India - Jan/Feb 2025

tammikuuta - helmikuuta 2025
  • Tim's Travels
Trying not to get mugged this time. Lue lisää
  • Tim's Travels

Luettelo maista

  • Intia Intia
  • Englanti Englanti
Luokat
Ei mitään
  • 17,6tajetut kilometrit
Kuljetusvälineet
  • Lento-kilometriä
  • Kävely-kilometriä
  • Patikointi-kilometriä
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  • 36jalanjäljet
  • 38päivää
  • 375valokuvat
  • 48tykkäykset
  • Day 1 - I've been here before.

    7. tammikuuta, Englanti ⋅ ⛅ 5 °C

    14:00
    Are you bored yet? I’m definitely not. And yet, and yet - this is the last planned trip of my sabbatical. A cause for sadness, and yet one for joy. I’ve travelled to India perhaps 5-6 times, but most of those have been trips to Goa, with very little exploration of the huge country beyond. Only once, in 2007, have I travelled more widely. That trip was an eye-opener in so many ways. It was, first and foremost, the first time I ‘travelled’ as opposed to holidaying. Low budget, throw some clothes in a rucksack, see where you end up sort of territory. It told me that (then) I could get by on a total budget of $30 per day, including my accommodation. It was a trip over my 30th birthday, a gift to myself. It was 3 (and then 6 - more of that later) weeks of the most sublime experiences. I arrived a raw and apprehensive, and somewhat uptight character. I left with a hugely different view of travelling in general, and India specifically. When I look back at my time overseas since then, it’s dominated by trips off the beaten path, in some cases into the unknown, and always to places that will fascinate, surprise and in some cases shock.

    So - the 3 week / 6 week thing. It kinda needs some explanation, and I’ll try to be brief. The 3 week trip over my 30th was sensational. A genuinely eye-opening and jaw-dropping experience. I spent my first week in Goa, I tracked tigers in Bandhavgarh, I visited the mountainous spice plantations of Kerala, and wondered at the majesty of the Taj Mahal. At the end of all of this, I spent 1 night in Delhi, as a pit-stop before flying home - and got mugged. Rucksack stolen containing passport, and perhaps most devastatingly my camera, with a memory card in it that covered the second half of my trip - The Taj and tiger park. The following 3 weeks were variously spent dealing with India bureaucracy, and getting out of Delhi to visit places I’d not though I’d have time to travel to. The mugging left me concussed, and for the first few days at least, scared. By the end of the 3 weeks, while massively ready to go home, I’d rediscovered my love for India, a love that has persisted until now.

    This trip on which I’m embarking today is covering a few bases. I promised myself back in 2007 that I would reconstruct the second half of my journey - visiting Agra to see the Taj, and heading back out into tiger country. You’ll hear a fair bit about that along the way. I’m also heading back to Goa - where Vicki will meet me for 10 days. We both love Goa, and are heading back for the first time in a decade. I’m also visiting some new places en route.

    It’s the longest single trip I’ve ever planned. The 2007 extravaganza ended up clocking in at 6 weeks, but that was hardly my intention. This time around, I’ve got 5 1/2 weeks to play with. I’m planning to use trains as my primary method of long distance travel. I’ve loved using trains in India since my first experiences. They’re a brilliant hotbed of social interaction, an amazing place to wile away the hours, and simply one of my very most favourite travel experiences. I have 4 overnight trains, with a variety of sleeping arrangements. I expect to enjoy all of them. I’ve brought a pack of cards in the hope that I can get another cribbage card school up and running on at least one of the trains.

    Most of all, I’m excited to see if the India I fell in love with is still there. India has developed massively in the past 17 years - socially and economically. I remember at the time finding that there was a burgeoning middle class, with whom I struggled to connect. Far preferable to me were the everyday working people I met - tuk-tuk drivers, restaurant workers, bar staff. I forged firm, if fleeting friendships. I’d love to find the same attitudes, the same openness and kindness. Time will tell.

    For now, I’m happy to be midway to Heathrow, in the back of a National Express coach - a place that’s become familiar and comforting to me over the past 12 months. Onwards, to Heathrow Terminal 3!

    17:00
    I’ve been here before n’all. ‘Here’ right now is the Curator at Heathrow’s Terminal 3. The terminal itself is its usual shitshow, but The Curator is a place of repose. It’s the last time for quite some… No - actually, we’ll fly out of here with Ali and Karin to New York in June. But other than THAT, it’s deffo the last time for quite a while.

    I get chatting to a couple in the bar. They’re also headed to India, but starting in Mumbai, before heading South to Goa, Kerala, and then up the East coast, to Puducherry and Chennai - all by way of celebrating their collective retirements. I comment (v cautiously) that neither of them look to be in their mid to late 60s. Happily, they’re not. Early retirees at 57 and 60 respectively. I love that they’re heading off on a self-guided back-packing trip, and find myself wondering if I’ll be doing the same in 10-15 years time…

    There are a lot of young people in the airport. By ‘young’ I mean 18-25. I’m intrigued as to where they’re going, as T3 is predominantly a long haul destination. I find myself judging that most are off on some kind of gap year type thing. I didn’t get around to that at a similar age, but have plenty of friends who did. India, Nepal, SE Asia and Australasia were the destinations of the day, and I’m curious whether that’s the same today. I let curiosity get the better of me, and ask just such a youth, who’s standing at the bar, where he’s off to. “Prague” is the answer. I did say it was *largely* a long-haul terminal…
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  • Visited this store in 2007 to buy jeans and a hoodie, for cold mountain weather....
    Utterly majesticPahar Ganj CHAOSEr, ok.

    Day 2 - Indelible Memories

    8. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C

    11:00
    I’m in the back of a cab, barging its way through traffic on the highway into New Delhi. I can’t remember how many times I did this journey - to the city or to the airport in 2007, but it was a LOT. Leaving the airport, memories start to come flooding back, and they’re not all pleasant ones.

    Flight was a breeze. Shorter than advertised though, which means I’ve only had a handful of hours of sleep. I’ve a 6 hour train journey later, so will try to catch up a bit.

    One thing I’ve definitely not missed about India is the glacial pace of bureaucracy. India has (relatively) recently implemented an eVisa system, not dissimilar to the USA’s ESTA programme. At the immigration queue, each and every passenger takes around 5 minutes for the guard to check. How and why, I’m not sure. Apparently there are biometric gates on the way, but they’re not here yet. What should take 20 minutes, takes an excruciating 90. When it’s finally FINALLY my turn, the immigration agent gives my passport a cursory glance, asks for my phone to see my visa, which is also allocated a cursory glance, takes my fingerprints, stamps my passport, and waves me through. Less than 90 seconds. What they’re doing the rest of the the time is beyond me.

