we miraculously find the right tourist booking office. It’s the same one as

where we bought tickets to Bangladesh with Julie and Steve a few years ago and, like last time, it’s packed. We need to take a number, fill in forms and get our passports photocopied in ‘the big white building across the road’ – fuuuuck!!! Realising that, according to our ticket number, there’s about a hundred people in front of us, we decide to just dump the whole thing and get a taxi to the Fairlawn Hotel in Sudder Street to make new plans. 

The Fairlawn is a small heritage hotel in the heart of Calcutta housed in a lovely 1783 building filled with memorabilia. We spent a few wonderful days here in 2016 experiencing a stepping back in time to India’s colonial past.

And it’s a welcome oasis from all the madness outside. Plus it’s stinking hot and we both have a headache. This catching the train thing looks like it’s not going to happen. We did plan to travel by rail to Varanasi then overland to Delhi but now we think we might fly straight to Delhi instead which will mean we have more time for other places, so all good. We actually love travelling like this, changing plans at the last minute – things always work out.

Hanging out in the open-sided reception area of the Fairlawn, we order cold lime sodas then head back out into Sudder Street to look for a travel agent. We find one up a rickety set of stairs, and although the guy speaks English well, it takes an hour to book the flights – endless photocopying, filling in forms and generally stuffing around. He also rings the hotel for us in Delhi that we want to stay in but we find out later that he didn’t even try – too hard basket? 

Our flight doesn’t leave till 5.30 this afternoon so we have lunch at the Blue Sky Cafe where we’ve eaten many times before as, unlike most places in India, it’s efficient. And it also has great food. I order a chicken salad and Mark a chicken curry and we both have a pineapple lassi.

Back at the Fairlawn, Mark buys a beer while I check out some jewellery at the tiny shop next door, but don’t buy anything. Later we catch a taxi to the airport winding our way through the busy streets. There’s so much to see, even a goat on the loose with a stream of people running after it – you can never get bored in India.

At the airport we have a one-hour wait for our Spice Airline flight to Delhi at a cost of $380 Australian for the two of us. Apparently, the plane is full and we won’t be next to each other but not a problem as it’s only a 2-hour flight. I spend the time writing in the diary, going through the photos and listening to a podcast. We actually land forty minutes early – how the hell did that happen?

It’s exciting to be landing back in Delhi as the last time we were here was way back in 1999, one of our first big trips together. That was a twenty-three day Intrepid trip mainly through Rajasthan and it absolutely blew us away. This time though we’re heading north up into the mountains. We do have vague plan, but we haven’t booked anywhere as usual.

At the terminal, we hire a black and yellow taxi which, like all taxis around here, is an old ambassador car. Our driver is fast and crazy, but so is everyone else around here. Flashing red lights apparently don’t mean ‘stop’ because everyone charges straight through with their foot to the floor. We like Delhi much better this time with lots of trees and roundabouts with gardens in the middle on the forty-minute trip to Pahar Ganj. This is the bustling backpacker area. It’d dirty, noisy, jam packed and exciting.

We’re dropped off a few hundred metres from the hotel as a taxi just can’t get through the packed streets. We head for Nawal Street, where we can hear loud Indian music as a festival seems to be happening. People dancing, someone singing, everyone in colourful saris trimmed with gold thread and all surrounded by lots of balloons and blinking lights.

The Johti Mahal is where we supposedly have a room booked for tonight but no, they’re fully booked, even though we tell him that the dickhead in Calcutta had booked for us. Anyway they have no record, but a sweet man called Suliman takes us across the street to another hotel where we only need to pay $40 a night.

After a quick change, we head back to the Jyoti’s rooftop bar. This is very trendy with lots of cool people lying around and the place decorated with hanging Indian lamps, mirrored cushions, bamboo walls and lots of small chillout areas. Mark has a beer and I have a Diet Coke with my Bacardi, then dinner is mutton and rice for Mark and Caesar salad for me. At 10 pm we head back to our hotel. The music is still blaring outside, but our room is quiet. A busy day.

Sunday 15^th October, 2017

Delhi

I’m up at 5:30am to text Lauren, then I write in the diary and have a cold shower. Mark wakes at eight. We both ring Lauren who sounds a bit down, but she’s cooking and cleaning. We decide to head back to the Jyoti for breakfast.

Under a bright blue sky, we sit in a cabana with a tented ceiling, green painted wooden tables and chairs and lots of patchwork cushions. We both have a continental breakfast of scrambled eggs and fresh pineapple juice.

We’re staying in Delhi again tonight and decide to move to a new hotel so we want to look for Cottage Yes Please recommended by Lonely Planet. So now we set off through the laneways, so interesting with people cooking, sweeping, sleeping on bamboo cots, kids letting off crackers, rickshaws, vegetable markets and lots of trees. We really love this area.

But we hate Cottage Yes Please on sight but do look at the rooms. They’re cheaper at $24 but not as good as our place and anyway we want to stay close to Jyoti so Sunil on the desk can help us with train bookings.

Think we might get this sorted now, so back to Jyoti where Sunil books us a train to Haridwar for tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, the toy train to Shimla is booked out.

Back to our hotel for me to kabumbah (well we are back in India, after all) while Mark sleeps for an hour. Later we walk through the streets and grab a tuktuk with a dear man called Babu. He asks if he can be our driver for the next few hours for only eight dollars Australian. We zoom around Connaught Place then head for Raj Ghat which is our first stop. This memorial marks the place where Mahatma Ghandi was cremated after his assassination in 1948.  

So stinking hot here and luckily I’ve brought an umbrella with me to keep out the sun. We need to take off our shoes, then walk to the simple black marble shrine across manicured lawns with colonnades on all four sides and lots of Indian tourists.

Before we jump back into the tuktuk, we ring Lauren and the dollies. They all sound good and are having spaghetti bolognese for dinner. Now Babu drives us into Old Delhi. The traffic is absolutely crazy with the streets totally gridlocked with tuktuks, motorbikes, cycle rickshaws, hand carts piled high with chillis and vegetables, goats, cows and millions of people. Even though it’s totally mental, it’s an absolute buzz!

Babu says it’s even worse today because it’s the beginning of Diwali which is a four-day Hindu celebration like our Christmas when everyone buys gifts and new clothes to wear for the festivals.

From here we eventually inch our way to the red sandstone Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, able to hold 25,000 worshippers at one time. Unfortunately, it’s prayer time and non-Muslims can’t enter till it’s finished which could be an hour. We’ve been here before so instead of waiting, we just buy drinks and sit in the shade on the steps to listen to the call-to-prayer.

Next we head back through the streets of Chandi Chowk to The Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, the grand Sikh temple which we also visited in 1999 and want to relive the amazing experience. 

At the temple, Babu leads us to a room which is crowded with worshippers. Here we leave our shoes, tie scarves around our heads then wash our hands outside under a tap. We also need to walk through shallow ponds of water to clean our feet and then walk up into the temple itself. Here three men are chanting and playing traditional instruments – this goes on 24 hours a day, every day with the men doing two-hour shifts. People are bowing and kneeling on the carpet in front of the shrine. Apparently, Sikhs don’t have statues but the inside of the temple is stunningly colourful, elaborate and golden. We find a spot on the carpet to sit with Babu to listen to the chanting. 

Next door is the kitchen where over 35,000 people are fed each day with about 100,000 people on special occasions or Sikh festivals.

Huge tin saucepans and woks are filled with rice, vegetables, curries and dahl. Everyone working here is a volunteer, some ladies are making chapattis and I sit on the floor with them to have a turn while Mark stirs dahl in a gigantic pot. In the next room other volunteers are washing up with hundreds of people sitting on the floor outside, waiting to get into the huge dining room. No tables here just mats on the floor where we all sit cross-legged in long rows then dahl is ladled into our plate from metal buckets. One man tells us ‘you must not leave any’. When we all finish eating the next lot crowds in. Unbelievably, the kitchen feeds the hungry 24/7, 365 days a year!

