... when the road disappears
if there's any more people around
when the tour runs aground
and if you're still around
then we'll meet at the end of the tour
- They Might Be Giants
We just might tour again though, to some other corner of the world. But for now, Sigurd and Sigurd have returned to cold and wintry, but oh! so beautiful and pleasant Norway. As I am writing this I am sitting in front of the fireplace, digesting a long overdue Christmas dinner and sipping a beer.
Any attempt to summarise these last months in a few sentences, I have found, would be futile and something of an injustice to the many places and people we have encountered – so many of whom would go unmentioned in such an attempt. In truth, I am mildly overwhelmed by the vastness and diversity of the experiences we've had, and wouldn't even know where to start. It's been a truly magnificent time, in a truly awe-inspiring country. I do hope to return some time (though not any time soon - it is not a myth that India is an exhausting place)
Seeing how I have nothing profound to say, I settle for telling a little anecdote from a few weeks back, first day of the new year, when we were making our way from Darjeeling to Siliguri. The mode of transportation in these parts of India – besides yaks and your own two feet – is mainly jeeps. So, we hopped on a communal, which is synonymous to cramped jeep bound for our destination. Sure enough, the jeep filled up quickly. At the point where there was simply no more space, or so we thought, a man jumps in on the driver's side and sits down on the driver's lap. Not only did he sit there, they also took turns on the wheel, or better yet, shared the wheel using one hand each. Who knows how they worked the pedals. The really disconcerting part was that they kept a rather loud argument going for the better part of the 3 hours or so that they shared the driver's seat. The fact that we found this amusing rather than horrifying or even surprising goes to show, I believe, that we have adapted to Indian life in a very real way and to an extent that, truth be told, I could not have imagined six months ago.
Anyway. One thing I would like to say in this last post is a big 'thank you' to everyone who's been following us on our travels through this blog. I hope the ridiculous number of hits, about 2200, is an indication that you've found the recounts of our adventures somewhat interesting and entertaining – or at least a worthy distraction from your respective jobs and studies.
Well folks, that's all, I hope to see you all soon. Oh, and if anyone's considering going to India (something I hope this blog might encourage) any time soon: please do. And make sure you try a bottle of Bagpiper Whisky: the 14th most sold whisky in the world - though only sold in India.
And so, with a sigh of pensiveness and a sip of the much longed for Norwegian beer, I end The Chronicles of Sigurd og Sigurd i India.
All the best
Sigurd & Sigurd
"No matter where you go, there you are."
– unknown
måndag 4. februar 2008
onsdag 9. januar 2008
Settling the Score
First thing's first - today is Sigurd S' birthday. A great big hurrah for that!
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: here are the scores in the various card games we've been playing on our journey (starting from when we left Pondi in mid-November)!
"The Idiot" - SS:37 SB:41
"Texas Hold'em" - SS:6 SB:8
"Playcard Scrabble" - SS:3 SB:0
"Gin Rummy" - SS:26 SB:35
A brief commentary: As evident, I won our little poker tournament. I also came away a W in The Idiot, though this was, unsurprisingly, a very close race. Sigurd S' clear victory in Playcard Scrabble was a bit of an upset, as an undefeated pre-season indicated this to be my strongest discipline. Still, the most surprising result would have to be my relatively solid win in Gin Rummy, a game in which bookmakers anticipated the score to be just as even as in The Idiot. So there you have it, the culmination of our primary pass-time activities the last couple of months.
On to current events: We have now come full circle and are back in Pondicherry, from where we set out about two months ago. We had a modest celebration of New Year's Eve in Darjeeling, a district more famous for its tea than its new year parties, then headed south to Calcutta. We spent a few fairly uneventful days there, mostly hanging out and shopping (my new year's resolution is to dress nicer. Somewhat pathetically I hope this will make me more of an adult and thus capable of entering the adult world of working life). Calcutta is a fairly nice city, better than its rumor at any rate. We met up with Kari and Jostein who were stopping by on their way to Thailand and exchanged stories about the crazy Indians we've encountered on our respective travels. Our circular tour of India was completed as we flew (I know, it's a bit like cheating, but I don't think we missed much on the eastern coast) to Chennai and hopped on a bus for good ol' Pondicherry.