    Delhi is a polluted city, by any measure. The World Health Organisation have a pollution scale, where a score of 5 is considered good. Anything under 10 is fine, really. Brighton? 8.9. London? 9.2. Delhi? A slightly laughable / slightly scary 102.1 It’s not significantly worsened in the past 10-15 years, but neither has it improved. The traffic on the highway seems just as busy to me. On the plus side, the cars do seem newer, and thus (one would hope) slightly less polluting? As we creep into the city centre, the smog is palpable. There’s a distinct haze lurking over the city. I’m not here long enough to worry about air quality, but I’m glad of that…

    12:30
    Officially a bit weirded out now. In the weeks I was stuck in Delhi post-mugging, I spent much/most of the time I wasn’t trying to sort out new travel documents at a café / bar / restaurant called United Coffee House. It’s on Connaught Place, the hub of so much of New Delhi life. It’s also a convenient 15 minute walk from New Delhi train station, whence my train departs this afternoon. Sitting here, now, in UCH, is instantly being transported back to 2007. It hasn’t changed at all. It’s done out in a kind of quasi European grand café style, aided by the French music playing. By India standards, it’s an expensive place to hang out, but I distinctly recall that my mugging left me feeling animosity towards anything traditionally Indian, and I craved something that felt more like home. It only lasted a few days, but UCH was my comfort blanket at the time. I even remember the seat that I used to sit in, day in and day out, whilst I tried to rewrite my journal, which had been stolen along with my camera and passport. There’s someone sitting there today, otherwise I’d have grabbed it as a strange little tribute…

    The last couple of miles to reach New Delhi station were the epitome of chaos. Cars/rickshaws driving the wrong way down the street; traffic police directing traffic in the exact opposite order than the traffic lights; pedestrians throwing themselves into the road. New Delhi station itself is equally chaotic. My driver drops me ‘somewhere’ and I proceed to try and work out how to get to the cloakroom, to leave my luggage for a few hours. It takes a few attempts, but I’m ultimately successful. I remember in 2007 I was apprehensive, perhaps overly so, of anyone who tried to talk to me. This was only at first, and on my initial arrival into Mumbai. That feeling is absent now. I’m unsure whether it’s simply good muscle memory from previous trips to India, or a general ease that comes with more experience travelling the world. It’s probably a bit of both. At the station, my beard garners several compliments, one of which suggests I look like Aladdin? Or was it Ali Ba-Ba?

    Walking back down to Connaught Place, I’m asked every 10 seconds or so whether I want a tuk-tuk. I do not, and having politely declined the first few invitations, I quickly settle into a firmer, ‘No, no,’ accompanied by a firm shake of the head, which does the job. The weather is actually a very lovely 16C and sunny. January is mid-Winter in Delhi. The afternoon promises 22C, and overnight might get down as low as 7C. Walking through the sunshine, there’s a gentle warmth on my skin, that I’ve not felt since we were in Brazil back in October. The further South I go, the hotter it’ll get. Mid 30s in some places…

    My first beer back on Indian soil is, of course, a Kingfisher. There are other domestic beers, but only Kingfisher tickles my pink bits. I’ll be interested to see if beer culture has changed much in the past decade. In the UK, I drink cider, IPA or stout. Over here, I’m expecting beering to be largely lager based. Manas, though, has told me that in some of the more cosmopolitan parts of India, there’s a burgeoning craft beer scene. Mumbai aside, I’m not sure how many of my planned stops count as cosmopolitan though…

    16:15
    From UCH, I wobble 5 mins around Connaught Place to Nizam’s - purveyors of the finest Kathi kebab rolls I’ve ever had. It’s busy - peak lunchtime trade. The whole menu is tantalising, but I’ve come here for one thing - a double mutton / double egg Kathi roll. Spiced goat shish kebab, yoghurt sauce, some shredded cabbage. A paratha has some egg liberally applied to it, before having the goat/yoghurt/cabbage situation wrapped up in it. The whole kit and caboodle is then fried on a plancha type thing. It is beyond brilliant - as good as I remember. Time is marching on. It’s 14:30, and my train is due to leave at 14:30.

    NDLS is far busier than this morning. I pick up my rucksack, grab some train supplies at a little platform kiosk, and head to platform 9. The train is sitting at the platform, waiting for us. 15:30 comes and goes, and we’ve not been allowed to board. I ask a guard if he knows how long we’ll be delayed. He does a sort of combo of a shrug and a head wobble. The Indian head wobble could dominate an entire book, so loaded is it with nuance and complexity. The same physical gesture can mean any of:

    1) Yes
    2) No
    3) Maybe
    4) I don’t know
    5) Good
    6) Okay
    7) I understand
    8) I don't understand

    I have yet to determine if there are idiosyncrasies that determine which of these is intended. My understanding to date is that it’s the same gesture, and it’s down to the recipient to decipher its intended meaning.

    We board the train around 15:45. It’s warm on-board. The train will be air-conditioned once we get moving, or so I’m promised. I’m in a window seat. The train looks comfy enough. 4 seats across the carriage, with plenty of leg room. My hope is to get some sleep, as I’m properly jaded.

    We finally get underway at 16:15, around 45 minutes later than scheduled. Manas is in Lucknow at the moment, and has incredibly kindly offered to meet my train, and drop me to my hotel. I ping him to let him know we’re already delayed, and that I’ll let him know if we make up any time. My experience with Indian trains suggests that, if anything, it’ll be the other way…

    21:45
    Well, I don’t think we’ve lost a ton more time, but we’ve not made any up either. Looks like we’ll be about 40 minutes late into Lucknow, which is not a disaster. I’v also managed to catch up on about 3 hours of sleep, which feels like a decent result. I certainly feel less like dogshit. The train’s been a cakewalk. I recall in 2007 initially thinking of a 7 hour train journey as a behemoth undertaking, and I guess in the UK it would be. By the end of my trip, it felt like the merest of puddle jumps. This is admittedly a fairly light introduction to my train trips over the next month. Nagpur to Goa’s the peak - 24 hours from Nagpur into Miraj, an 8 hour layover in Miraj, which is not much more than a train junction, then an 8 hour overnight train into Margao, 30 minutes drive from Patnem.

    I’m conscious that I’ve not seen another white face since leaving the airport at 10:30 this morning. Not a one. I don’t know if January is typically a quieter month for Western travellers, or if numbers are just down from where they were 17 years ago. Time will tell. I don’t know what to expect in Lucknow as it’s new to me. Agra will be my first chance perhaps to take a more considered view. Agra was notably busy with tourists when I visited.

    None of this is a bad thing BTW. I spend some time on the Lucknow train chatting to Kabir. He’s in his 30s, and heading home to see his family, having spent Christmas and New Year with his wife’s family in Gujarat. I ask if he’s Christian, but no - he’s one of countless Hindus who now celebrate Christmas annually. I ask him what to look out for in Lucknow, and he gives me some recommendations of things to see. Particularly, he names a few places to try Nawab cuisine, and specifically the mutton pulao so famous in Lucknow. I first saw this on a Rick Stein TV show about 10 years ago. I cannot WAIT to try this worldie of a dish.

    In other news, I appear to be having one of my much rarer than they used to be but still utterly annoying when they happen arthritic flare ups. My left foot is not in a great way. Hopefully settle down overnight. Fatigue can be a trigger, so keeping fingers crossed that a decent night’s sleep helps reset…

    23:45
    The train finally rumbles in at 22:40, only 35 minutes late - not a bad result. Manas is waiting for me on the platform, bless him. It’s great to see him, to finally meet him. I recruited Manas to work at SHL a couple of years before I left. We worked very well together, but formed a stronger bond than that. We’ve remained closely in touch since I rage quit in the middle of 2022. A large part of why I’m in Lucknow is that it’s his hometown, and he’s here for a couple of days while I’m visiting. We’ll hook up around lunchtime tomorrow, and likely spend Friday together as well. We’ll also grab some time in Mumbai, where he’s now based, right at the end of my trip. Will be great to bookend a month of exploring…

    My hotel is basic, clean, good value. Does everything I need it to. The top up sleep I managed on the train plus a little bit bit of jet lag means I’m not quite sleep ready just yet. I throw on a movie, and do some reading ahead of the rest of my journey…
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  • Day 3 - I should be so Lucknow...

