We have had a very long horrible day riding today and I have very little energy to write but I will do a quick one!

We spent a night in Agra so we could see the Taj Mahal. It was nice to leave the smog of Delhi although it didn’t really get much better.

Agra is a dump.

We found a place to sit that overlooked the taj and contemplated wether we would even bother going to see it… That’s how bad we are at being tourists. We’d heard about a sound and light display at the red fort last night and thought that if we did that, at least we could say we did something.

Seeing as we are planning on doing a 7 day trek in Nepal next week and haven’t done any excersie since we left home we decided to walk the 4km to the red fort for the 8.30pm start, as advertised on the website.

As usual the walk was dusty, noisy and polluted with both fumes and noise. Random holes to avoid, no street lighting, men pissing everywhere and starving cows and dogs roaming the streets – not really what you expect from the number one tourist attraction in India and the world.

We finally get to the red fort only to be told by the security guy that the show is finishing in 5 minutes…

‘But the website says it starts at 8.30pm?’

‘Yes I know’ with a waddle of the head

Dean tries to calm me down…

We got a rickshaw back – the first since we’ve been here as we avoid dealing with these guys like the plague…

‘Don’t use your horn’ I say ‘if you use the horn, we won’t pay’

I was in a bad mood… Dean was looking nervous…

I won’t go in to what happened when he predictably didn’t have any change for the fare…

Anyway! This morning we woke early and managed to do the Taj Mahal and the red fort before our checkout time at 12 noon… About 2 hours max! Boxes ticked, we got on the bike to head for Nepal.

The Taj Mahal and the red fort were really nice and we didn’t get hassled as much as all the horror stories told us. I wouldn’t go back again though and I wouldn’t urge other people to rush there unless they felt the need to tick that box. What the government does with all the money they make from the entrance fees I have no idea. The taj is an example of how some people have way too much money and really don’t care that people around them are starving… Nothing much has really changed…

This afternoon we rode through some of the poorest areas yet where the air smells like poison… A mixture of car fumes, diesel, sulphur, urine and chemicals…. I’m not sure what but it feels like we are riding through fly spray. Eyes and throats stinging and with black faces we finally found a hotel at 7pm tonight that would accept us.

The bed is as hard as floorboards and the mosquitos are waiting to pounce. No joke. Lucky I’m tired.

Bring on Nepal 😊

Waiting out the front of the Uzbekistan embassy, currently 3:40pm, they said ready at 5pm.

Not much fun waiting out here in the smog, Delhi has the worst air quality of any city in the world, and there are plenty of contenders so just imagine. It actually smells like chemicals out here.

This visa involved downloading forms, filling them in duplicate, photocopies of every document we have, a trip to the embassy, 30 phone calls, a trip to a bank 20km away, another trip to the embassy, and now a 4 hour wait.

The Tajik one below was more or less the same, but turned around faster.

That’s the GBAO autonomous area permit underneath, which allows us to enter my favourite ‘Stan of them all – Badasstan. Yes, Bad Ass Stan!

Tomorrow we leave Delhi headed for Agra and the Taj, then a few days ride to Nepal, really looking forward to getting into the mountains!!

dazed after a day walking in Delhi

So travelling by bike in India is not such an easy thing for me to like.  I’m trying, every day, but it doesnt come easily.  I think if (like a normal person), you flew into a city, visited the touristy spots and then left, it would be a very different experience, but to battle with the dangerous traffic, the mobs of staring people in the tiny towns between places, the endless rubbish and pollution, and the incessant beeping of horns, I’m finding  it a hard place to like.

However it is getting slowly easier, not so much easier to like, but a bit easier not to dislike 😉  Except for the horns. I hate the horns.