Returning to Pondi feels a bit like coming home: we've moved into the house we used to live in, where we are kept safe from harm by our charming security guards. We're hanging out at our favorite restaurants and are making the most of our last sunny days in India. Though it is, naturally, a bit empty here without our friends, we've received warm welcome-back's not only from our guards but also a number of waiters and shopkeepers. One of the guys from our internet joint, where I'm sitting now, was pleasantly shocked to see us again and told me he always thinks of me whenever someone says 'cheers' when exiting the shop.
Still, it is with a light heart and great anticipation I prepare for our departure from India tomorrow. Gandhi (yes, Frode, again with the Gandhi quotes), when asked about his thoughts on western civilisation, famously quipped: "I think it would be a good idea". Personally I think the Mahatma was overly negative in this statement. Not that I blame him for having a bit of an attitude, after all he did tend to come across people who were, I dare say, less easy-going than your average westerner ('easy-going' - get it?). Though the West certainly has things to learn from the East, the opposite is surely equally true. As for me, I am happy to be on my way back to the comfortable, clean, efficient, less noisy, less chaotic and far more logical ways of the West. In other words, I'd say our departure is perfectly timed.
I might be back with some remarkably insightful retrospective comments when I'm safely home, but as for now: see you soon!
Sigurd B
No one wants to pay to see your day to day
and I'm not buying it either
but I'll try selling it anyway
- Rilo Kiley
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: here are the scores in the various card games we've been playing on our journey (starting from when we left Pondi in mid-November)!
"The Idiot" - SS:37 SB:41
"Texas Hold'em" - SS:6 SB:8
"Playcard Scrabble" - SS:3 SB:0
"Gin Rummy" - SS:26 SB:35
A brief commentary: As evident, I won our little poker tournament. I also came away a W in The Idiot, though this was, unsurprisingly, a very close race. Sigurd S' clear victory in Playcard Scrabble was a bit of an upset, as an undefeated pre-season indicated this to be my strongest discipline. Still, the most surprising result would have to be my relatively solid win in Gin Rummy, a game in which bookmakers anticipated the score to be just as even as in The Idiot. So there you have it, the culmination of our primary pass-time activities the last couple of months.
On to current events: We have now come full circle and are back in Pondicherry, from where we set out about two months ago. We had a modest celebration of New Year's Eve in Darjeeling, a district more famous for its tea than its new year parties, then headed south to Calcutta. We spent a few fairly uneventful days there, mostly hanging out and shopping (my new year's resolution is to dress nicer. Somewhat pathetically I hope this will make me more of an adult and thus capable of entering the adult world of working life). Calcutta is a fairly nice city, better than its rumor at any rate. We met up with Kari and Jostein who were stopping by on their way to Thailand and exchanged stories about the crazy Indians we've encountered on our respective travels. Our circular tour of India was completed as we flew (I know, it's a bit like cheating, but I don't think we missed much on the eastern coast) to Chennai and hopped on a bus for good ol' Pondicherry.
Returning to Pondi feels a bit like coming home: we've moved into the house we used to live in, where we are kept safe from harm by our charming security guards. We're hanging out at our favorite restaurants and are making the most of our last sunny days in India. Though it is, naturally, a bit empty here without our friends, we've received warm welcome-back's not only from our guards but also a number of waiters and shopkeepers. One of the guys from our internet joint, where I'm sitting now, was pleasantly shocked to see us again and told me he always thinks of me whenever someone says 'cheers' when exiting the shop.
Still, it is with a light heart and great anticipation I prepare for our departure from India tomorrow. Gandhi (yes, Frode, again with the Gandhi quotes), when asked about his thoughts on western civilisation, famously quipped: "I think it would be a good idea". Personally I think the Mahatma was overly negative in this statement. Not that I blame him for having a bit of an attitude, after all he did tend to come across people who were, I dare say, less easy-going than your average westerner ('easy-going' - get it?). Though the West certainly has things to learn from the East, the opposite is surely equally true. As for me, I am happy to be on my way back to the comfortable, clean, efficient, less noisy, less chaotic and far more logical ways of the West. In other words, I'd say our departure is perfectly timed.