    9. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 10 °C

    12:40
    A little jet leg hissy fit meant I didn’t fall asleep until gone 02:00 last night. I could feel myself getting tense and fidgety at the frustration of it. Thankfully, I drifted off just moments before petulantly getting up. My body woke me a little before 09:00. Not the greatest of sleeps, but manageable. After 20 minutes of seeing what the day has to offer, I’m conscious my eyes still feel heavy. I turn the light off, pop my headphones back in, and am soon back in the land of zizz. An emergency alarm set for 12:00 is the next thing I’m conscious of hearing. I’ve had somewhere North of 9 hours, and that’s a good thing. I’m glad of my headphones. My hotel is on a busy street, and without them, I suspect I’d have been woken hours ago. There’s a barrage of traffic noises. It’s a particularly beepy interchange apparently. I’ll capture some video/audio of it later, so you can judge for yourselves.

    I feel much better for a good sleep. My foot is better, if not yet perfect. I start to make some plans for the day. Manas recommends I spend some time at Bara Imambara - one of the largest Nawab Muslim shrines, and home to some incredible Nawab architecture. I need sustenance first though. I had some snacks on the train last night, but it’s been a long time since my Kathi roll in Delhi…

    23:40
    What a day! I drag myself out around 13:30, and head down to Chowk, a busy market area 10 minutes walk from my hotel. It’s carnage and chaos rolled into a ball of cataclysmic cacophony. Definitely the source of this morning’s car horn chorus. Walking up the road, I’m conscious of needing to keep an eye on the many, MANY scooters and motorcycles on the road, otherwise they’ll career into me. I also quickly become aware I need to keep an eye on the pavement, so I don’t walk through any muck on the road. It’s a lot to process.

    I walk through an area that’s probably best described as the textile market - mostly Western knock-offs rather than anything local. It’s getting, if anything, even busier. I can’t believe there aren’t more car-crashes. It’s 14:00, and I’m definitely hungry. Manas pings me to let me know he’s gonna head over my way soon. I tell him I’m heading for a bite to eat. He pings me back just a few minutes later, saying I should head to Tunday Kebab. I reply saying that I’ve just sat down in that exact place. Kismet.

    He recommends some food to order, and I’m not gonna argue. Some mutton kebabs, which are of the smoothest and softest texture of any meat kebabs I’ve ever had. I’ve seen something similar made before. They’re lightly spiced, and without chilli heat - but incredibly tasty. Served with some hot, steaming, flaky paratha, a mint and coriander chutney, and some raw red onion. It’s an incredibly tasty combination. I’m mindful to eat with my right hand. The left is traditionally kept for arse wiping in India, so eating with the right is a sign of cleanliness. I’m not the most effective, but I’ve caught looks before for eating with my left. I order a couple of grilled chicken pieces - Tangri style, and they are perhaps even better than the mutton kebabs. Grilled to a burnished finish, char marks a plenty, and a beautiful spice flavour. The chicken itself tastes of chicken - it has texture and flavour where UK chicken often features neither. My lunch is incredibly good, and costs me about £3.

    It’s a 40 minute walk to Imambara. Manas is heading in from outside town, and says he’ll pick me up along the way. The temperature is in the high teens, and I enjoy the lack of heat as I march Westwards. I walk through some of the most hectic parts of town, and find myself loving the vagaries of the parts I pass through. I’m catching a lot of looks - I know it might initially seem like it’s my svelte figure, or dashing good looks that are attracting looks, but I think, I THINK it might be that I’m a white face. One guy is staring so hard at me as he rides past on his motorbike that he nearly crashes into a car. I’m quite the tourist attraction.

    Traffic is slow, and I actually reach Imambara before Manas catches up to me. It’s been a good post prandial march, and despite the fairly chilly weather, I can feel pinpricks of sweat on my forehead. Manas arrives, and we head into Imambara. It’s a 17th century Muslim shrine, built by one of the Nawabs, the rulers of Lucknow for centuries. It’s an impressive edifice, and as Manas tells me, is one of the largest structures made entirely out of stone, and without iron. We wander around the labyrinth, and then around the main hall of the complex. I’m surprised to find a display in the main hall which talks about the use of Hebrew language and reference to the Torah - the holy book of Judaism. Again, Manas comes through with the detail - which is that different sects of the Muslim religion have differing levels of connection to Judaism, despite what recent history of the Middle East would tell us.

    From Imambara, we head East into town. Manas has a driver, called Arun, who is our impeccable charioteer. We stop at a bar called Panchayat. We start with some Indian made craft beers, which quickly run out. We end up drinking frosty cans of Budweiser. We chat, we laugh, we philosophise, we drink beer. It’s tremendous fun to hang out together. After 5 beers, we head deeper into the city centre, and stop for some food at Al-Zaiqa. Manas has been coming here for 30 years. It’s very unassuming to look at, but the food - by the Power of Grayskull, the food. We have a chicken curry - a chicken leg in a rich, spice laden gravy. There’s no chilli heat - just the most sumptuous depth of flavour. Manas orders a chicken masala. Now, I thought ‘masala’ referred to an India spice paste. Well, it does - but it also refers to a dry curry like this. I’ve never eaten anything like it. It’s rich with coconut, cardamom and clove. Banging. We mop it up with more flaky, buttery paratha. Manas tells me that the right hand / left hand thing is no longer a thing, but I can’t bring myself to use my wiping hand.

    Manas’ childhood friend, Ritesh, joins us. He lives in Ireland these days, down in Cork, where my Dad was based for a few years. We finish up at Al-Zaiqa, where a couple of people ask to have their photo taken with me as I walk out. Honestly, I feel like I’m in a pound shop version of Take That. Fake Fat maybe. Manas makes a quick call, which I subsequently learn is to Ritesh’s wife, Apurva, encouraging her to come out for drinks. She acquiesces, despite having been ready for bed, and looking after their 3 year old, Aria. We head to a car called Social - just up the road. Manas orders us a vodka and sugarcane drink. It’s delicious. Strong with booze, sweet with sugar, but weirdly - not overly so. A couple of rounds is enough. I’m definitely feeling ready for sleep, and Manas is looking increasingly refreshed. Ritesh receives a call from his Mum saying Aria is refusing to sleep, and that’s enough to encourage he and Apurva home. We call it a day, but a successful one.

    Tomorrow, Manas is taking me to the village where his Dad grew up, 45km outside of Lucknow. I want to make a good impression, so need a decent kip…
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  • Busy night, then?

    Day 4 - Shit outta Lucknow

    10. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 11 °C

    11:30
    I wake naturally, and without even the merest hint of grogginess, around 09:30, and declare it a successful sleep. I ping Manas, and we arrange to meet at his place early this afternoon. I’m peckish, so arrange for some breakfast to be brought to my room. It’s apparently included in the room price. I don’t think there’s a dining area, so in-room eating appears to be the best and only bet. I’m restored by my masala omelette, and masala chai. I use the time to brush up on my Hindi. There is one, and only one phrase I’ve ever learnt:

    भाड़ में जाओ। नहीं, मुझे यह नहीं चाहिए।

    Loosely translated, this means, “Fuck off, no - I don’t want it,” and is my go to when being pestered by tuk-tuk drivers, beggars, peddlars and the like. If you want to play along at home, the Latin alphabet version is:

    Bhaad mein jao. Nahin - mujhe yah nahin chaahie.

    If you want something shorter and snappier then I heartily recommend a vigorous, “Bhaad mein jao!” accompanied by a quick wave of the hand. Works wonders.

    Uh-oh. Tummy rumblings.