Soon, we’re back in the traffic jam and weaving through a local market. ‘Poor people’ says Babu ‘food very low quality’. Of course, we’ve got headaches again and the sun is burning so we decide to go back to Phar Ganj where we head straight for the rooftop at the Jyoti for cold lime sodas. At the desk we arrange for a tuktuk to pick us up in the morning at 5:30 to catch the train to Haridwar.

We sleep in our room until 6 o’clock then walk to the main bazarre which is predictably noisy and busy. Dinner is at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the bustling market. Hindi music is playing and it’s so nice to be up here where it’s a bit cooler and to have a bird’s eye view of all the action below.

Dinner is slow but good – butter chicken and garlic naan while I have a lime soda and Mark has a hot beer in a white ceramic jug. From here we walk to the Mi Bar which is full of men only, very dark with doofdoof music playing and everyone drinking from containers of beer like mini kegs at the table. Mark has a Kingfisher and I have my Bacardi and Coke then we move to the Metropolis rooftop restaurant. Here we have more drinks, but we’re both very tired by now with head spins so we head back home for our early start in the morning.

Monday 16^th October, 2017

Delhi to Srinagar, Kashmir

I’d set the alarm extra early for 4:15 am, when I send a text to Lauren then have a shower and wash my hair. Mark is up at 5:10 to shower and pack then we’re downstairs by 5.30am ready to meet our tuktuk that we’d organised yesterday. Naturally it’s not here so we walk back over to Hotel Jyoti to ask about it. The new guy on the desk goes out to find one for us.

 At 5:45am our original tuktuk turns up but as we take off we pass the poor guy from the hotel bringing one back for us – sorry about that. 

It’s only five minutes to New Delhi Station and so exciting to be flying through the streets in the dark. Even this early there are thousands of people at the station. An official stops us at the entrance and asks where we’re going. He tells us that our train has been cancelled. He says ‘come’ so we follow him as he pushes his way through the crowds to meet another man in a railway uniform who explains that we can get a train to Haridwar from Old Delhi Railway Station but that we need to stop on the way to change our tickets.

So now we take off in another tuktuk through the empty, still dark streets till we pull into a travel agent in a side laneway where we meet a guy called Ilford who was once an Intrepid leader. We have to wait till the computer warms up or something.

Meanwhile we talk about our travel plans and, I don’t know how, but he convinces us to take a flight to Kashmir where we can stay in a houseboat for a couple of days then get the overnight train back to Haridwar from there. This is so exciting, as we never imagined we’d ever visit Kashmir after all the unrest that’s been going on for years between India and Pakistan. India’s forcible occupation of Jammu and Kashmir in 1947 is still the main cause of the dispute.

Ilfod also arranges for two nights stay in one of the old houseboats built by the English. He shows us photos and we’re absolutely hooked. All organised, he now arranges for a taxi to take us to the airport, but, because we have some time, he asks the driver to take us on a mini tour of New Delhi.

We’ve been here before but happy to visit again. Interesting fact is that New Delhi’s urban design began construction in 1912 after it replaced Calcutta as the capital in 1911 but wasn’t formally dedicated until 1931.

We stop first at India Gate which is a war memorial, built in memory of the Indian soldiers who lost their lives fighting for the British Army in World War I. The weather is absolutely gorgeous this morning as we walk up to the Gate where men are exercising and buying chai in tiny paper cups.

From here we drive to the Presidents Palace but we can’t get in maybe because it’s too early but, anyway, lots of soldiers with guns are hanging around so we don’t fancy making a big deal of it. I must say that New Delhi’s open plan, regimental style is a huge contrast to the excitement and chaos of Old Delhi. New Delhi has tree lined avenues, wide empty boulevards and lots of open green spaces with the Presidential Residence, Parliament House, the Supreme Court and lots of other impressive government buildings built along Central Vista Park. The traffic is sparse as well so it feels like a completely different city.

Not surprisingly, on the way to the airport we’re in the middle of more traffic jams as the city comes to life. At the airport terminal, our flight is delayed so we have breakfast then have trouble getting wifi on our phone. I eventually find a guy who can sort it out – nothing ever seems to work in India.

Finally, on the plane we have three seats each and very excited to see the snow caps of the Himalayan Mountains to our right – an exciting flight!

At 12:30pm, we land in Srinagar, the biggest city and summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir and situated in the centre of the beautiful Kashmir Valley. Here we need to fill in lots of forms because although Kashmir is a part of India, it’s also sort of not – confusing. Outside a driver is waiting with our names written on a card so we set off through Srinagar where we cross a bridge over the Jhelum River and head for Dal Lake.

Soon the lake appears with a backdrop of stunning mountains and here are the houseboats all lined up around the edge of the lake. These were built by the British who’d been attracted to this gorgeous area by the cooler climate. The British weren’t allowed to build on land so they built on the water instead.

We eventually pull up at the lake and move our packs into a small boat called a shikara – like a gondola. A young man called Nias has come to pick us up and rows us to our houseboat called Lalarukh. We’re surprised to see how big they are – about 30 metres long and six metres wide.

And the interior is exactly like the photos that we saw this morning – absolutely luxurious with our own drawing room, dining room, two bedrooms and a bathroom and all fitted out in the plush style of a 19^th century English mansion – why they’re described as “floating palaces” and all designed to be like “a little piece of England”.

The decor is stunning with red velvet lounges and curtains, an ornately carved four-poster bed, Persian rugs and crystal chandeliers.

After unpacking we chat with Nias about things we can do while we’re here. Apparently late this afternoon we’ll do a tour of Dal Lake on a shikara then tomorrow we book a trip to the mountains. He said we can talk about the train to Haridwar after lunch. So, sitting on the verandah overlooking the water we’re served cold lime sodas, dahl, rice, an aloo and cauliflower dish plus crunchy pears and apples – all good.

Okay, so now let’s book the train. We follow Nias to the back of the boat which has a small bridge leading to a shack on the bank. This is the kitchen and a small room with a computer. Firstly, he tells us that there isn’t a railway station in Srinagar and that we’ll have to get a four-hour jeep ride to some town we’ve never heard of. Feeling suss about it, Mark brings out the Lonely Planet. There actually is a train station here and it only takes two hours – so why would we get a jeep? Oh right – so we’d have to pay them for it. Then comes the next fib. The only overnight train to Haridwar is from Jummu which is an eight-hour jeep ride away. But, according to Lonely Planet, Jummu is thirteen hours by road. What the fuck!?

Thirteen hours crossing mountains is less than appealing and we really don’t have the time so we decide to fly to Dehradun instead and catch a bus to Rishikesh from there. No big deal but back in our room I start researching scams at New Delhi station. And here it is! Almost word for word what happened to us. ‘Offficials’ wearing fake railway unforms say your train is cancelled but you can buy other tickets from an office a few streets away where they talk you into going somewhere else which they’ll get a fee for. You’d really think after all our years of travel and our fourth time in India, we’d know better. But no harm done really and we’re thrilled to have come to Kashmir.

Oh, and the weather! Cloudless blue skies and warm during the day but in now late afternoon the temperature is definitely cooling down. Well, we are 1585 meters above sea level!

Now it’s time for our boat ride. An elderly man called Harish is our guide with a young man rowing at the back of the shikara. This is a traditional wooden flat-bottomed boat with a rounded canopy looking very comfy, fitted with a padded backrest, cushions and blankets to keep us warm.