I feel as though bit by bit, I’m starting to ignore the rubbish and my expectations for a blue sky and something green to look at are changing.  Even the crazy traffic… the traffic… the fucking traffic.

a street in old delhi

Back home if someone does something stupid and I need to brake to avoid them, it might be something to get angry about, shake my fist or even pull up at the next set of lights and have a quiet word with them.  Over here, that kind of thing is happening continuously, like every 10 or 20 seconds, which initially made me angry all day, but in time I’ve gotten used to it and now it’s just part of travelling here on the bike.  Assume you are invisible, then ride accordingly.  Equally, you ride as though there are no road rules at all.  Pass on the right, pass on the left, pass on the footpath, pass in the field next to the road… but always pass, otherwise be passed, and that means pushed off the road. So pass pass pass.

one of the myraid vehicles on the roads here

In our one genuine near miss, both Sal and I started with the usual “what the fuck!!” as a truck careered in our direction, then a bit of “WWWAAAhhhh!!!!” but then when it seemed inevitable that we were going to hit something, we both went quiet.  I put us as far to the left as I could without hitting something else and then at the last second leaned Betsy away so the handlebar might not hit the oncoming truck but braced for an impact with the pannier which is an inch wider. That hit somehow didnt come, and then again I prepared for the fall I was expecting after we’d been pushed so far off the road to avoid the head on crash.  But we stayed up and pulled over silently.  I bowed my head with heart going full speed, actually managed a manic laugh, gave betsy a pat to say thanks for staying on 2 wheels, and we hugged and rode away in silence (Sal and I hugged, not Betsy, that would be weird… right?).

haircut anyone?

Anyway those moments aside, it’s getting easier.  It seems India is here to push my patience to levels I didn’t think were possible, like when someone ran into the side of us while we were stopped in traffic, and then beeped their horn and starting yelling at us, presumably because we were in his way.

That was a real patience fail.  Persist young grasshopper.

The staring people between towns no longer bothers me so much, I dont much like it but it’s ok.  Usually we choose one particularly stary man (it’s always the men), and stare back, just at him, sometimes we take pictures. 10 seconds later he gets self conscious and sulks away to stare from a distance.

What’s hard about it though, especially when no one actually says hello, is that it’s actually dehumanising.  It makes you feel like an animal in a zoo.  I told this to a man a couple of days ago, he seemed to understand and returned to his stall, only for a short time though…the excitment was a little too much to miss out on so he later came and stared from a distance.  A small victory!  It does makes me think, that the people who stare at us as though we’re animals, are also the people who are treated like animals themselves.  The caste system has a lot to answer for.

these ladies asked for the picture, then asked for money…

We have so far avoided any scams or being horribly overcharged for anything (I think!?), although we were asked to pay an entry fee for a museum inside a fort that we didnt actually want to see, before they would even let us into the fort. But that’s been the worst of it so far.

The food has been pretty good, but it’s really heavy, so after a month it’s getting a bit much.  I happily lived on hamburgers and other shit food for weeks in South America, but am struggling a bit here.  Virtually every meal is curry of one type or another, and particularly further north there is a lot of flat bread, which is usually fried.  I’ve never looked so longingly at fruit before in my life, but everyone tells us not to eat it so…

But the horns… my god the horns are incessant, and they are so fucking loud.  Like super modified hotrod horns painted with flames down the sides, tuned to ‘instant headache” pitch, or somtimes to “incite anger”.  I dream of ways to make them stop, I want to push the guy over when a bike stops in front of me wth it screaming.  Or i want to lean over and smash off a rear view mirror with my gloved hand while moving on the freeway.  I fantasise about having a portable horn, 1000x louder than  anything else, which I can take out of my pocket and return the sound to the offending driver or rider.  So lound it shatters  all their windows, their hair falls out and their teeth come loose, all in one foul sweep.  I conjure up ways of punishing them, like installing elecrodes in the seats which give the driver a high voltage electric shock with each beeeep, so it still works in emergencies, but only when they really need it. Yes that would be very nice indeed.  Ha ha ha!!!! (and I’m the angry one!- Sally)

I did a double take on this, a guy talking on a landline in the middle of the street!!

Sigh…  But alas I do none of these things, I take deep breaths, try to remain calm, and keep walking.  Every now and then we both have patience fails while walking, and resort to screaming at someone. It passes, our frayed nerves scar over and we continue walking, only a little less calmly than before.

Meditate young grasshopper.  When you can take this pebble from my hand… while 1.1 billion horns are blaring at you, the sound reverbering in narrow stone laid alleys, while still smiling… then you will reach nirvana.