    16:45
    Well isn’t this just the bee’s knees. Ritesh and Apurva joked last night, asking whether my stomach would be upset after my visit to Al-Zaiqa. I’m not sure if it’s that, or the effects of international travel, or a somewhat boozy day yesterday - or a combo of all three. Whatever - it’s caused me to need to cancel today’s plans. I tell Manas that I’ll ping him later if I’m feeling up to heading out for some food. Around 12:30, I put my head back down for more sleep, and have about another two hours. Feels like a properly deep sleep as well. I have a dream during this sleep, that I’m heading to the airport, but haven’t packed any clothes in my suitcase, so have to take a cab back to my house to get some, and end up missing my flight. Deeply, DEEPLY disturbing.

    I reconcile myself to a day of resting, movie watching dozing, and rehydration sachets. Hopefully (fingers crossed, touch cloth etc etc) this will end up being my one upset stomach incident of my trip. I’ll drink (blackcurrant and chalk flavour rehydration sachets) to that.

    21:30
    Around 18:00, I decide I’m up to a foray out to get some very plain food. The street outside the hotel is still crazy busy, and noisy. In the dark, the risk of getting mown down is significantly higher. I take it relatively in my stride.

    About 5 minutes walk from my hotel is Central, a café/restaurant type place that’s well reviewed. I mean - I’m only here for rice, but still - it’s nice to know other people have enjoyed eating there. It’s chilly out - around 11C. I’m actually wearing my hoodie, and beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have packed a second. I’ve got a green microfibre fleece type thing, intended for the early starts in tiger country, but may have to bust it out in Agra. I’m literally the only person in the café. They had to turn the lights on (and doubtless, fire up the stove) to accommodate me. I can imagine they were more than a little disappointed at the meagre nature of my order. Anyways, my steamed rice, tandoor roti and mineral water dinner is as exciting as it sounds. But it hits my stomach, and doesn’t upset things too much. There are a couple of twinges and cramps, but back at my room, there’s no urgency for the toilet. This is good news.

    I’m disappointed not to have been able to visit Manas’ Dad’s village today. Would have been a fab experience. I’m minded though that on such a long trip to India, I should expect to lose a few days here and there to a dodgy tum. I’ll do everything I can to keep the number to a minimum… Moving day tomorrow. Agra awaits!
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  • Monkey!
    Monkeys!Mini monkey!

    Day 5 - A Day to Forget

    11. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    16:00
    No wake up / mad panic / toilet dashes during the night. Success! I sleep pretty well - maybe a shade under 8 hours, but good restful and REM sleep. I’m ready for anything! All I’ve got to look forward to this morning though, is packing and leaving. My train’s not till 15:30, but I need to be out of my room around 12:00. I mooch in bed for a while, decide against breakfast (just in case, like) and order some black coffee instead. What arrives is rank. I *think* it might once have been a relative of tea, but it’s difficult to say. It’s definitely never know the forbidden love of a coffee bean.

    I check out a little before midday. I need to get some food, and find somewhere to chill for a few hours before heading to the station. I head back to Panchayat, where Manas and I beered a couple of days ago. I’m their only customer. A pattern emerges. They claim to be open 24 hours a day, so for all I know, a huge crowd left only moments ago. I order some chicken and roti from the Tandoor. Delicious. To err on the side of safety, I avoid beer, and drink water instead.

    Around 14:30, I figure I should probably head to the station. Confusingly, Lucknow has 3 distinct stations within 100m of each other - Lucknow NE, Lucknow Junction and Charbargh. To be honest, it might be 2 stations with 3 different names. I can’t be sure. I inevitably get dropped off at one of the wrong ones. It takes me a few minutes to figure this out, but I get there in the end. Around this time, I discover that my train has been delayed around 2-2.5 hours. These kinds of delays are very much standard on the India railways. I’ve spent plenty of time sitting on top of my rucksack on a railway platform, generally unaware of the when my train is coming in. Happily, availability of 4G coverage means I can actually keep on top of when I’m gonna be leaving. Back in 2007, there was a lot more luck than judgement, and I’m amazed I didn’t get on at least one entirely incorrect train…

    So - couple of hours to kill. on what appears to be THE most uncomfortable bench seat ever. FFS.

    17:45
    Still waiting.

    On the plus side, there’s some excitement when monkeys steal some passengers’ food.

    22:20
    As I FINALLY board the train around 18:30, my stomach winces. Oooooooh great. I dump (pardon the…) my bags, and head straight for the toilet. I don’t wish to be indelicate, but it’s rather like someone has turned on a tap. All comes out pretty quickly.

    Back in my seat, I start to feel a little feverish. Today is worsening at quite a rate. I ignore the food offered by the train staff, and focus instead on hydration, and the occasional dash to the toilet. I’m shivering in my seat, but then suddenly roasting hot. Quite dull really. Oooh, we’re about 20 minutes from Tundla Junction, where I’ll jump off the train, and get a cab over to Agra, about 30 minutes away.

    00:30
    Ok - today can just get in the fucking bin. Disembarking the train at Tundla Junction, I am met by a powerful thunderstorm. Absolutely pooning it down. Thankfully, my waterproof is easily accessible in my rucksack.

    All of the signs at the station are in Hindi, which makes it tricky to figure out how to get out. I’ve booked an Uber, which I eventually find about 10 minutes walk from the station. Probably some local regulation that says only the rickshaw drivers are allowed close to the station.

    Those of you that have visited India will know that driving is not one of the special skills that the populace of the country possess. Fortunately, the roads are pretty empty, but my driver still manages to make the journey a fairly hair-raising one. We hit every pot hole going, aqua-plane through some deep puddles. My driver is variously on his phone, or watching music videos - while he ‘drives.’ At one point, having hit a particularly vicious pot hole, he opens the driver door while we’re doing 50mph, I guess to see if he’s blown a tyre. All of this is topped off by my seatbelt not working. Deep, DEEP joy.

    We’re about a mile away from my guesthouse, when we’re met by some metal barriers across the road, and my driver says he can’t go any further forward. I had heard this might be the case, as traffic regulations around the Taj Mahal are very strict. However, in my current state, and with the weather doing what it is, it’s a bitter disappointment.

    I set off in the direction of my guesthouse. Walking along has, let’s say, some detrimental effects. About half way there, I determine that I’m not going to make it without a toilet stop. It’s nearly midnight, and everything is closed. Look - let’s just say it’s definitely the first, and hopefully the last time that I have to avail myself of a plant pot as a toilet. I reassure myself that the next time I’m struck with the urgent need to visit the facilities, I’ll be safely ensconced in my room.

    I arrive at Joey’s Hostel just before midnight. I just wanna get to my room and collapse into bed. My fever is worsening, and the stomach gripes are almost constant. 15 minutes later, I’m still waiting for the reception dude to figure out how to check me in. I’m verging on losing my shit - which is ironic, I guess. The other reception dude finally takes pity on me, and takes me to my room - which is not ready. It’s being cleaned. I’m boiling. Dude takes me to another room which IS ready, and I can finally bring to a close a day that started out with some positivity, but has ended up being one of the toughest days of travelling I can remember having.

    As Scarlett O’Hara so famously said, tomorrow is another day…
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  • Day 6 - Nothing of Note Happened

    12. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C

    23:30
    Nothing of any note happened today, and yet - it was a far happier day than yesterday.I slept fitfully through the night, waking on many occasions to run to the toilet. I’m variously cold and shivering, and hot and sweaty - pretty standard fever type stuff. I wake for the last time around 11:30, and actually feel pretty rested. The stomach cramps are still there, but less frequent, and less painful. I’d already concluded today would be a day of nothing, and stick to this plan with commitment.