This is so nice! We feel very Raj! Harish explains that the shore of the lake is very fertile and for the next couple of hours we slowly pass water hyacinth and floating gardens of cucumbers, radish, tomatoes, potatoes as well as flower gardens. We float under low wooden bridges and stop to buy water and peanuts from a man paddling a long narrow boat. Eagles swoop as the sun begins to set – a golden ball sinking to the horizon and reflected in the still waters of the lake.  All this gorgeousness with a dramatic backdrop of the rugged Zabarwan Mountains.

Soon we come across the Floating Market where vendors sell fruit, vegetables, flowers and fish.  Small wooden shops are just closing and we can smell wood smoke from home fires which really tops it all off!

At six o’clock we’re back at Lalarukh and quickly put on more warm clothes as the temperature has really dropped. Time now for dinner served in the posh dining room. Tonight we have dahl and rice once again then a chicken curry. Mark eats up big but I mainly stick to fruit – a good move that I realise later. Soon another couple turn up – Lindsay and Tim from Scotland but who live in France – so it’s nice to swap travel stories while we share our beer and Bacardi.

Bed early but then Mark is up most of the night shitting through the eye of a needle!

Tuesday 17^th October, 2017

Kashmir

Mark has managed to get a bit of sleep and we wake up at 7 o’clock. He’s still very sick, shaking, shivering and still shitting. He has a shower at 8 o’clock to see if he feels better but he’s too sick to go on the tour. The only thing he can stomach for breakfast is a cup of tea on the verandah while I have scrambled eggs, hard dry toast and muddy tea sitting with Tim and Lindsay.

I lie in bed with Mark till about 2.30pm then sit out on the verandah to watch the boats sliding past. The weather today is gorgeous again with no clouds or wind.  I stretch out on the couch in the sun with a blanket to cover me because it’s still quite cool even though the sun is shining. No sounds except for paddles of boats drifting past – complete peace with no motorboats at all. I wave to passengers in shikaras and watch eagles sweeping down to catch fish. Long narrow paddle boats are floating shops, selling drinks, chips and peanuts.

The staff are concerned about Mark and keep asking how he is. They give him electrolytes and a hot water bottle. Tim and Lindsay have gone for a lake tour so we’re not going to see much of them today.

I notice that all the boats have names like Garden of Heaven, Hollywood and Moon Valley. I can hear the call-to-prayer and watch ducks swimming past always with that dramatic backdrop of rocky mountains.

Mark sleeps till 6 o’clock when Tim and Lindsay come back. We all sit in the dining room, but Mark can’t eat, just weak tea again. The rest of us have chappatis with a vegetable and bean dish. Mark and I have an early night reading and listening to a podcast in bed. He sleeps heavily all night and at least he’s stopped running to the toilet.

Wednesday 18^th October, 2017

Kashmir to Dehradun to Rishikesh

Our destination today is Rishikesh in Uttarakhand’s Tehri Garhwal region on the banks of the Ganges. But first we need to catch a plane to Dehradun.

At 5 o’clock we wake to hear Tim and Lindsay leaving and thankfully Mark thinks he’s a bit better today. We’re up at 6:30 but unfortunately Mark is still sick and back on the toilet. We hang out on the verandah while I have a breakfast of fried eggs on toast and Mark just sticks to coffee. Cute school kids in immaculate white and red uniforms are being rowed past and a man with his boat full of flowers stops to chat and look at himself in a video we’d just taken of him.

I ask Nias about a refund for the trip yesterday – we paid 8000 rupiah, but we can only get a 6000 back because of taxes. Whatever. Another small canoe-type boat floats up to us. This man is selling jewellery which I would like to have a look at, so he climbs onboard. We sit in the dining room as he spreads out all his silver earrings on the floor.  I buy a pair for $36 but the guy in slimey and I just want him to go away.

Afterwards, I finish the packing while Mark sits in the sun. He’s looking very pale this morning. We’ve arranged to be picked up at 9:30am to be taken to the wharf then onto the airport. We pay another thousand rupees. Ripped off big time once again – had enough of this bullshit!

Moving our gear into a shikara, we float past little shops that you can only get to by boat – a real floating village. The weather is perfect once again as we row towards the shore where men are selling lambs wool hats – must get freezing here in winter.

By 10 o’clock we’re in a car heading for the airport. I enjoy the ride while Mark just tries not to throw up. The houses are attractive, mostly two or three stories with pitched roofs. We pass mosques with women in burkas and everywhere along the route, we notice army vehicles and soldiers carrying guns.

At the airport, people are lying all over the grassy garden area at the front – can’t work out why. Inside is the same stupid security we found on the way in – fill out untold forms, I’m frisked behind a curtain, search our travel wallets and, of course, want to have a close look at Mark’s insulin pump. More security at the bottom of the escalators and all the carry-on bags need to have tags that must be stamped three different times.

Upstairs Mark stretches out on a bench and falls asleep while I buy an ice cream and listen to a podcast. I notice lots of very short people – Tibetans and Mongolians. I feel like a giant.

On the plane at 12:30pm we have a window seat and a middle seat, but on the wrong side of the plane to see the Himalayas. But we do see green forest areas and a patchwork of cultivated fields with lots of dry riverbeds and views of rocky mountains.

The flight is only an hour and a quarter so we’re landing in Dehradan by 2pm. We disembark on the tarmac then retrieve our bags. It’s a nasty little terminal except for the colourful Diwali mandalas on the floor.

But obviously all we can think about is to get to Rishikesh as fast as we can and find somewhere to stay so Mark can lay down. Outside we easily find an ambassador taxi to take us to Rishikesh for only a thousand rupees or $20 Australian.

It’s a pleasant drive along a winding road lined with thick trees, lots of monkeys playing alongside the road with cows wandering down the middle. We follow a wide dry riverbed till we come closer to Rishikesh where we’re excited to see the huge River Ganges, India’s holiest of rivers.

Passing the footbridge we wind up and up to reach the town itself. Along a narrow curved alleyway, we book a room at the cute Divine Ganga Cottages. Rishikesh is always busy so they have only one room left for tonight and only for tonight. This is a double room for $64 on the bottom floor with a view of the Ganges, a pretty outside terrace, a good bathroom and Wi-Fi.

Sima is the helpful owner who shows us around. “You can sit on the terrace and we will bring you tea and juice”. “Can we order a beer?”, I ask but he cheerfully replies “no alcohol in all Rishikesh because on holy Ganges” – what the actual fuck?? Will sort out the alcohol situation later but looking at Mark I don’t think he’ll be able to drink anything tonight anyway.

He sleeps for ages while I have a short nap then up at 6pm to wash our clothes and order food upstairs in the tiny restaurant. The entire menu is vegetables and we’re to find out later that all food in Rishikesh is vegetarian besides the fact that there’s no alcohol! – did I mention that before?? This could be our worst nightmare! 

Anyway, I carry our food back down to have in our room – fries, sweetcorn and vegetable soup and three Coke Zeros. But then we decide to sit out on the terrace next to the shrine so we can look out over the Ganges.  Mark has a few mouthfuls of soup but that’s it.

We chat with Sima who has great English and will try to get us a room for tomorrow night. He also gives Mark advice on Indian remedies for his stomach – lots of ginger and honey. Soon Mark goes to bed but I stay out on the terrace for a few Bacardis. The temperature is perfect tonight, with a slight breeze keeping me cool. 

Sima had told us that there will be fireworks for Diwali in Rishikesh tonight and here they come. They’re like fucking bombs making me jump out of my skin and I say “fuck!” really loud. I’ve been saying “what the fuck!!” a lot here in India. 