I might be back with some remarkably insightful retrospective comments when I'm safely home, but as for now: see you soon!
Sigurd B
No one wants to pay to see your day to day
and I'm not buying it either
but I'll try selling it anyway
- Rilo Kiley
søndag 30. desember 2007
A Cup o’ Kindness Yet
Greetings all
Hope you’ve all had a terrific Christmas. As for us, Christmas Eve was celebrated in Siliguri, a fairly dull city in which there isn’t much to do except arriving and departing. And, of course, having an alternative Christmas dinner: the closest thing we could find to a traditional Norwegian Christmas meal (pinnekjoet, maa vite), was mutton sheek kebab. Hardly a substitute, but thanks to our Indian fancy-wear and, importantly, our imported aquavit, I’d say the dinner was a relative success. After dinner we sang The Most Beautiful Christmas Carol in the World Ever (as an Indian marketing professional would call it), “Det lyser i stille grender”, wearing Santa Clause masks, then watched X-men II. On the whole it was an untraditional but memorable celebration.
On the 25th we left for Sikkim, the tiny mountainous state lodged in between Nepal, China/Tibet and Bhutan. Our first stop was the capital Gangtok, where we made arrangements for another trek. Having strained my knee pretty nastily on the last day of our trek in Nepal – it’s still rather sore – I reluctantly decided it would be wisest, or rather less idiotic, to limit myself to a two-day trek. Obviously, the wisest thing would be not to go at all, and sure enough the knee hurt something fierce in the steepest parts of my descent, but I couldn’t resist. And the pleasure of the hike and scenery was definitely worth the pain. Sigurd S is still trekking as I’m writing this, and in style: he is accompanied by no less than a guide, a cook and two porters. This is not due to laziness, but because, unlike Nepal, there are no teahouses providing accommodation and food on the routs in Sikkim. Hence, one must bring and prepare one’s own food, or, customarily, pay others to do so. Also, to bring a guide is compulsory, as the Sikkimese government is pretty serious about eco-friendly and profitable tourism. Another result of this, the guide is just as important for guiding trekkers through the extensive bureaucracy of permits as for actual guiding in the mountains. This reminds me of a curious element of our trek in Nepal that I forgot to mention in earlier posts: the Maoists. Though this communist group works towards a more or less violent overthrow of the Nepali government, it seems to be tolerated that they set up ‘checkpoints’ on trek routes, where they demand ‘donations’ from tourists (in a very polite, almost apologetic manner, to be fair). Personally, after making them promise not to spend our money on guns and to consider changing their name to something of more palatable connotations, we decided to “obey these rules” as they so matter-of-factly put it. I would’ve loved to see them try and squeeze that money out of a tourist taking a more J.E. Hoover-like position on communism, but there weren’t any present.
But I digress. Like I said, I’ve descended from the mountains to the town of Pelling in the relative lowlands of Sikkim (on a measly 2000 meters above sea level). While writing this, I am intensely cursing at the useless web page of Indian Railways, trying desperately to book a ticket from Siliguri (where we, amusingly, might end up celebrating New Year’s Eve) to our next destination: Kolkata (Calcutta). As for New Year’s Eve, it will most likely be celebrated in Darjeeling or Siliguri. Provided, that is, Sigurd S makes it to Pelling tomorrow. Otherwise, we’ll be celebrating in our separate Sikkimese villages. On a related note: Sigurd and I have now spent more than 24 hours apart for the first time in almost five months. I also have a room to myself for the first time in as long. It’s almost traumatic. Indeed, if all else fails, Sigurd and I could probably move in together and live happily ever after in an old and very filthy house, in a secluded village in the middle of nowhere. We could even buy a motorbike with one of those passenger carts, and take short drives in the countryside for recreation. Seventh heaven, to be sure.