    At some point in the afternoon, I wonder whether some food would be a good idea. I definitely feel hungry, but ultimately decide against it. A liquid lunch of the most dull kind for me today.

    I doze a couple of times, read quite a bit, and watch a couple of movies. My stomach continues to improve, and is starting to feel pretty hollow. I’m conscious that I’ve really not eaten much since Thursday, and nothing at all in the past 36 hours.

    I’m still managing to be sanguine about the experience. It is what it is and so on. A hint of disappointment is starting to creep in. The intended recreation of the latter part of my 2007 trip is really not going brilliantly so far. Hopefully, HOPEFULLY I’ll feel up to a visit to the Taj either tomorrow or Tuesday…

    No photos today, for which I hope you'll thank me.
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  • Oooh, look!
    I feel like I've lost weight...

    Day 7 - Food. Actual, solid food.

    13. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 11 °C

    15:10
    I’m already declaring today a success. I sleep well, and don’t recall having to get up once during the night to use the toilet. When I do, things are improving. For those of you familiar with the Bristol scale (and if you’re not, why not?) I’ve moved from a 7 to a 6, and this is cause for great joy.

    I spend what’s left of the morning mooching, checking out how my stomach feels. Around 13:00, I decide it’s time to brave the outside. I’m not planning to overstretch myself. My guesthouse has a rooftop café, to which I head. The sun is warm on my skin, the sky is hazy but clear, and there’s a stunning view of the Taj Mahal about 300m to the North of me. I sit for a while, and take it in. The view is by no means a replacement for the visit I have planned tomorrow morning at dawn, yet it excites me nonetheless.

    The menu is a blend of Indian and global dishes. Tempting as a Dhal Makhani is, I’m not ready to test my stomach to that extent. Cheese omelette and some dry toast - that’s the one for me. I’ve honestly no idea how my belly’s going to react, but there’s only one way to find out. I’m staggeringly hungry. Even the dry toast tastes delicious. The tastiest omelette I’ve ever eaten was the Omelette Arnold Bennett, at the Hand and Flowers, Tom Kerridge’s 2 Michelin Star pub in Marlow. Soft, baveuse eggs, excellent parmesan cheese, topped with the very best of smoked haddock, and a glaze of Hollandaise, raw egg yolk and béchamel made from the poaching liquor from the smoked haddock. Divine.

    I tell you what though - this one’s a close second, despite containing only egg and Paneer.

    I decide not to press my luck. I could definitely eat more, but want to see how this modest feast settles. Passing by reception, I pick up my laundry, and head back to my room. HOLD TIGHT FOR FEEDBACK.

    23:50
    I know you’ve all been on tenterhooks. The short answer is could have been better, but could have been a lot worse. I don’t feel up to any excursions this afternoon, but neither am I writhing around on my bed in agony, interspersed with frequent toilet dashes. I’ll take it. I’m definitely on an upward trajectory, but it’s slower than I’d have liked.

    My tour guide for the sunrise tour of the Taj Mahal tomorrow contacts me to let me know it’s likely going to be foggy first thing tomorrow, so we should reschedule for late morning when the sun will break through. The Taj at sunrise (when the sun’s actually shining) is a thing of staggering beauty - but there’s much less shock and awe if it’s shrouded in mist. I’m not entirely disappointed not to have to set an alarm for 05:30, if I’m honest.

    The afternoon passes in a spate of dozes, some reading, and a movie. I downloaded a ton of stuff to my iPad before leaving the UK. The extended bed-rest I’ve had over the past few days means I’ve burnt my way through much of it. I’ve still got plenty to read though, so am well covered for my 18 hour, overnight train ride tomorrow night. Well, I say 18 hours - the average delay for this train is around 90 minutes, but can be more like 4-5, so anywhere between 18 and 24 I guess…

    Around 23:00, I decide to get some sleep. Despite not needing to get up at 05:30, I still wanna be up in half decent time tomorrow. Perhaps 15 minutes later, a loud banging starts outside my door, for what I’m not initially sure. Could be some urgent maintenance I guess? It continues for the next 10 minutes, which is not at all cool. I’m sure I’m not the only one trying to sleep. I stick my head out my door, and find a group of Indian guys trying to break into one of the rooms next to mine. When I say ‘break in’ that reads like something nefarious is happening. It’s not - it’s a broken lock. A couple of the guys standing around and watching work for the guesthouse. They look at me as I peer round the corner, and I manage a very British ‘tut’ allied to a modest shake of the head, such is my distaste. The noise continues for another 15-20 minutes, and comes to a temporary close with the sound of smashing wood. Clearly, some sort of ingress has been achieved. I roll over, and try to sleep - only to be startled by the sound of hammering and drilling. Clearly, the repairs to the door are going to happen right now. I’m apparently not sleeping until this racket has subsided, so sit up for a while, waiting for abatement…
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  • Day 8 - Speechless.

    14. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 12 °C

    15:00
    Took me ages to get to sleep last night. I think/hope this is because my body doesn’t need the extra snooze anymore, and is sufficiently rested. Thankfully, the DIY project concluded around 00:30, so at least my wakefulness was peaceful. I started to doze off around 02:00, and think I drifted into a longer sleep around 03:00.

    I wake with my alarm at 08:00, not feeling too jaded. I’ve decided to forego any food until after I’ve been out for a wander. I don’t want to provide unnecessary ammunition to my stomach. I’m showered (much needed) and packed by 10:00, and leave my bags at my guesthouse for the day. Somewhere along the way, my rucksack lock has got damaged, so need to pick one up today. My pack’s either been in my line of sight, or in my locked room throughout my trip so far, but I’m more conscious of security on overnight trains. The security at my guesthouse doesn’t seem like the best, so I pack my valuables into my day pack, and head off to the Taj East Gate, just 100m from my hostel.

    On arrival, the queue to enter is shambolic - even by Indian queuing standards. It’s not folks buying tickets - there’s a separate building for that, or you can buy them online. This is for people with tickets, and there are 6 different queues depending on a variety of factors - one being gender, one being nationality (Indian vs foreigner), and even price of your ticket. Now, the only indication of which queue is which is at the very front of the queue, where there’s a teeny-tiny little printed card for each queue, which is entirely illegible unless you’re stood right next to it. Genius. I’m directed to three incorrect queues before finding the correct one.

    Through this first Herculean trial, it’s time to deal with the security portion of proceedings. There was nothing like this on my first visit. A quick check of the ticket, and through you go. I'm unsure what the cause of the additional security checks is, but they're thorough. I put my rucksack through the scanner, then walk through a metal detector. When I go to collect my rucksack, I’m told it’s too big - it needs to go into the cloak room. This is fine. At the cloakroom, the attendant tells me that my day pack can’t go in the cloak room because it contains valuables - my laptop and iPad. I ask him if there’s another left luggage facility nearby, and he dismissively waves me away. I walk away, calling him a sister-fucker almost under my breath. Peering back over my shoulder, I can see he’s stuck between pride ay my knowing a favourite Hindi curse word, and fury at being called a favourite Hindi curse word.

    Back at Joey’s, the reception dude takes pity on me, and says there’s an unused room I can use for my luggage for the day, giving me a bit of breathing space. I put my essentials into my little sling bag, pop by camera around my neck, and head back to the East Gate. Now that I’m an expert in the queuing matrix, I head straight up the male, foreigner, full ticket queue - only to be told I’m in the wrong place. As I’m re-entering, I have to go in a separate entrance. If you ever wonder why India has high levels of employment, it’s because of jobsworthery (not a word) such as this. Finally back at the security checkpoint, I’m told that my vape isn’t allowed inside the monument. I must put my sling bag, containing my vape into the cloak room. This means a fresh encounter with the man that I have just called a sister-fucker. To be fair, he does the decent thing, and accepts my bag, but I’m immediately wondering whether there’ll be anything missing, or perhaps some form of punitive addition when I collect it.