Later I can hear chanting and singing coming from somewhere along the river. Wow! Just when you get pissed off with India something magical happens. I think I can see Angie’s star then realise it’s just a light on a mountain – always hopeful, my little one. 

Thursday 19^th October, 2017

Rishikesh

Happy Diwali! Mark is still sick so we decide to just lay around in bed for a while. Besides this, even though we have blue skies, it’s very windy outside. I have a shower and wash my hair then we both head upstairs for breakfast.

Although it has a great view, the dining room is a bit of a dump, but I still manage to have black tea, baked beans on toast and two hard-boiled eggs. Mark tries to get down a berry yoghurt but just ends up having a lemon soda. He heads back to the room for another sleep while I chat to a lady called Karen from Busselton Western Australia who’s here on a yoga retreat. I’m also told that the dreaded wind will stop by 10 o’clock or 11 o’clock or 12 o’clock – whatever.

While Mark sleeps, I walk into the main town passing cows, people cooking outside, market stalls, sadhus and people begging. Stopping at one very colourful stalls to look at bedspreads, I tell them I don’t have any money with me but I’ll come back later with Mark. I don’t get away that easily though and the owner insists that I have a tea and sends a young girl off to get it. But it’s so strong that I look for somewhere to dump it when he’s not looking. Then another pretty little girl offers me sweet cakes for a “happy Diwali” as she says.

Now I ask someone about a massage. I’m pointed to a winding rough narrow staircase that meanders up and up and lined with shops and cafes. At the top I find a massage guy and promise to come back later.

Walking a different way back to Divine Ganga, we check out as they don’t have a room for us for tonight. We both set off back down the hill to the lower part of town close to the river. Mark sits in the shade with our bags while I go off to look for somewhere to stay. I find a fabulous place, very ‘ashrami’, but they have no rooms left. Unfortunately, I find another good place but it’s booked out as well. In the end, I find a newish place in the main market square recommended by Intrepid. It’s $70 a night but Mark needs a good bed and bathroom plus it has a great private balcony overlooking the famous Lakshman Jhula bridge, the Ganges and the imposing Tera Manzil Mandir temple.

The room isn’t ready as yet so we find a nearby restaurant for lime sodas. Mark is still really weak but makes it back to the room only to throw up on the floor. And now he also has sores around his mouth! Poor baby!

He still can’t eat so I go up to the next floor to the restaurant which overlooks the river. Here I have penne with tomato and cheese – fantastic – and talk to Felicity from Melbourne. She gives me good advice about Rishikesh as she’s already been here for two weeks on a yoga retreat. Seems like this town is crawling with middle aged/old women looking for a spiritual experience!

And, bloody hell, here’s another one! An old English lady sitting nearby asks if I’m a yoga teacher from the Sunshine Coast called Sariswati something or other. Sorry lovey, I’m just a bogan from Newcastle.

All this yoga talk isn’t surprising as Rishikesh is often called the ‘yoga capital of the world’ and the town is apparently packed with ashrams, yoga retreats and yoga teacher training. We’ve already seen a lot of these already but apparently most are on the opposite side of the river at Swarg Ashram.

Back at the room, I find that Mark still wants to sleep so I set off to do some serious shopping up the hill with the same guy I saw this morning. He greets me like an old friend and asks hopefully, “you take tea?” “No” mate but I do buy a bed spread and cushion covers for $70 so he’s happy.

This area is so vibrant with the usual cows and people entering temples. I walk inside one of the temples and follow people walking around a central courtyard with the walls covered in paintings of Hindu gods. Devotees place donations in a very elaborate brass box suspended from the ceiling and pull gently on a rope hanging from a bottom corner to sway it back-and-forth. These temples are everywhere as Rishikesh is a major pilgrimage destination for Hindus as the River Ganges flows right through the centre.

Outside I meet a man with a chocolate brown painted face and a very elaborate headdress. I’ve noticed a few of these strange looking men around here. They’re actually beggars called behrupiya and, apparently, the painted face is to depict the Hindu Lord Hanunan. For a donation, he poses with me for a selfie.

Back to the room I lay on the bed with Mark then later head out for a massage at the bottom of the hill. In a very basic little place, I have an ayurvedic massage with a sweet man called Deepak. I also have my chakras lined up for Rs.800 or $16 – an excellent experience.

Outside monkeys are scurrying all over the place and a huge scary one is sitting on a post near the door so I give him a wide berth. Deepak prods him with a stick to scare him away but he doesn’t move. “They have eaten my flowers” says poor Deepak pointing to a string of chewed marigolds dangling from the door.

At the hotel I meet Mark at the top of the stairs. He’s come out to look for me because he’s been worried as I’ve been so long. He’s feeling a little bit better so we walk to a restaurant past the Lakshman Jhula. Here we have more lime sodas while we watch naughty monkeys scaring people on the bridge It’s pretty funny as they run up and down the wires holding up the 140 meter long footbridge.

On dark the excitement is building as this is the main celebration night for Diwali. Coloured lights decorate all the buildings on the opposite side of the river where we can also hear chanting and singing while fire twirlers do their thing in front of the temple. We’re so lucky to be here to see this amazing spectacle.

Then the fireworks start – a few shoot up into the sky but it’s mainly a lot of noise like the bombs going off last night. Mark isn’t well enough for us to go out and explore but we have the best view in town from the restaurant at top of the hotel. We talk to one of our neighbours from the US. He’s been here a week, again on a yoga retreat.

For dinner we sit at the wide, open window overlooking the Ganges with the strong smell of gunpowder wafting through. God only knows what they’re using as fireworks! But the meal is great, for me anyway – a vegetable lasagne – but Mark can only manage white rice and a Diet Coke. An early night. Hopefully Mark will be better in the morning.

Friday 20^th October, 2017

Rishikesh

I’m awake at 3:30 am so I message Lauren and write in the diary. When Mark wakes I give him an antibiotic and wonder why we hadn’t thought to start him on antibiotics before! We always bring them with us so what the hell?

It’s windy this morning as it was yesterday so we stay in bed till nine. Mark says he’s feeling a bit better today so we head upstairs for breakfast – corn flakes, fruit salad, toast and tea.

We decide to go for a walk across the Lakshman Jhula footbridge and check out the Swarg Ashram area. Crossing the bridge itself is an experience – crammed with people stopping to have their photos taken with us.

On the Swarg Ashram side is another exciting area with lots of people heading towards the temple, markets, cows and lots of restaurants. All very bohemian! The vibrant colours are typical of India from the flower sellers to the women’s saris to the brightly coloured buildings themselves. We look at a couple of simple guesthouses and like one which is basically a single room that a family rents out. The room is upstairs off a rooftop terrace which overlooks the Ganges. From here we can see people bathing and kids frolicking in the water. Our room is painted a bright pink and has a cute window opening onto a thick shady tree – we love it.

Mark feels sick again so we head back to our hotel to rest till 11.30am when we pack and check out. Crossing back across the bridge to Swarg Ashram, we check into our new guesthouse. This sits on top of a small cafe. In fact, this whole area is packed with cool cafes and reminds us of Chapora in Goa where we were blown away by the whole hippie scene that still exists there. It was an experience we’ll never forget especially remembering how tiny calves ran free even inside the restaurants. Swarg Ashram has that similar hippie vibe that we love.

Mark feels like he might be able to stomach something for lunch as he’s obviously starving by now. I swear he’s lost a couple of kilos in the last few days. At the top of a set of steep wooden stairs we find the very trendy Buddha Café and order a salad to share and the usual lime sodas. My God I feel like a health freak!!

From here we walk down to the temple, which is only 50 m away. The Tera Manzil Mandir is a thirteen storey temple painted in cream and terracotta and, along with the footbridge, is seen on every advertisement for Rishikesh itself. Today, as it does every day, it had attracted devotees from all over the world.