For today’s quote I have selected a handful words of wisdom and warning that you should all pay heed to in the coming year (and tomorrow night in particular):
“Please obey traffic rules” – common road sign in India
“Swimming in the sea is thrill, but it will kill” – warning sign on Paradise Beach, Pondi
“Do not urinate here” – sign on wall in Pondi. On the same wall: “Sticks no bills”
“When married, divorce speed” – Sikkimese road sign
“Drive like hell and you will end up there” – another Sikkimese road sign
Finally, my personal favorite:
“Liquor ruins country, family and life” – warning on the label on ‘Bullet’ strong beer in Tamil Nadu
On that cheerful note: HAPPY NEW YEAR!
“Thank you” – large sign placed, for no apparent reason, in the middle of Sikkimese nowhere
Sigurd B
Hope you’ve all had a terrific Christmas. As for us, Christmas Eve was celebrated in Siliguri, a fairly dull city in which there isn’t much to do except arriving and departing. And, of course, having an alternative Christmas dinner: the closest thing we could find to a traditional Norwegian Christmas meal (pinnekjoet, maa vite), was mutton sheek kebab. Hardly a substitute, but thanks to our Indian fancy-wear and, importantly, our imported aquavit, I’d say the dinner was a relative success. After dinner we sang The Most Beautiful Christmas Carol in the World Ever (as an Indian marketing professional would call it), “Det lyser i stille grender”, wearing Santa Clause masks, then watched X-men II. On the whole it was an untraditional but memorable celebration.
On the 25th we left for Sikkim, the tiny mountainous state lodged in between Nepal, China/Tibet and Bhutan. Our first stop was the capital Gangtok, where we made arrangements for another trek. Having strained my knee pretty nastily on the last day of our trek in Nepal – it’s still rather sore – I reluctantly decided it would be wisest, or rather less idiotic, to limit myself to a two-day trek. Obviously, the wisest thing would be not to go at all, and sure enough the knee hurt something fierce in the steepest parts of my descent, but I couldn’t resist. And the pleasure of the hike and scenery was definitely worth the pain. Sigurd S is still trekking as I’m writing this, and in style: he is accompanied by no less than a guide, a cook and two porters. This is not due to laziness, but because, unlike Nepal, there are no teahouses providing accommodation and food on the routs in Sikkim. Hence, one must bring and prepare one’s own food, or, customarily, pay others to do so. Also, to bring a guide is compulsory, as the Sikkimese government is pretty serious about eco-friendly and profitable tourism. Another result of this, the guide is just as important for guiding trekkers through the extensive bureaucracy of permits as for actual guiding in the mountains. This reminds me of a curious element of our trek in Nepal that I forgot to mention in earlier posts: the Maoists. Though this communist group works towards a more or less violent overthrow of the Nepali government, it seems to be tolerated that they set up ‘checkpoints’ on trek routes, where they demand ‘donations’ from tourists (in a very polite, almost apologetic manner, to be fair). Personally, after making them promise not to spend our money on guns and to consider changing their name to something of more palatable connotations, we decided to “obey these rules” as they so matter-of-factly put it. I would’ve loved to see them try and squeeze that money out of a tourist taking a more J.E. Hoover-like position on communism, but there weren’t any present.
But I digress. Like I said, I’ve descended from the mountains to the town of Pelling in the relative lowlands of Sikkim (on a measly 2000 meters above sea level). While writing this, I am intensely cursing at the useless web page of Indian Railways, trying desperately to book a ticket from Siliguri (where we, amusingly, might end up celebrating New Year’s Eve) to our next destination: Kolkata (Calcutta). As for New Year’s Eve, it will most likely be celebrated in Darjeeling or Siliguri. Provided, that is, Sigurd S makes it to Pelling tomorrow. Otherwise, we’ll be celebrating in our separate Sikkimese villages. On a related note: Sigurd and I have now spent more than 24 hours apart for the first time in almost five months. I also have a room to myself for the first time in as long. It’s almost traumatic. Indeed, if all else fails, Sigurd and I could probably move in together and live happily ever after in an old and very filthy house, in a secluded village in the middle of nowhere. We could even buy a motorbike with one of those passenger carts, and take short drives in the countryside for recreation. Seventh heaven, to be sure.