    FINALLY into the monument park, I can feel my excitement levels rising. I can remember the raw sensation of visiting the Taj Mahal on my first India trip, and the views I’ve had of the mausoleum across rooftops have done nothing to diminish my fervour to see it up close. The first building is a magnificent gateway in red sandstone, with ornate Pietra Dura features. This sculpture style is staggering, and covers most of the mausoleum building. What looks at a distance to be painted or inked on is actually an inlay technique. Fiendishly complex grooves are cut into the white marble, before corresponding shapes in black marble are laid into the gaps. On the mausoleum itself, the entirely of the Quran is recreated using Pietra Dura, and it’s one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen…

    Walking through the gatehouse, I emerge into the stunning gardens in front of the mausoleum - that world famous view down the central ponds up to the glowing marble edifice. Now, I’m here late morning, and my last visit was at dawn. Even so, I can’t believe the numbers that are here. Perhaps it’s the ubiquity of digital photography in 2025, but the crowds seem staggeringly immobile. I have a rye chuckle at some folks taking very earnest selfies. A favourite pose seems to be holding out your arm, so that it *looks* like you’re holding the spire at the top of the main dome.

    The view down to the mausoleum is mesmerising. I find a little corner to one side of the main throng to have a sit down and contemplate. It’s just jaw dropping - one of the most incredible things on our planet. If you ever have the chance to come and see it, just do it. I wander around with an inane grin on my face for a couple of hours. Up close to the main mausoleum, I’m speechless at the scale, intricacy and beauty. It took 20,000 men 22 years to build. It was commissioned by Shah Jahan, to commemorate the death of his beloved wife. As tributes go, it’s a fairly spectacular one. Sadly (for him), he was imprisoned by his own son, at the Red Fort, a few kilometres across town. I’m not entirely sure what his transgression was. It can’t have been *too* bad though, because his son granted him the favour of life imprisonment in a cell with a view over to the Taj Mahal, so he could gaze towards his wife for the rest of his days. What a love story, huh?

    Back at Joey’s, I reason it’s definitely time for some food. I’ve got about 6 hours to kill until my train this evening. I’ve got some chores to do, but need to test my stomach a little first. LET’S GO.

    19:00
    I’ve spent the remainder of the afternoon at Hippie Café, the rooftop place at Joey’s. I had fleeting plans to head off to some of Agra’s other attractions - Agra Fort, the tomb of Itimad ud-Daulah. I’m minded that I’m still recovering though, and not at full match fitness. As a result, an afternoon of reading in the hazy sunshine feels pretty special. I have an aloo parantha - a chargrilled bread stuffed with a lightly spiced mashed potato concoction, served with a pot of cucumber raita. It’s wonderful - a hug of a dish. My stomach doesn’t even hint at objections.

    There’s a kite festival today. Or rather, there’s a Hindu observance called Makar Shakranti, which is frequently celebrated by kite flying. The guys at Hippie Café rope me in, providing me with a basic bitch kite. I am, it’s fair to say, not a good kite flyer. Across the rooftop view of Agra, there are countless practitioners that put me to shame. I quickly relinquish my kite, and settle instead for watching others having fun. There are kids as young as 3-4, there are adults in their 40s, and everything in between. Apparently, age is of no great import. As the sun sets to the West of me, there are kites, bird murmurations, and just the haziest warm glow to the sun. Kinda magical actually.

    I’ve had two whole meals today, and haven’t yet had to resort to urgent toilet trips. This is stunning progress. I’m gonna take it easy for the next few days. I’ll be spending 3 hours at a time in a bumpy jeep on Thursday and Friday, and don’t want to do anything that could interfere with my enjoyment of safari time. My plan is to stick to fairly bland foods - rice, bread, maybe the odd dhal - and avoid booze. Oh, and I think I’ll probably stick to veggie food when I’m not in Goa, and even there it’ll probably only be the spanking fresh fish that’s landed daily by the local fishing boats.

    I’ve also decided to stay here at Joey’s as late as is practical, in case my train has another substantial delay. I don’t *think* it should, as Agra is the first station out of Delhi, but you never know. Proximity of a decent toilet, cool people and comfy seating is much more attractive than the alternative. It’s also getting pretty chilly out, and I don’t fancy sitting around in it unnecessarily…

    22:30
    I would like to issue a retraction. Yesterday, I intimated that this train will take 18 hours to reach Nagpur, and potentially 24 hours with delays. LIES. It’s 12 hours. I should be pulling into Nagpur around 09:30 tomorrow morning, or early afternoon if things go awry…

    Anyways.

    Around 20:30, I figure I should probably get my shit together. I need to repack a touch, and I’m conscious that long train rides need a bit of preparation and planning to make sure what you need is where you need it, when you need it. This is even more true as I’m in a shared compartment with at least 1 and possibly 3 other passengers. I’ve travelled in these compartments before, and they’re comfortable, spacious and clean. Pissing off your colleagues banging around at 02:00 trying to find a bottle of water can put a real dampener on team spirit.

    I jump in the back of a tuk-tuk, and we scream off to the other side of the city, where Agra Cantt Station is located. It’s been a few days since I rode around a busy city, and the nighttime driving is particularly shocking/hilarious. We wing at last 2 pedestrians on this relatively short journey. For those unfamiliar, the auto-rickshaw/tuk-tuk so ubiquitous across much of Asia can best be described as a a flying tin-foil death trap on wheels. The driver sits on a single seat at the front, basically on top of a whiny 2-stroke engine and a single wheel. At the back, there’s a two wheel rear axle, on which is placed an uncomfortable bench of sorts. Comfortably, they’ll fit 2-3 Westerners. I have witnessed them carrying 9 children to school. Tuk-tuk drivers simply don’t appear to have grasped that the fundamental design of the vehicle is a wedge. They see a gap that the front will just, JUST squeeze through, and who gives a shit what happens at the back.

    I was in the back of a tuk-tuk once with two other travellers heading up to Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. I’d just come from Agra, where the weather was a balmy 25C. In Umaria, where we jumped off the train at 04:00, it was about 3C. I was inappropriately dressed. We huddled together in the back of a tuk-tuk for the near 1 hour journey up to the town bordering the reserve. About 2/3 of the way there, the driver realises we have a flat. We passengers jump out and look blankly at each other, wondering what happens next. The driver motions to two of us to lift the tuk-tuk so he can change the tyre. Jan (for twas his name) and I look at each and start laughing. Supermen, we are not. The driver insists though, so we give it a go. It’s deeply troubling to this day just how light the thing was. Fuck knows how it’d hold up in a head-on collision… I’m fine taking them around towns, where the speed is low. Longer distances and on main roads - forget it. I’m getting picked up in a car tomorrow morning at Nagpur to head up to Pench - my Bandhavgarh surrogate on this trip.

    Interesting. I just involuntarily thought it’d be nice to have a beer while I’m writing. That hasn’t happened in about 5 days. Onwards! Upwards!
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  • Day 9 - What the Buggering Tits?

