India.
Varanasi was a name that rolled off the tongues of many especially during the last month of my travels. I naturally took this as a sign to abandon my return flight to Delhi and instead enter India via bus to ensure a visit to the city described as both dark and captivating. After a fleeting second of shut-eye at the Korean Monastery in Lumbini (the birthplace of Buddha), I found myself at Sunali, the Indian/Nepali border town. The stark difference between the two countries divided by what effectively is a line on the ground will never cease to amaze me. Not 10 seconds within “India” when it becomes apparent that the ground is considerably more littered, begging children are tugging at our clothes, a stationary mustachioed man starts heckling us, and the officer at passport control cannot be bothered to look up from his newspaper to do his job (I have to thrust my passport in his face to receive a responsive grunt and the appropriate forms). Ah India, how I had almost forgotten.
The 10 hour drive from Sunali to Varanasi was marked with varying scenery, new facial features, and who else but The Beatles. I was basking in the glow of homecoming.
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| varanasi |
Upon reaching our destination, we were thrown into a chaotic whirlwind of rickshaw armies (NEVER take out your guide book in public places), death defying traffic, hustlers and street vendors trying to get a leg up on the next guy. A far cry from chilled out Nepal, but embraced as part of the experience unique only to India. Varanasi was postcard perfect with it's array of ghats lining the holy but (pardon me) somewhat foul Ganges River. Parts of the river are apparently septic; however, despite this, it is considered a privilege to be cremated on its shores. The cremation and the preceding ceremony are open for the public to see with no qualms as the men paid to tend to the flames prod at limbs and feet like firewood. Witnessing the event from start to finish was remarkably intense and required an evening of rest and internal recovery. Varanasi was much more gentle during the days that followed. Banana milk, bindis, crashing a conference at Varanasi University (all in the name of free delicious food), and days spent on varying rooftops while watching the city fly kites made up the chapters for rest of the week.
It was my cue to hit the road the moment the shopkeepers and chai boys became familiar faces. Although not what I had originally planned, the next destination was Khajuro, a quiet town known for its detailed erotic temples. The temples were indeed a sight to behold but temple hopping and sight seeing isn't how I envisioned passing my time in India. Having said that, there was one powerhouse of a site whose daylight presence was both commanding and exhilarating....
Arriving at 4 AM the next day in the swarming tourist hole that is Agra we playing the waiting game. Waiting in line for the Taj Mahal felt just like queueing up for a stadium show ("Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we've all been waiting for....."). Sleep deprived, delirious (pretty sure we saw Michael Jackson), and wildly excited we finally burst through the gates a few hours later. It was everything I dreamt it would be and although I was suffering with a fever on the train ride over, I was gleefully energetic, bouncing around from shutter clicks to shouts of joy. The added bonus was the drunk "guide" (he had a badge and everything) who told us where to take the best shots and had us positioned in ways that I haven't seen since the Saved By the Bell era. Think balled fist on chin, Uncle Rico style. Once the endorphins started to come to a steady halt we reluctantly dragged ourselves around the seedy "must sees" of Agra (the Red Fort where I got sick and a jewelry shop where the owner was intent on going to hell), killing time before the 7 hour bus ride to Jaipur. No matter how INCREDIBLY exhausted we were, there was no way were we spending a night in a city whose only redeeming feature is the palace we already branded and ate for breakfast.
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| part of the best birthday surprise |
Jaipur, the capital city of the state of Rajastan that provided my first real thrill in India at the end of October. A friendly face, a car ride, and an actual bed that would be mine for the following three days. Bliss squared. Rajastan was where I ached to return and three months after our first introduction, my wishes were again fulfilled. A new adventure commences yet again.
Varanasi was a name that rolled off the tongues of many especially during the last month of my travels. I naturally took this as a sign to abandon my return flight to Delhi and instead enter India via bus to ensure a visit to the city described as both dark and captivating. After a fleeting second of shut-eye at the Korean Monastery in Lumbini (the birthplace of Buddha), I found myself at Sunali, the Indian/Nepali border town. The stark difference between the two countries divided by what effectively is a line on the ground will never cease to amaze me. Not 10 seconds within “India” when it becomes apparent that the ground is considerably more littered, begging children are tugging at our clothes, a stationary mustachioed man starts heckling us, and the officer at passport control cannot be bothered to look up from his newspaper to do his job (I have to thrust my passport in his face to receive a responsive grunt and the appropriate forms). Ah India, how I had almost forgotten.
Arriving at 4 AM the next day in the swarming tourist hole that is Agra we playing the waiting game. Waiting in line for the Taj Mahal felt just like queueing up for a stadium show ("Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we've all been waiting for....."). Sleep deprived, delirious (pretty sure we saw Michael Jackson), and wildly excited we finally burst through the gates a few hours later. It was everything I dreamt it would be and although I was suffering with a fever on the train ride over, I was gleefully energetic, bouncing around from shutter clicks to shouts of joy. The added bonus was the drunk "guide" (he had a badge and everything) who told us where to take the best shots and had us positioned in ways that I haven't seen since the Saved By the Bell era. Think balled fist on chin, Uncle Rico style. Once the endorphins started to come to a steady halt we reluctantly dragged ourselves around the seedy "must sees" of Agra (the Red Fort where I got sick and a jewelry shop where the owner was intent on going to hell), killing time before the 7 hour bus ride to Jaipur. No matter how INCREDIBLY exhausted we were, there was no way were we spending a night in a city whose only redeeming feature is the palace we already branded and ate for breakfast. 
Through temple treks, days of silence and kite-dotted skies, Uncle Rico references remain and all fills my heart within its pictures of you.
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