For today’s quote I have selected a handful words of wisdom and warning that you should all pay heed to in the coming year (and tomorrow night in particular):
“Please obey traffic rules” – common road sign in India
“Swimming in the sea is thrill, but it will kill” – warning sign on Paradise Beach, Pondi
“Do not urinate here” – sign on wall in Pondi. On the same wall: “Sticks no bills”
“When married, divorce speed” – Sikkimese road sign
“Drive like hell and you will end up there” – another Sikkimese road sign
Finally, my personal favorite:
“Liquor ruins country, family and life” – warning on the label on ‘Bullet’ strong beer in Tamil Nadu
On that cheerful note: HAPPY NEW YEAR!
“Thank you” – large sign placed, for no apparent reason, in the middle of Sikkimese nowhere
Sigurd B
tysdag 25. desember 2007
Julekort fraa Nepal.
Utsikta fraa hotellet vaart i Pokhara.
Fjelltur i Annaporna regionen: Guiden vaar Bhimsen og masse sauer.
Bhimsen nyt utsikta fraa Poon Hill (3210m).
Machhapucchare (Fishtail) (6900m).
-2 grader Celsius paa toppen av Poon Hill.
Flittige fjelldamer.
Tibetanske Budhistar i Kathmandu.
Sigurd B., ein hyggeleg Sherpa (som hadde vore 7 gonger paa Mount Everest) og Hans (som me budde hos i Kathmandu) framfor ein budhistisk Stupa.laurdag 22. desember 2007
Elevation
Update 2 of 2 (scroll down for number 1)
Time: mid-December to present
Location: Nepal
We entered the kingdom of Nepal a week and a half ago, at the less than idyllic border-town Sunauli. The relief was instant: the last people we met on the Indian side were the bicycle-wallahs who were physically tugging us away from their competitors, threatening to kill both each other and us (I think), and some touts trying to convince us that if we didn't exchange our Indian rupees for Nepali ones (in their money exchange shop) the military would most likely shoot us dead upon crossing the border. As soon as we entered the Nepali side, not a person was bothering us the least. And it has only gotten better, at least after the cramped and butt-numbing bus trip that brought us to Pokhara, some thirteen hours (was supposed to be nine, but during the first four hours the bus kept making half an hour-stops every ten minutes or so) later. Our travel-companion at the time, Ben the Australian, got out of the bus to stretch his legs at some point during the night, and realised to his terror that the bus driver's daredevil driving was taking place on a narrow road at the edge of tall, steep mountains, nothing below but a pitch-black abyss. Sigurd S and I were sound asleep, happily oblivious to this fact, and Ben did not have the heart to wake us up. Personally I slept till dawn, and was greeted by the sight of the mighty Himalayas in all their splendour, accompanied by crisp mountain air. Truly amazing. We spent a day in Pokhara making arrangements for a trek in the mountains and buying some necessary gear. Fortunately, it seems every household in Pokhara has their own outlet for (mostly fake) 'North Face' clothing.
Bright and early the next morning we headed out towards the Himalayas. We had signed up for a standard five-day trek, but according to our guide, Bimsen, that route was for 'seventy year old women' and would be too easy for strong young men such as ourselves. Fortunately, we did not disappoint him (we did the standard five-day trek in three), and it was uniformly agreed to extend the route. Bimsen was more than happy about this, perhaps not a shocker coming from a fifty-two year old who firmly rejects fashionable comforts such as socks, beds, and sitting.