Like i said, it’s getting easier not to dislike it, slowly…

But it’s not all hard times, at the moment we are staying with a gentleman names Akarsh, in his apartment just outside Delhi, which he currently shares with his lovely Mother.  We met Akarsh for 5 mins in Myanmar as we were travelling in opposite directions, he gave me some advice for the weeks ahead and we contiued on.  Then a month later when he heard we were headed for Delhi he asked us to stay with him, and has been an amazing host.  All this after meeting for 5 minutes on the road.

just hanging out

Would you invite a ccomplete stranger into your home for a week when you already have your mum staying over?  What about 2 strangers?  Would you have your mum share your room so your stranger guests can use the second bedroom?  Would you cook them breakfast, and take them out for dinner in town, give them metro cards to use and spend hours talking about different options for their upcoming travels?  Would you take them to a family wedding even though they have no appropriate clothes to wear?

Like I said, amazing hospitality.

And it’s this hospitality, and other random acts of genuine kindness and warmth that are slowly winning me over.  It wont happen overnight, but it might happen.

Not the horns though.

Akarsh hates the horns too.

We are not alone 🙂

The man at customs asks if we have a camera or a phone? “Yes of course” then he asks us to list all our items and their value, he scrawls it down on a blank sheet of a4 paper, and then lets us pass.  What on earth is he going to do with that list I wonder??

We’re walking down the street trying to ignore the rickshaw drivers in the most polite way possible… taxi taxi…  a motorbike approaches and sounds his beefed up horn, continuously, he stops in the human traffic with the horn still screaming, it’s deafening, I turn and scream at him to stop. He looks surprised.  No one else even heard it.  He rides away looking back at me.

We’re riding behind a bus, holding our breath as the diesel fumes engulf us, two motorbikes pass us, then slow down, blocking us into the heat and smoke, they block our path so they can take our picture.  Then they want to talk to us in the traffic.  FFS.

After a traffic jam of more than one km, we pass four men who have stopped in a 4wd so 2 of them can take a piss on the street.  Their car is in the middle of the road, other people blast their horns to no avail.

We’re riding on a narrow road, the oncoming lane is closed.  In the remaining lane a bus comes the other way, another bus is overtaking it and then a motorbike tries to pass them both, all in one lane coming towards us.  I see red as we narrowly miss a head on collision.

I’m tired, it’s the fifth hotel we’ve asked for a room, it’s obviously empty… “FULL” says the man at the counter, I shake my head and walk away.

“how much this bike?” for the 100^th time today.  “It’s 4 millions Quechadas” i reply (I’ve started inventing currencies as I don’t like this question).  “How much rupias?”  “I don’t know”

We sit at a roadside restaurant trying to work out what’s being served, a guy comes over and cheerily explains each dish to us, he doesn’t even work there.

In the midst of the grey smog, a dozen women in colourful saris are carrying bags of cement on their heads while fat men supervise the construction of the road.  Next to these women, a group of wiry dusty men use hammers to manually break big stones into smaller stones to line the road with.

“Is there hot water?” The man silently waggles his head from side to side.  We both smile.  I repeat the question, he smiles again… We’re at 2300m altitude, it’s freezing and I’m filthy so I ask again, “do you have hot water”, this time slower. He smiles again and waggles his head.  I’m trying not to get frustrated.  “Is that Yes or No?  Do you have hot water, yes or no?” He waggles his head again silently.  It goes on and on.  I still don’t know the answer, but i’m tired so pay the money for the room.  Of course there is no hot water.

We round a bend, there’s a cow standing in the middle of the road so i need to swerve to miss it.  This happens so often it isn’t even surprising.

I’m in a hotel room in the mountains, it’s cold but the ceiling fan is on max because our wet clothes are hung on every available handle, door knob and even the tv, we know they’ll still be wet in the morning.