    15. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C

    04:30
    Yes. 04:30. My first overnight train has not gone to plan. It arrives on time at 21:45, and I’m quickly boarded, I’m in a 4 passenger compartment, but am the only occupant at the moment. The guard *thinks* there’s some additional folks joining later in the journey. Hopefully I’ll be asleep by then, and they won’t be noisy. Around 23:30, I try to get some sleep. The ‘bed’ feels mighty uncomfortable. Whilst I’m a far better sleeper than I used to be, there are limits. This is the most uncomfortable place I’ve ever tried to sleep, and I’ve spent most of a night in the holding cells at Guildford Police Station… That was deluxe compared to this. FFS - the ditch I slept in when I was 17 was better than this. I listen to audiobooks, and will myself to sleep - and that never works.

    At our first stop, Gwalior, an Indian couple board. I’m tucked up on the lower bunk, where the guard directed me. I cheerily say hi to the couple, and am met with obnoxious rudeness. The husband accuses me of being in his berth. He thinks I should be on the top bunk. I tell him calmly and politely that he’s wrong, and he can check with guard if he wishes. He does not. He wishes to harangue me until I give in, and I’m not going to. He’s an idiot - if he’d asked nicely, saying that he’d prefer to be on the same bunk level as his wife, who is on the bottom bunk next to me, I’d have acquiesced. Because he’s a rude little fuckwit, I do not. He heads off to find the guard, who confirms that yes - the guy is an idiot. Idiot man DEMANDS that they be moved to somewhere they can both be on the lower bunk. He hits all the Karen stereotypes, and is getting increasingly incensed. I’m trying not to chuckle.

    The guard finds them a berth elsewhere. Anything for an easy life, I suspect. It means that I am due to be alone in my carriage for most, if not all of the journey = RESULT. I try once again to go to sleep. Three hours later, I’m in agony. All of my joints are burning - ankles, knees, hips and shoulders particularly. It’s like trying to sleep on a park bench. Whilst my Humira prescription has been phenomenal at stopping the regular acute arthritic episodes I’ve suffered from over the past 10 years, there’s still enough lifetime damage in those joints that I can no longer sit crossed legged for any length of time, kneel down without wincing. This sleeping set-up is not at all pleasant. I know from the way my hips, ankles and feet are feeling that I’ll be limping a little/a lot for the next few days.

    It’s so utterly different to my admittedly 17 year dated experience. I slept brilliantly on most trains I travelled on. When Vicki and I went on our first trip together in 2008 to Goa, we took the overnight train from Mumbai to Goa. our shared recollection is of padding, comfort, and pretty decent sleep. Around 03:30, I give up, and start investigating flights from Nagpur to Goa in a few days. I can’t do another two overnights like this. I’ll get about £40 refunded for my two train rides, which coincidentally is almost exactly the IndiGo fare for a flight. I’m sold. I quickly make plans to spend a couple of days on Palolem Beach before heading over to our hotel in Patnem.

    I’ve got a whole blog post in the works, which will look at my experience in 2025 vs 2007, and particularly trying to to understand where experiences have changed, whether it’s me, whether it’s India, or perhaps a bit of both… HINT - it’s a bit of both.

    12:30
    I spend most of the night watching some TV, a movie, and doing some reading. It’s long night. I don’t feel too exhausted just yet, but I suspect that’s gonna catch up with me later. I need to eat something so I can take some painkillers. After a few days of upset stomach, I’m not risking taking NSAIDs on an empty stomach. Around 06:30, the light starts to creep up to the horizon. It’s slow and methodical - a slight greying at the horizon, It’s the first time I’ve been able to see the landscape the train is passing through. We’re travelling at around 130kph, which for Indian trains is godspeed. The carriages buck and yaw across the tracks Just as well I’m not trying to sleep at the moment, as this would have woken me, for sure.

    Soon enough, the sun is poking through some early morning mist. The surrounding landscape is quite hilly, and with the addition of lush, verdant forest, it’s unlike any scenery I’ve ever come across in India. It reminds me of the greenery the Ella to Kandy train runs through - the tea plantations and thick mountain forests. Beautiful.

    We’re tracking close to time. Looks like we’ll be maybe 15 minutes later into Nagpur, which over a 12 hour journey is basically not late at all. I’m struggling though. Pulling on my trainers is a painful mission - hobbling to the bathroom and back even moreso. I silently curse the designers of these ridiculous sleeping benches. I mentally compose a very strongly worded email to Indian Railways.

    We pull into Nagpur at 09:50, around 25 minutes late. Carrying my bags over to the parking lot is a challenge. I’m shuffling along, wincing with pain through gritted teeth. Predictably, i have to walk up and over a large footbridge, which is just unpleasant. I finally make it to the exit, and meet Mr Prakash, my charioteer today and on Saturday. He sets off at a clip towards his car, and I limp along behind. Getting out of Nagpur takes about 15 minutes, then we’re into a fast highway cruise. I decide to have a doze.I fall asleep instantly, and only wake up as we pull off the highway onto a small road into the bush. There are a bunch of signs for different accommodation options for Pench. Pench is everso slightly smaller than Bandhavgarh, but has a higher density of tiger population. There are something like 90 tigers across the 1,100km2 of the park. While 12km2 per tiger might sound like a lot of ground to cover, it’s actually not. Tiger sightings are NEVER guaranteed, but I’ve got every chance here.

    We arrive at my lodge, which has the slightly troubling name Tiger in Woods. I don’t *think* they’re suggesting that tigers will come and sit on my balcony, but I’m not 100% sure. My room’s lovely. Dark, varnished wood, a very comfy bed, big bathroom, cool balcony. My first safari is tomorrow morning. An afternoon of chills and zizz awaits…

    21:30
    Lunch was a fab veg Thali.A paneer dopiaza, a dhal, and a mild vegetable curry featuring a couple of vegetables that I doubt I could pick out of a lineup. They’re all very tasty, but the paneer dopiaza is my favourite. It’s spiky with chilli, but has a beautiful depth of flavour in the gravy. These are served with a Brinjal (aubergine) pickle, some roti and some papad. My first Thali of this trip, and it’s a belter.

    While I’m eating, Raji (who appears to manage the resort) chats to me - usual Indian conversation stuff. Where are you from / how old are you / are you married / what work you do / how much you earn. Indians are not afraid of direct questioning, and will happily accept it in return. He also asks if the heat levels in the food are ok for me. I’m the only Western palate at the lodge at the moment, but he wants to make sure the food doesn’t blow my tastebuds to pieces. The food in front of me is, to my tastes, just about right. Some initial heat from fresh chilli, and the gradual growth of heat from chilli powder. He smiles. I suspect this means his kitchen aren’t gonna have to cater especially to the firangi.

    Back at my room, I need more sleep. I think I managed about an hour in the car earlier, but I need a top-up. I drift into a deep, harmonious sleep, waking with my alarm after a good couple of hours. I actually feel pretty refreshed. Darron calls for a quick chat. Sounds like he and Debs are having a great time in Goa. The music festival we’re there for kicks off in earnest tomorrow, and runs for a couple of weeks. The promoter shared the full list of parties and events today. I think our biggest challenge is gonna be picking and choosing which to do, and which to miss, in the interests of having some chill time.

    Dinner is served between 20:00 and 22:00 at Tiger in Woods, but I’m just not hungry after my earlier Thali. My jeep safari leaves at 05:00, and I negotiate an 04:30 alarm call. This will hopefully involve a steaming cup of masala chai. I determine that sleep is the best friend I can make right now. I just about manage a shower and some teeth-brushing before collapsing into bed. Excited about tomorrow, but nothing’s gonna get in the way of my sleep…
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  • Day 10 - Tiger, Tiger

    16. tammikuuta, Intia ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    12:45
    My alarm at 04:30 is not the most welcome thing in the world. Still - I dutifully jump out of bed. It’s pretty chilly in the room, and I don my safari clothes as quickly as I can. It’s still properly dark outside, and it’ll be a few hours before the sun starts to bring warmth. I leave my room just before 05:00, and head for the central restaurant area at the lodge, which is deserted. There’s no activity at all. I suspect treachery. Someone turns up a little after 05:00, and offers me a cup of chai, which is much needed. Raji turns up around 05:30, and clarifies that my jeep will be here around 06:00, not the advertised 05:00. It’s just as well Vicks isn’t with me, as she’d be FEWMIN at the lost hour in bed.