Now we wander around the streets and find a massage place where I have an ayervedic for $20 while Mark has one for $30. For some reason I cry a lot thinking of mum. My massage lady is sweet and gives me a cuddle.

We now stop at a travel agent to book a car for Shimla for tomorrow morning – for the eight-hour trip it will cost us $110. We need to get more Rupee so a guy on a motorbike takes Mark to an ATM. Meanwhile, I buy toilet paper (always carry toilet paper in India) and then head back to the room. Now we have hot showers and get ready for a wild night out on the town – ha ha! My hairdryer keeps cutting off the electricity so the owner insists I dry my hair in his room -a real sweetie.

While there won’t be any wild nights here in Rishikesh, we ARE going to experience something super special – a Ganga Aarti ceremony at Parmath Niketan Ashram – the biggest in Rishikesh. At 4:30 pm we walk a long way following the riverbank and this couldn’t be more thrilling but calming at the same time.

We pass sadhus, holy men, cows, monkeys and lots and lots of devotees heading the same way as us. Sadhus lounge around in groups all wearing head wraps, dhotis, long beards and walking canes. At one ghat we stop to buy Puja from a young girl who keeps calling out ‘Puja, puja’ and pointing down the river. The puja consists of a small paper dish of flowers, oil and matches.

Following the crowds we finally arrive at Parmath Niketan Ashram where hundreds of people are already waiting for the ceremony which will start just on dusk.

But what is Ganga Aarti? It’s a nightly ritual that combines music, chanting, and the offering of lamps to the river goddess Ganga. Priests wearing yellow traditional attire face the river while others sing ancient hymns, beat traditional drums and chant ‘Hari Krishna’ over and over again.

We eventually find a seat to watch the ceremony then decide to climb to the top level for a better view. Devotees in white robes light brass pots of oil which they pass around while the crowd presses in to touch the flame then touch their forehead.

We take our puja down to the river where Mark places it in the Ganges to bless those we love that we’ve lost and those we love that are still with us. The ceremony is still happening but decide to head back to Swarg Ashram. Back up the stairs we grab our shoes and visit the temple opposite then walking back through a market noisy crowded with motorbikes blowing horns. Had enough of taking on the crowds so we decide to walk along the river’s edge. Except for cows, no-one else is around and just when we think we’re lost, we finally end up not far from the shops. To celebrate, we drink fruit juice at Krishna Cafe.

Back to our room, we pack for a super early start and tell that we’ll be leaving at 5 am. They tell us to wake them to let us out.

Saturday 21st October, 2017

Rishikesh to Shimla

This morning we’re off to the hill station of Shimla high up in the middle ranges of the Himalayas. We’re up at 4:30 am in time to see the lady owner opening the doors onto the street for us. It’s very dark outside and strange to see the street so quiet and empty.

Soon a car pulls up with an old man called Gujit at the wheel. He has a long white beard and wears a turban. In the passenger seat is a friendly young, local guy. Leaving Rishikesh we bounce along dirt roads that wind through a forest then half an hour later the young man gets out.

Now we’re driving through small towns and open fields as the sun is peeping above the horizon. We listen to a podcast called the Dollop to pass the time on this seven-hour trip.

Later Mark notices that Gujit is driving a bit weird and seems to be wandering all over the road. Mark suddenly lurches forward to shake Gujit’s shoulder. “Wake up mate!” He’s fallen asleep at the wheel, for God sake! “Okay, okay” Gujit keeps saying like it’s no big deal. We stop listening to the podcast so we can keep an eye on him. We can see his eyes in the rear vision mirror and whisper to each other that as soon as we reach the next town we’ll get out. 

But before that happens Gujit drops off to sleep again! Mark yells at him to pull over. We’re in the middle of nowhere but luckily we’re close to a small isolated resthouse, where we find some men cooking outside. We ask if they can speak English so one of them runs upstairs to bring down another man called Sunil. We explain what’s happening so he goes over to talk to Gujit who’s throwing cold water over his face. Sunil tells us that Gujit said he fell asleep because of ‘sleeping medicine’, but that he’s okay now. No way, you weirdo!

Mark tells Gujit to open the boot so we can grab our packs. We’ve already paid him 2000 Rp so we don’t need to give him any more money. He’s still hanging around hoping we’ll change our minds but, for fuck sake, mate, think about your own family as well.

Now Sunil rings for a taxi to take us to the next town. In the meantime, we sit with the family who are showing us where we are on a map and how to get to Shimla. Soon a taxi arrives and takes us and Sunil to the next town half an hour away where Sunil finds us a driver. He’s been so kind and won’t even take any money from us.

The new driver is called Islam – he’s also crazy but skilful and at least he’s awake – thank God because at present we’re on steep winding roads twisting higher and higher. We’re now in the state of Himachal Pradesh in the western Himalayas and for hours we skirt the mountainsides with steep drops that don’t impress Mark at all.

The weather is perfect once again with more of a chill in the air as the altitude is much higher here. The scenery is green the whole way with long views and endless mountains. Like everywhere in India, colourfully painted trucks covered in tinsel fly past us.

We can tell that Islam must have done this trip countless times because he seems to know every corner as we speed our way towards Shimla. We hang onto the door handles or the roof with both hands to stop from being thrown around the back seat. Halfway we stop at a small resthouse high up in the mountains to stretch our legs and to buy water.

By about 1.30pm we reach the outskirts of Shimla with the main town looming above us and built over a series of hills and connecting ridges. The lower area is busy with the usual tuktuks and rickshaws and that exciting feel of a vibrant Indian town – so much to see.

Because Shimla is most famous as India’s former summer capital during the British rule, we hope to stay at a heritage hotel called Clarkes which is situated along the Mall Road and not open to traffic. This means that we’re dropped off in a small car park below and need to walk the rest of the way. Islam now has his hand out for more money – get lost, we’ve paid you a fortune already.

A long cement staircase leads up to the hotel, but a porter soon rushes to our rescue and straps our big packs to his back and sets off up the stairs with us struggling behind with our day packs. At the top we emerge on Mall Road and here is Clarkes Hotel looking every bit as elegant as the photos. Clarkes is one of Shimla’s oldest hotels and built in the style of a grand colonial bungalow.

In the foyer, we find that they have one room left – some luck at last – although it’s not ready just yet so, to pass the time, we sit in the bar for beers and lemon sodas. The staff are all lovely wearing green suits and the barman sporting a funny white hat. The glamorous owner introduces herself. She’s all class and we must look embarrassedly daggy compared to her.

Later we’re shown to our impressive room with a lovely bathroom and windows looking out onto the gardens and Christ Church Cathedral up on the hill. We decide to have a quick sleep before dinner.

We’ve dressed up a bit posh tonight as we plan to eat at the hotel which we now decide to explore. Wide windows look out over the valley with views of pine trees and colonial hotels with the sunshine pouring in.

First, we have a drink in the bar. Mark has a Tuborg beer and I have a bloody Mary which is Lauren’s favourite drink plus we’re given complementary dips and pappadams.

At 7 o’clock we move into the dining room for dinner. Mark has Rogan Josh and I have a pizza (what a bogan) plus we have beers and Bacardi. Near us are two long tables of tiny Tibetan nuns all chatting away excitedly to each other. Again the staff is lovely with the waiters all hovering around and pulling out our chairs and calling us ‘Sir’ and ‘Madame’ – feel a bit of a privileged dick actually. An early night.