We pull up in front of a hotel to ask about a room, it’s hot and late in the day, we’re both weary.  The manager is standing outside, so I ask him how much his rooms cost.  He tells me to come inside, but I don’t want to take off my helmet, gloves and earplugs, so I ask again “please, can you just tell me how much the rooms are first?”  “come inside please” I sigh and get off the bike, take off my kit then walk to the counter “you look at room first” he barks an order to a boy and throws him a key.  It has 312 written on it, third floor… My boots weigh 2kg each, the whole riding suit is something like 18kg, it’s hot and I don’t want to climb 3 flights of stairs just to see a room.  I implore “please… first tell me your room rates?”  “you look at room” “NO I  DONT WANT TO SEE IT, how much?”  “2500rp for budget room” I don’t even respond, we go to the next place where the scene repeats.

A man I called an hour earlier for some help comes to our room and enters without knocking, he’s drinking whiskey from a water bottle and smoking a cigarette.  He treats me like I’m an old friend. We drive to the post office in his car, and then he takes me back to the room, promising to return tomorrow.

The sign says “BAR : No ladies allowed”

The park ranger asks me for 20rp to enter the park, I ask for a receipt and he laughs and unhitches the boom gate.  We pass.

We park on the high street to eat some dinner, within minutes 100 young men are crowding around the bike, I return to find one sitting on it for a picture.  I hiss and swear and he sulks away.  Then the bike won’t start, what a nightmare.  Eventually it fires and runs poorly on just one cylinder, we limp back to the room, it’s too dark to look at it now.  Shit end to a shit day.

We flash past an opening in the roadside trees and out the corner of my eye I spot a big grey lump in the forest 50m away.  I switch off the bike and we coast to a stop “what is it?”  “I think I saw an elephant!”  I roll the bike backwards to the clearing and there she is, eating away at the broad leaves growing there.  As we get off and grab the camera, two cars pull up behind us and 9 men pile out, we’re photographing the elephant, and they’re photographing us!  One of the guys drops his pants and takes a piss right there next to us.  Unbelievable.  The elephant moves and reveals a baby elephant behind her, it’s a gorgeous scene.  We take some pictures and move on feeling very lucky to have seen them.

He scored 100% in his class, says his mother proudly.  He’s only 10 years old, he has a brown belt at Karate, speaks Hindi, Tamil and English, and is learning the Tora self defence (uses a wooden staff spinning at light speed around his body).  He checks us into the homestay, taking pictures of our passports with a mobile phone as his parents look on proudly.   I ask for a lesson in the Tora, but he tells me that he needs permission from his instructor before he can teach, but his older brother can show me some moves J

The water is hot for the first time in a week, really hot.  I turn on the cold, but it’s hot too.  Both taps run really fucking hot water.  I can’t wash because the water is too hot.  Unbelievable.

We’re in a line for the bottle shop.  It’s on the main road through town, with a narrow aisle leading to the counter, we’re funnelled in like animals in a cattle stall, between wire mesh walls.  The other men in the line are pushing hard to get to the front counter.  It’s not wide enough for anyone to get past, so i stand back one step not wanting to be part of the senseless crush in the narrow aisle.  The man behind is looking at me, imploring me with crazed eyes to move forward, push forward, but I’m not going to.  He’s agitated, trying to get past me but I hold my position, he’s clawing at the wire mesh nervously, looking at the crush and looking at me, he doesn’t seem to understand why I’m not part of it.  It feels like we’re all drug addicts in line for our heroin fix.  When I get back to our room with the beer, I knock it over and it smashes on the floor. Fuck. Our room smells like a brewery for the rest of the night.  It’s actually kind of nice J

The end of a long day, our patience has been pushed. Bike parked, we approach a road side stall and stupidly point at pots boiling away on a kerosene stove.   Smiling faces respond with language we don’t follow, but they explain the dishes as best we can understand. Their enthusiasm smiles and warmth dissolves the angst. Then they procure seats, other men stand so we can sit down to eat.  They ask questions… from where… this bike how much cc… And the food is delicious.  One of our dishes is empty but before we can ask for a top up, the other diners have already noticed and called the waiter to fill it for us.  We pay and leave, “thank you, great food”.  The cook pauses, makes eye contact with me and smiles warmly waggling his head.  This is what it’s all about.