    My driver ultimately rocks up at 06:15. Checking with him, that’s because the park gates don’t open until 06:30, and we’re only a few minutes drive away from them. I’ll know better tomorrow.

    As we arrive at Turia gate, the dawn is slowly beginning to break. There are hints of light at the horizon. It’s still fresh, and most of the other folks are wearing big, warm coats. I’m quite enjoying the temperature, I’m wearing a micro-fibre fleece type thing, but also shorts.

    As we head off into the park, we immediately start seeing wildlife. Initially some spotted deer, the most common large mammal in the ecosystem. A little later, a sambar, the largest mammal in the park. There are countless monkeys in the trees, peacocks here and there. We’re here for cats though.

    Safaris in India are a more forensic process than Africa, where I’ve spent the majority of my time in the bush. In Africa, ecosystems like the Masai Mara and Serengeti are littered with mammal wildlife. Every turn of the head brings a view of animals doing animal things.

    In India, the game needs searching out more. We spend most of the morning tracking - looking at pug marks (tracks) on the sandy road. We spot some tiger droppings on the road, and my guide for the morning, Rohan, jumps out of the jeep to inspect them more closely. He declares them fresh, and points to some pug marks that are heading in the opposite direction. We turn around, and head to the other side of a copse of trees. We spend 10 minutes parked up with the engine off listening for monkey alarm calls, and trying to work out where the tiger might have gone. The search is ultimately fruitless, but I enjoy talking to Rohan about the different sounds of the forest, the varying calls that the monkeys and deer make.

    We stop for breakfast a little before 10:00. There’s a sudden rush of excitement as a tiger is spotted not far away. My driver, Mitan, puts the hammer down. We’ve been serenely making our way through the park at maybe 20khm, but he’s now hitting 50-60 clicks, and doing his best Colin McRae impression. The paths through the park are not smooth, and I’m seated at the back of the truck over the rear axle. Bumpy doesn’t come close.

    We’re quickly around to the other side of the lake, and catch an all too fleeting view of Lakshmi, a 5 year old mother of 3 x 4 month old cubs. She’s on her own at the moment though, likely out hunting for her family. Even at 100m, she’s majestic, and so graceful. There’s a lithe fluidity to the movement of tigers that I think is only rivalled by the leopards I’ve seen. Several times as she walks through the forest, I lose sight of her, so brilliantly does her fur camouflage her. Orange and black stripes don’t necessarily suggest themselves as the best camo, but trust me - they work. They make her look slimmer too…

    She’s moving through the park, and we head a little further around to try and keep up with her. Other jeeps have joined us now, and there’s quite the little convoy building. Whether she’s sensed this, and decided to steer clear, or has just headed in a different direction, I don’t know, but we don’t see her again. It’s pushing on past 11:00 now, and the park closes at 11:30 until the afternoon safaris, so we head for the exit. We’ve been out for nearly 5 hours, which is long enough.

    I’m looking forward to a bit of rest and chill time before the afternoon’s adventure…

    20:20
    Bit less rest time than I’d have liked. It turns out my afternoon safari pick-up time is 13:30, so I’ve really only got 90 minutes between excursions. I’d hoped for, well - maybe 3? I skip lunch as only had breakfast at 10:00, and use the down time to chill in my room.

    I’ve a different driver this afternoon and a different guide. I’m more used to safari experiences where these are consistent across the lifetime of the safari, allowing you to build a bond and an understanding with them. I’m not suggesting this is to the detriment of the experience, but it’s different, and I find myself wondering how it’ll work out. I’m also going in through a different gate this afternoon - Khursapar, which is 20km South West of Tiger in Woods. Now, the roads out here aren’t the best, but they are at least paved. The route to Khursapar gate quickly leaves the tarmac, and hits the country back-roads. More of those bumps I talked about earlier… It’s a good 25 minutes to reach the gate, by which time my balls are starting to bruise.

    For some unknown reason (and I did ask, but the security dude didn’t know), my phone is taken off me at the gate. Use or carry of a mobile phone is verboten in this part of the park. it seems very strange to me that different parts of the park would have such different regulations applied to them. Thankfully, I’ve got my SLR with me, so I’m not worried about using my phone for photos, but surely that won’t be the case for many/most?

    We head into the park at 14:00. I’ve always understood safaris at this time to be limited in scope as the predators that are the highlight for many are sleeping off whatever kill they made earlier in the day. And this proves to be the case today. We spend a good 2.5 hours variously driving around on the off-chance, meeting lots of other fauna - particularly birding, and sitting stationary with the engine turned off listening out for alarm calls. It’s not the very most exciting of experiences, but I enjoy spotting some bird species I’ve not seen before.

    Around 17:00, the sun starts to droop toward the horizon, and dusk settles in. We hear our first alarm call, maybe 2 clicks to the North of us. My driver (nameless. I did ask, but he didn’t understand me…) sets off at quite the pace in that direction. More bouncing, more discomfort. My guide, Rupesh (he has a name tag) explains in his broken English (which is WAY better than my basically non-existent Hindi) that there’s a large male that wanders this part of the park, and has been spotted on quite a few consecutive days. We arrive to the source of the alarm calls, and there are already 3-4 jeeps parked at the side of the track. The alarm calls are being made by grey langurs, a subspecies of the monkey family. Typically, you’ll hear one alarm call at a time. When we pitch up, there are several echoing over each other. They’re clearly het up about whoever is on the hunt.

    For an hour, we track the tiger - using monkeys calls, pug marks, and just watching movement in the bush. We even see the telltale swish of moving grass on a few occasions, but that’s the extent of it. In this kind of dense woodland, if a tiger wants to remain invisible, it will. Even 20m from the track, it’s all but impossible to keep sight of them. This one is hunting, so in ultra stealth mode - we never stood a chance.

    We spend a touch longer than anticipated tracking the tiger, and as a result, have around 10 minutes to make a typically 30 minute journey back to the gate. They close at 18:00, and there are steep fines for being late. I’m unsure if I would have to pay, as the ‘guest’ of the park, or the driver/guide would have to pay. I strongly suspect the former. Mr Driver (for I have so labelled him) is clearly on my side, and wants me to avoid a fine. It’s a calamitous and hair-raising ride. If it’s not the bouncy-bouncy ball ache, it’s the slamming on of brakes causing my knees to smash into the steel frame of the seat in front of me. Still - we make the gate with about 30 seconds to spare…

    Back at Tiger in Woods, determine that a week is long enough to go without beer while I’m travelling, and treat myself to a Kingfish. This quickly becomes 2…

    22:00
    Dinner was another banging Thali. They’re such a great way of eating Indian food. A great dhal, an incredible vegetable curry that I ask the name of on three separate occasions, and I’m still not convinced I actually know, and a mutton curry. I think I actually said no to the non-veg option, but communication is not always the clearest here.

    I briefly consider a third and final beer, but decide against. Whilst my alarm call isn’t *quite* as ridiculously (and erroneously) early tomorrow, it’s still earlier than is absolutely ideal. Bed time for Tim…
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