Sunday 22nd October, 2017

Shimla

A snuggle at last – Mark must be feeling better!! – then up at 8 o’clock for breakfast on this gorgeous sunny day. We’re led to a table with a white linen tablecloth and a glass bowl of nasturtiums in the centre. Again, we sit at a wide window with those wonderful views of the hills and ridges that the town is built on. Breakfast is buffet style with fresh fruit, cornflakes, toast, eggs and cooked tomatoes. The waiters look very handsome dressed in all-white uniforms with brass buttons and impressive turbans that have a tall, starched piece sticking up in the air. They’re also very sweet and very conscientious as they continually top up our tea and coffee – two to pour the tea, one for the tea and one for hot water. Sweethearts! 

We make special friends with one lovely waiter called Daakshi who we met last night. He writes down his email address and Mark sends photos straight back to him – he’s very chuffed.

About 10 o’clock we set off to explore the Ridge, in the heart of Mall Road. This is no-traffic area so we walk uphill in relative peace. At the top is a wide, open space surrounded by shops, a post office, cafes and eateries. Here I buy a shawl for Rs.700 or AUD $14 that I know I’ll have forever.

The Ridge architecture is reminiscent of an English village which the homesick British recreated in the mid-19^th century. Even now Shimla retains its colonial heritage – Tudor-style buildings with gabled roofs, a bandstand, wrought iron railings and lamp posts and the very beautiful Christ Church Cathedral which we should visit but we don’t.

Besides the ‘Little Britain’ recreation, the Ridge also has excellent views of the mountain ranges and we stop at a lookout to see the view of the town on the opposite side of the ridge.

Heading back down to Clarkes, we buy a chocolate ice cream and soda water on the way then at the bottom of the hill we find a taxi driver to take us to the Woodville Palace Hotel where we’re staying tonight. So now we pack before a porter carries our bags down to the taxi. From here it’s only about a ten-minute drive up a winding hill shaded with trees, mainly, pines, and glimpses of colonial hotels between them.

And here is the Woodfield Palace Hotel coming into view and every bit as beautiful as the photos on their website. It’s a colonial beauty covered in Virginia creeper with multiple roof lines and a turret, and all with a backdrop of the hotel’s private forest.

Checking in I realise that I’ve booked for the wrong night and make another online booking only to realise that we can’t be reimbursed for the original booking. This means that we pay $240 instead of $120 – really fucking things up on this trip! While we’re here, Mark organises a car to take us to Dharamsala tomorrow morning.

Our room is on the third floor – huge with tiny multi-paned windows that open outwards, a writing desk, lounge chairs, a dressing table, picture rails, a wardrobe and a big bathroom. We next explore the grounds then the house which is filled with period furniture and antiques. 

The sitting room is even decorated with animal heads mounted on the walls and in the wood panelled dining room we have tomato soup and spring rolls with lemon sodas for lunch. In the meantime, naughty monkeys are running across the roof and fighting in the trees outside our window. We have a quick nap in our beautiful king-sized bed then Mark walks two kilometres to an ATM as we forgot to get rupee before we came.

When he gets back, he makes us cups of tea which we drink on the lawn which once held wonderful tea parties and gala events.  

We don’t stay out here long, though, as it’s starting to feel cool so we move back inside at 7 o’clock to dress for dinner which is set for 8pm.

But first we head for the bar. Barron is the tiny barman dressed in a maroon uniform complete with a matching cap. He proudly stands to attention for a photo in the 1930’s style Hollywood bar. The reason for the 1930’s style is that, even though the hotel was built in 1866, it was restored in 1938 by some rich guy as his private home.

And it was his daughter, Princess Brinda who created the Hollywood Bar all those years ago. She actually hung out with movie stars and some have even stayed here. The walls are covered in photos from her collection – Douglas Fairbanks junior, Laurel and Hardy, Myrna Loy and Joan Crawford.

I splurge on cocktails, a Screwdriver and a Cuba Libre while Mark sticks with beers. 1930’s music is playing to add to the atmosphere and we lounge around on red velvet couches.

At 8 o’clock we move into the dining room. It all looks very posh with an open fire, starched table cloths, Persian rugs, polished timber furniture and antique silver tureens but the food is horrendous. I try to eat a salad and Mark tries a few of the Indian dishes but we can’t do it even though we’ve already paid for it – twice!!

The Indian guests dig in, though, so maybe it’s us. Bed early

Monday 23rd October, 2017

Shimla to McLeod Ganj

Last night Mark set the alarm for 5:40am as we’ve booked a car for 6 o’clock. Today our driver is Arman who is speedy and skilful just like Islam who drove us here from Rishikesh a couple of days ago. We wanted an early start as we have another seven-hour drive ahead of us. We could catch a bus but we’re very time poor and are trying to squeeze in as much as we can in the next week.

Crossing the mountains in the early morning light, the scenery is of verdant hills and lush valleys while passing through lots of small towns and villages. At some stage we stop for Chai and Mark makes a few work phone calls. Later we pass a demonstration in a small village with lots of women and men slowing us down. They’re all chanting slogans, beating drums and carrying flags.

At 1:30pm we finally reach Dharamsala situated in the lap of the Dhauladhar mountains. But we’re not staying here as we’re headed for the hill station of McLeod Ganj only 15 minutes up a narrow winding road. This is where the Dalai Lama actually lives and so our final destination for today and why we’ve come all this way.

And we much prefer it to Dharamsala, which is much bigger and so lacking in the atmosphere of this quaint little town. Not surprisingly, the streets are narrow and full of Tibetan character with monks wandering around in their maroon robes. I’m in heaven!!

It doesn’t feel like India at all and is often called Little Lhasa because it’s the home to the many Tibetan people who moved here after the Chinese invaded their home in Tibet over sixty years ago. It’s what makes this little mountain town so fascinating.

We’re dropped off in the main square to look for somewhere to stay. Just a short walk down a laneway, we find a cute hotel called Serkong and, luckily, they do have a room for only $66. It’s very Tibetan plus we have a balcony with a window overlooking the laneway.

After settling in, which involves chucking our gear on the floor, we head off in search of a place to eat before exploring the town. Lunch is upstairs in a cosy restaurant with sunshine pouring in. The food is fantastic! I have a banana lassi and Mark has a mango lassi before we tuck into chicken drumsticks and steamed Momos which is an institution here.

To top off the great food, I spy a table of monks so I sneak photos. Monks are my most favourite people in the whole world!

And the reason for all the monks is that McLeod Ganj is a Buddhist pilgrimage destination as the town is home to the 14th Dalai Lama, Lama Tenzin Gyatso, who came here in 1960 after his exile from Tibet. He set up the Tibet Government in exile in nearby Dharamshala but with the charming, little town of Mcleod Ganj as his permanent home. His monastery is, of course, at the top of our to-do list!

Just outside the staircase to the restaurant, we find a Buddhist temple where we do a round of prayer wheels – one very big one – and we tinkle bells.

Spinning the prayer wheel is equivalent to reciting mantras that are written on a tightly rolled-up scroll inside the wheel. Each spin of the wheel is the same as saying the mantras out loud but then multiplied by the number of spins.

We love this place already with its market stalls, temples, artisan workshops, tall pines, cafes and monks!

Back in the room, we sleep till 6 o’clock then we have dinner and drinks at McLLO‘s in the main square. It’s a lively place with a band and is packed with families and middle-

class Indian tourists. In our room we have another naughty drink – pissed.

Tuesday 24^th October, 2017

McLeod Ganj

We’re up at eight for breakfast at the Snow Lion Cafe – good coffee for Mark plus tea, toast, muesli, fruit and yoghurt. Lots of dreadlocked western travellers are eating here so it’s good people watching.