In short, the trek was superb. One scenic view relieved the other, we got a glimpse of the rural Nepali lifestyle, and spent the nights in charming teahouses along the way. My 26th birthday was celebrated in one such teahose, in the company of Sigurd, Bimsen and a dozen Korean businessmen and their small army of guides, porters and cooks (!). A curious, but worthy, celebration, certainly one for the books. I went to bed at ten. Speaking of celebration, the night before we witnessed a genuine Nepali party (for some guy's little brother, who had been accepted into the Gurkha military unit). Nepalis party much like westerners: they drink, sing and shout like any sane person would do. One curious phenomenon was the ease and smoothness with which their dancing would shift, or transform, as the music constantly shifted between folk tunes and absolute-yabbadabbadance-McNinetysomething. Our man Bimsen joined in the festivities, or was indeed a festivity in his own capacity, with his peculiar sneaking-about crab-like dancing style. Though techno wasn't his particular cup of tea, his antics worked just as well with this music genre when the folk tunes were too far apart.
We returned to Pokhara a few days ago, and checked into the hotel where we had stayed the first night. One of the guys who works there, who clearly takes his tourism-studies rather seriously (almost to the brink of lunacy), hugged me for about one minute upon our return. The next morning we got on a bus to Kathmandu, capital of Nepal, where we have invaded Sigurd's friend Hans' appartment (thank you for your hospitality, Hans!). We've been chilling out for a few days, taking in the sights, sounds and flavours of Kathmandu, getting ready for our return to India, to the mountainous state of Sikkim. The plan is to head out tomorrow, the 23rd, after having a christmas lunch at the Norwegian embassy (where Hans works). The actual Christmas celebration will, presumably, take place in Sikkim (or, worst case, on a cramped bus bound for Sikkim). We have brought along a bottle of Aquevit (thank you Eva) and a Santa Claus mask for the occasion, and feel confident that these props will ensure a worthy celebration.
On that note, I end this post by wishing you all, from the both of us, a very MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Sigurd B
Wherever in the world you go, [...] obey the guide
- Bimsen
Time: mid-December to present
Location: Nepal
We entered the kingdom of Nepal a week and a half ago, at the less than idyllic border-town Sunauli. The relief was instant: the last people we met on the Indian side were the bicycle-wallahs who were physically tugging us away from their competitors, threatening to kill both each other and us (I think), and some touts trying to convince us that if we didn't exchange our Indian rupees for Nepali ones (in their money exchange shop) the military would most likely shoot us dead upon crossing the border. As soon as we entered the Nepali side, not a person was bothering us the least. And it has only gotten better, at least after the cramped and butt-numbing bus trip that brought us to Pokhara, some thirteen hours (was supposed to be nine, but during the first four hours the bus kept making half an hour-stops every ten minutes or so) later. Our travel-companion at the time, Ben the Australian, got out of the bus to stretch his legs at some point during the night, and realised to his terror that the bus driver's daredevil driving was taking place on a narrow road at the edge of tall, steep mountains, nothing below but a pitch-black abyss. Sigurd S and I were sound asleep, happily oblivious to this fact, and Ben did not have the heart to wake us up. Personally I slept till dawn, and was greeted by the sight of the mighty Himalayas in all their splendour, accompanied by crisp mountain air. Truly amazing. We spent a day in Pokhara making arrangements for a trek in the mountains and buying some necessary gear. Fortunately, it seems every household in Pokhara has their own outlet for (mostly fake) 'North Face' clothing.
Bright and early the next morning we headed out towards the Himalayas. We had signed up for a standard five-day trek, but according to our guide, Bimsen, that route was for 'seventy year old women' and would be too easy for strong young men such as ourselves. Fortunately, we did not disappoint him (we did the standard five-day trek in three), and it was uniformly agreed to extend the route. Bimsen was more than happy about this, perhaps not a shocker coming from a fifty-two year old who firmly rejects fashionable comforts such as socks, beds, and sitting.