Now we decide to head up to the Dalai Lama Temple, also known as Tsuglakhang Temple, where we watch monks chanting and banging drums. Inside more monks are circling a big prayer wheel and Mark does a round himself. All the monks are wearing the maroon robes that are found in India and Myanmar compared to the saffron robes of Thai monks.

The walk to the Tsuglakhang complex is a beautiful experience on this clear cool morning past market stalls with long views on one side of the mountain and snow-capped mountains on the other. Actually the highest peak of the Dhauladhar range sits just behind the town and is especially close to the temple.

The temple complex itself is quite simple unlike the highly ornate wats in Thailand. This is typical of the Dalai Lama himself who just sees himself as a simple monk. I give him a wave at his home, Namgyal Monastery, but the little darling isn’t here at the moment. Apparently, he’s off swanning around somewhere in South America.

A young monk presents us with white scarves called kataks to wrap around our necks. These are traditional Tibetan ceremonial scarves given as a sign of respect and gratitude. Nearby, silent worshippers are praying and prostrating on boards facing the temple which is filled with burning oil lamps. It’s a magical atmosphere.

Pilgrims in colourful clothes circle the temple clockwise while they spin brass prayer wheels clockwise as well and all the time chanting Om Mani Padme Hum. This Sanskrit mantra is so calming and takes us back to many other temple experiences we’ve had in India over the last 20 years. Inside the temple we find a gold Buddha statue and another big prayer wheel.

Later we decide to look for somewhere else to stay tonight. We look at Chona House which looks fantastic on Booking.com even though it is $150 a night but there’s way too many steps so we keep looking. We finally find Kinga guesthouse above Nick Italian restaurant for only $26 for a great room overlooking the town. We have a sunny balcony, a bathroom with hot water, four windows, lounge chairs and the trees outside our room draped in colourful prayer flags.

And we also have a sign above the balcony door saying “Beware of Monkeys. Always Keep Door Closed”. The little devils will sneak in and pinch whatever they can.

So now we check out of Serkong and move into Kanga Guesthouse.  Mark washes our clothes which he hangs out on the balcony railing in the sun. My darling!

Before lunch, we set off once again for the Tsuglakhang Temple to watch the debating monks but we’re told they don’t start till 6pm. So back down the hill, we have lunch at Nick’s – momos for Mark and a carrot cake for me – then have a massage each and I have my hair washed and dried in a pocket-sized ‘salon’.

On dusk we return to the temple just in time to hear the monks chanting while they sit in long rows with their palms pressed together in prayer. They recite for about half an hour then the debating begins.

The debate is between a standing monk and a sitting monk. The standing monk asks a question then with stiff arms give a loud exaggerated clap to emphasize their point. The clap is the way to show their respect and appreciation for their opponent’s argument. It’s like a masterclass of Tibetan Buddhist scriptures when the monks are evaluated on their academic ranks.

Whatever the reason, to see the debating monks has been on our bucket list for years and now here we are at the most special place of all, the Dalai Lama’s monastery!

Later we try a weirdly modern upstairs bar near Black Magic that has strobe lighting but there’s no-one here. It’s an odd place with glass top tables with a straw inset. Plus they only have an 18% Corona beer at $8USD for a small bottle – goodbye!

So now we head back to McLLO‘s for chips, Budweiser and Bacardis and once again have fun watching the local families, especially a cute baby boy. The music is good and I sing along to “Country Roads”. Oh dear!

Wednesday 25th October, 2017
McLeod Ganj

Sleep until 8 o’clock and wake to another gorgeous clear, sunny day. Breakfast is downstairs at Nick’s. Mark has a banana pancake and I have a banana waffle. I don’t like it so I don’t eat it. We call Lauren on Messenger with the Dollies saying “papa poo” and making funny faces.

Soon we walk up to the Men-Tsee-Khang Tibetan Medicine and Astrological Institute passing lots of little old ladies on the way all with walking sticks and who all look the same.
At the Institute we’re lucky to get in at 9:30 for a Tibetan massage for $35 each. It’s a very strange experience. I have two girls using buckets of oil and then their eyes almost pop out their head when they see my skin. They call in the doctor and the three of them peer closely at every inch of my skin yabbering away to each other. The doctor looks very concerned and asks “mam, what happened to your skin?” Chill out, mate! It’s just freckles!

Mark also has two men for his massage and they both last only 40 minutes but it’s lovely here with the sun shining in and again with prayer flags in the tree outside. Now we head back to Nick‘s for morning tea – coffee, tea and more carrot cake. Here we arrange for a driver for tomorrow to take us to Amritsar.

Now we wander through the Tibetan Market where stalls sell handmade Thangka paintings, prayer flags, wood carvings and Buddhist statues. Mark buys a weird looking long trumpet which is some sort of a traditional instrument plus we buy skirts for the dollies.

Lunch is at the same upstairs place opposite the temple – only vegetarian today because it’s the Dalai Lama’s birthday and here are monks again. We both have fried vegetable momos and tomato soup with lime sodas which we request “no salt no sweet”.

After lunch we call into the Tibetan Museum housed in a simple building where pictures tell stories about the traumatic journey that Tibetan refugees took across snow covered mountains to find freedom here in India. They want the world to know about their displacement and the struggles they still undergo. The Museum is only small but very moving.

Now we have our afternoon nana nap then, on dark, we set off for a walk around the streets to a little part of town that we haven’t explored before. We follow the sound of Tibetan music which seems to be coming from the bottom of the hill so we descend lots and lots of cement stairs. But we can’t find the source of the music so it’s a long walk back up to the top.

Ready for a drink, I’ve run out of my duty-free Bacardi so I buy a bottle for $16. Weirdly it doesn’t taste like Bacardi at all. For dinner we find a rooftop cafe overlooking the street where we order butter chicken and chicken curry with naan bread. After we eat, no-one comes to remove our dirty plates so we change to another table. Soon the surprised waiters come over to say “you move table!?” and proceed to move our dirty plates onto our new table!

And, of course, later we head back to our favourite McLLO‘s but an early night ahead of a long drive tomorrow.

Thursday 26th October, 2017
McLeod Ganj to Amritsar

This morning we say goodbye to this chilled out little town. Our driver arrives at 6 o’clock and with the sun barely up we’re soon leaving Himachal Pradesh and the snow-capped Dhauladhar range far behind.

At first we drive through more beautiful hilly landscapes until after about three hours the land has levelled and agriculture stretches out on both sides of the road. The sun is shining and the heat has escalated which is totally fine but we’re experiencing the worst smog we’ve probably ever come across even in the super polluted cities of India.
Apparently it’s something to do with crop burning.

Amritsar is known as the Golden City of Punjab and is steeped in Sikh culture with the Golden Temple the holiest shrine in all of Sikhism. And it’s the reason we’ve come to Amritsar after seeing documentaries on the Temple over the years.

But will we even be able to see it? The smog is just as bad as we reach the centre of the city about two o’clock. Hopefully it will disappear overnight as we plan to have a lazy afternoon and do some serious sightseeing tomorrow.

For now we just need to find somewhere to stay. Yesterday I found a wonderful haveli online but apparently it’s booked out. Mark tells our driver to just take us there anyway so we turn off the busy main road into a quiet potholed laneway to find the tree-shaded entrance gate. We love it already and ‘yes, we have room!”

This is wonderful news because this place is incredible. This is Ranjit’s SVAASA, Heritage Boutique Spa Haveli, a two-hundred year old family home full of antiques and old world charm. It’s so Indian Raj!!

The family who greet us are very welcoming and give us a tour of the house before showing us to our room. Firsty we’re led down the hallway called the Time Corridor with the walls lined with family photos that go back seven generations. The family’s roots actually date back to the times of the maharajas.