In short, the trek was superb. One scenic view relieved the other, we got a glimpse of the rural Nepali lifestyle, and spent the nights in charming teahouses along the way. My 26th birthday was celebrated in one such teahose, in the company of Sigurd, Bimsen and a dozen Korean businessmen and their small army of guides, porters and cooks (!). A curious, but worthy, celebration, certainly one for the books. I went to bed at ten. Speaking of celebration, the night before we witnessed a genuine Nepali party (for some guy's little brother, who had been accepted into the Gurkha military unit). Nepalis party much like westerners: they drink, sing and shout like any sane person would do. One curious phenomenon was the ease and smoothness with which their dancing would shift, or transform, as the music constantly shifted between folk tunes and absolute-yabbadabbadance-McNinetysomething. Our man Bimsen joined in the festivities, or was indeed a festivity in his own capacity, with his peculiar sneaking-about crab-like dancing style. Though techno wasn't his particular cup of tea, his antics worked just as well with this music genre when the folk tunes were too far apart.
We returned to Pokhara a few days ago, and checked into the hotel where we had stayed the first night. One of the guys who works there, who clearly takes his tourism-studies rather seriously (almost to the brink of lunacy), hugged me for about one minute upon our return. The next morning we got on a bus to Kathmandu, capital of Nepal, where we have invaded Sigurd's friend Hans' appartment (thank you for your hospitality, Hans!). We've been chilling out for a few days, taking in the sights, sounds and flavours of Kathmandu, getting ready for our return to India, to the mountainous state of Sikkim. The plan is to head out tomorrow, the 23rd, after having a christmas lunch at the Norwegian embassy (where Hans works). The actual Christmas celebration will, presumably, take place in Sikkim (or, worst case, on a cramped bus bound for Sikkim). We have brought along a bottle of Aquevit (thank you Eva) and a Santa Claus mask for the occasion, and feel confident that these props will ensure a worthy celebration.
On that note, I end this post by wishing you all, from the both of us, a very MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
Sigurd B
Wherever in the world you go, [...] obey the guide
- Bimsen
måndag 17. desember 2007
Fuglemat: Eit flytande, halvbrend lik.
Chowpatty Beach, Mumbai.
Crikett i Mumbai.
Mumbai Taxi.
Hotel Taj Mahal og Gateway of India, Mumbai.
Sigurd B. viser fram dei flotte kjempegeitene i Mumbai.
Ein konsentrert Sigurd S. speidar etter dragen sin, Jaipur.
Brått dukka det opp eit kart over Noreg i himmelen over Jaipur. Me fekk litt heimlengsel.
På veg til Jaipur Fort, også her er det mykje bos.
Geitetransport.
Skal tru om han har ein tiger i kikkerten, Corbett Tiger Reserve.
En fleibede abekatt!
Vakker natur i Corbett Tiger Reserve.
Sigurd B. viser fram Taj Mahal, Agra.
Sigurd S. og Taj Mahal.
Nok ei triveleg indisk gate, Varanasi.
Familekos ved den heilage Ganga elva, Varanasi.
Bøn og bading i Ganga. Visst du at... det er 1,5 millionar fekale (dvs. bæsj) bakteriar pr 100ml vatn i Ganga? Vanlegvis vert ein fråråda å bade viss det er meir enn 500.
Fuglemat: Eit flytande, halvbrend lik.
The Siggz: 'Buns of Steel' Tour 2007
Update 1 of 2
Time: early December
Location: Central North-India
Namaste (North-Indian/Nepalese greeting)!
The title of this post refers to the numerous butt-numbing journeys we have had on various buses, trains, trucks and whatnot. A selection of such vehicles have most recently brought us to Pokhara, at the foothills of the mighty Nepali Himalayas (even the name has a majestic ring to it, doesn't it?), from where we have ventured on foot. However, as the crossing of the Nepali border in my mind marks the entry into a new phase of our travels, I choose to split this update into two blog posts, chronologically.
Thus, I begin where I last left of: Mumbai. On our last day we did a guided slum tour, hoping to gain some insight into how the vast majority of the city's sixteen to twenty-something million (no one really knows) inhabitants live their lives. It was a fascinating and educational experience, inspiring feelings of despair and pity, but also of optimism. The conditions under which so many people are living are truly miserable. The slums are so cramped and so filthy that they are hardly habitable at all, certainly not for so many. Yet there is cause for hope. The sense of communality and tolerance displayed by the slum-dwellers is incredible, as is the intensity and ingenuity with which they strive for a better life. Examples of business entreprises we visited included a keyboard recycling shop and a cardboard box repair shop. As the Mumbai slums is a world beyond my grasp, I borrow the words of author and bombayite Suketu Mehta as he observes:
Why do people still live in Bombay? Every day is an assault on the individual's senses [...] Why would you want to leave your brick house in the village with its two mango trees and its view of small hills in the east to come here? So that some day [...] your eldest son can buy two rooms on Mira Road. And the younger one can move beyond that, to New Jersey. Your discomfort is an investment. Like insect colonies, people here will sacrifice their individual pleasures for the greater progress of the family.