Then, because Ranjit’s SVAASA is a haveli, the rooms surround an inner courtyard shaded with trees, palms and vines with a fountain and a small arched bridge spanning a pond. Our lovely room looks down on the gardens and we have our own balcony, heritage bathroom, a desk and big antique bed.

Tonight we decide to eat here as we can’t be bothered taking on the smog. Dinner is in the dining room which looks like a comfy Indian home fitted out with traditional Indian fabrics, Indian rugs, table lamps for atmosphere and all the walls painted in rich colour tones like green and red.

The food is excellent especially the paratha bread with a trio of savoury vegetarian dips. Of course we have a couple of drinks before bed at 9.

Friday 27^th October, 2017

Amritsar

Today we plan to visit the Golden Temple this morning then get to the Pakistan border late this afternoon for the Wagah Border ceremony. And the best news is that the smog has gone! So, like every other day we’ve had so far, we have cloudless blue skies.

After breakfast in the Dining by the Garden pavilion we set off in a taxi for the ten-minute drive to the Golden Temple. I’ll tell you about it. The Golden Temple, or the Sri Harimandar Sahib, is a place of reverence for pilgrims particularly Sikhs but thousands of visitors of all religions, including us athiests, visit every day.

We’re dropped off in Amritsar’s old city which is a red-walled maze of shops, bazaars, and tiny eating places. On Heritage Street we come across the vibrant blue of the historic Hindu temple, Prachin Shri Shani Dev Ji Mandir then, standing proud in an open square, is the impressive Statue of Maharaja Ranjit Singh who founded the first Sikh Empire in the early 1800’s.

From here it’s only a short walk to the vast Temple complex where our first view is of a pure white building complete with arches and onion-shaped domes as a dramatic backdrop to fountains and a vast tiled area where locals hang out in family groups.

Once we’ve removed our shoes and washed our hands, we’re given head scarves each – red for me and orange for Mark. Wearing head scarves is a sign of respect to the Sikhs who themselves cover their hair. Sikh women wear a cloth called a chunni to cover their head while men wear a turban wrapped around their long hair which they never cut. They never cut their beards either so Sikh men really stand out wherever they go.

Because entry if free, we just walk straight through to the Tank, the Amrit Sarovar, where the Golden Temple sits grandly in the centre. It almost looks like it’s floating on the water. The Tank is the spiritual focus of the complex where pilgrims bathe in the water as it’s believed to have healing properties.

Women line up to enter the Women Only Bathing area while the men just get in there. Everyone is wearing colourful clothes, turbans and head scarves. I like the men’s  style of a long tailored shirt, with slits at the side called a Kurta matched with a Pajam which is a loose pant. Is that where the word ‘pajamas’ comes from?

Huge goldfish swim on the edges of the tank waiting for a feed while people sit praying in the shade. But most people are headed for the entrance to the Golden Temple itself which is reached by a long walkway. The line-up is nuts so we’ll give it a miss as we really don’t know what we’d be looking at anyway.

We sit on the ground for a while with hundreds of others to listen to the rhythmic chanting of worshippers as they walk around the chamber and musicians play traditional instruments.

Nearby even more people are lined up for the free daily meal. The temple is open to devotees of all faiths and serves up to 100,000 people each day. We don’t stay but decide to head back to the Old City.

We find a moody place in an upstairs restaurant for lime sodas then walk through Bazaar Ram Bagh looking for presents for home. We love the grocery shops and the fresh food area but spend up big in the fabric section where I buy a heap of brightly coloured silk scarves with mirrored decorations.

From here we meet a guy who says he’ll take us to a place where they sell antiques and rugs. This is India House not far from the centre but in a quiet tree-lined laneway. We could fill a plane with things we love but end up with a beautiful carpet and a few statues. I could spend all day here and refurnish our whole house. Lauren would hate it all. Ha ha!

Another taxi ride through the crazy traffic, takes us back to the oasis of Ranjit’s SVAASA for a quick lunch then a rest in our peaceful, cool room to chill out in the heat of the day.

Later in the afternoon, we order a taxi to drive us thirty kilometres out of the city along the famous Grand Trunk Road to the Wagah Border which is the boundary separating India from its neighbour Pakistan. Here a flag ceremony is held every evening before sunset – one on the Indian side and one on the Pakistani side.

We’d watched this on a documentary some years ago so we thought we knew what to expect but, since then, it’s become so much bigger and is a huge attraction for Indian and foreign tourists. After being dropped off on the side of the road we need to jump into a cycle rickshaw to take us closer to the border. Hundreds of other people are doing the same thing and it’s a race to the gate.

Here we line up in very long rows – me in the women-only line and Mark in the men’s line. Thankfully we came early as this could take a while.

Finally through the gate, we still have about a kilometre to walk to the stadium itself. Passing through the wide entrance, we can’t believe the size of this thing! It’s big enough to hold 25,000 people! And this happens every night! But this is India, after all, with it now beating China for having the highest population of any country in the world – 1.4 billion!

The stadium is built around the single paved road that passes from Wagah in India through the border to Attari in Pakistan. Grandstands rise up on either side of the road which is now filled with hundreds of women wearing saris of flamboyant colours who have poured out of the stands to dance together in a sort of Indian mosh pit.  Meanwhile a guy in a white tracksuit runs from one side to the other revving up the crowds.  

Many of the seats are already taken but we find grandstand seats only a few rows up and close to the towering border gates. Soon the Indian border guards appear wearing khaki uniforms draped in medals and sporting handsome tall red-fanned hats.

The crowd is roaring, clapping and chanting patriotic songs in competition with the Pakistan side which is pretty pathetic with only a small crowd compared to the thousands on ‘our’ side.

The excitement continues as the guards stomp and high-kick their way up and down the street. The Pakistani guards march in synchronised steps and both finish with a long death stare at each other. I think it’s brilliant that any angst between the two countries is forgotten here each night.

And then here come the girls! Two female guards march out repeating the kicks and stomps as they head towards the border gates. This sends the crowd into a frenzy and we cheer along with them – go the girls!

The show ends with the guards on both sides of the border having a face-off before slowly lowering the flags. Now it’s time to leave and, of course, it’s chaos but we really love the atmosphere with everyone so pumped up and in the end we find it relatively easy to get back to Ranjit’s SVAASA. Darkness is almost upon us and it’s quite lovely to be driving through the countryside as the long shadows of dusk fall across the fields.

After a big day we eat again in the lovely dining room and dress up in our new Indian clothes.

Saturday 28^th October, 2017

Amritsar to Singapore

Our last day in India as we fly out to Singapore this afternoon. Breakfast is in the garden pavilion once again where we enjoy the buffet this morning.

What I want to do before we leave is to have a massage in the Hibiscus Pavillion Spa which is in a secluded area at the rear of the haveli. At once I love the atmosphere with its dim interior, sweet smells and soft Indian music.

Because this is India, the massage is the age-old Ayurvedic which involves lots of oils so I need a shower and hair wash before getting dressed for the long trip home. Meanwhile my darling has done all the packing as he always does.

At ten o’clock we say a warm farewell to our lovely hosts and set off for Rajah Sansi International Airport which is only about eight kilometres out of town but considering Indian traffic it could take hours.   

Actually, we reach it quickly and take off on Scoot Airways on time at 14.10 for the six-hour flight to Singapore. And this is hilarious. Because Diwali celebrations are still going on, the crew dress in saris and turbans and dance up and down the aisles to loud Indian music while the cabins are filled with different coloured lights. Where else but India!

In Singapore we have a three-hour layover before our 1.45am flight to Sydney.

Sunday 29^th October, 2017

Sydney to Newcastle

Arrive just after midday then catch the train home to our darling girls. A wonderful trip!