The next stop on our journey was Jaipur, also known as 'The Pink City' as it is mandatory for the owners of buildings in Old Town to paint them in the same colour (a tradition dating back to the visit of some royal character centuries ago). Truth be told, the 'pink' was rather an ordinary reddish-brown colour, and if I hadn't known about the uniformity in advance I don't think I would've noticed. Jaipur's most characteristic features were dust, noise and some of the most annoying people I have ever encountered. The beggars were tenacios, the touts more obnoxious than usual, and the rickshaw drivers were impossible. At some point a kid threw rocks at Sigurd S. Even the dogs would, without exeption, bark at us. We did a nice hike around the city fort, though, and had some of the best north Indian food so far.
One curious highlight was the most elaborate and pleasant attempt on a scam I've ever been subjected to. It started out with this kid, fifteen or so, striking up a conversation on the street 'to improve his english'. He was polite and friendly enough, so we didn't mind him tagging along as we strolled the streets of Old Town. He told us about the number one leisure activity in Jaipur, kite-fighting (the Jaipur sky is littered with small kites, the string attached to each of them greased with some substance containing glass. This enables the pilot of the kite to cut the cords of other kites, thereby winning the kitefight), and invited us to try our hands at this sport on the roof of his house. 'Why not', we thought, and went along. Kitefighting was a lot of fun, though we didn't really get the hang of it, and the roof top view of Jaipur was as good as it gets. We had a great time. Still, we sensed that something was afoot when we were invited to have coffee with the kid's big brother, manager of the family's jewellery business. Sure enough, after some friendly small talk (through which he cunningly presented himself as the hard-working and successful entrepreneur victimised by the unreasonable taxes imposed by a corrupt government), the proposal was set forth: We were to transport a large amount of jewellery to Norway on our 'tourist quota', where we would be met by the company's Oslo representative and be richly rewarded for our efforts. All we needed to do was to pay a small amount of money (by visa) as a sign of good faith, since they were entrusting us with highly valuable merchendise. Without doubt, the 'Oslo representative' would never have showed up, the jewellery would have turned out to be fake, and our bank accounts would have been emptied. Needless to say, we firmly but politely declined the offer, and the meeting was adjourned without any drama or hard feelings on either side. On the whole it was an amusing and rather pleasant experience.
Our next destination was Delhi, capital of India. It was a fairly nice city, where one can easily move from the chaotic and cramped Old Delhi to the spacious and western'ish New Delhi. We crashed into a pedestrian while we were in an autorickshaw, but he wasn't badly injured. Beyond that, there isn't much to say about Delhi.
While in Delhi, we did a one-day detour up north to the Corbett Tiger reserve, home of some four hundred tigers. We didn't have the good fortune to spot one (seeing how the driver of the large truck we were in drove like a madman, I think the only way we could've spotted a tiger was if we ran over one). Nevertheless, it was refreshing to spend a day in clear mountain air and the laid-back villages in rural north-India.
From Delhi we completed our tour of the 'golden triangle' as we travelled to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. A mausoleum over the wife of the mogul Shah Raha, the Taj was described on a t-shirt I saw as 'the largest erection over a woman ever'. The monument was both large and magnificent, worthy of its spot as one of the seven wonders. Originally, Shah Raha intended to build an identical mausoleum for himself. Unfortunately he was imprisoned by his son, possibly because the latter found his father's fascination with building massive marble structures to be a bit over the top. Can't really blame him, as the Taj took decades to complete and cost vast sums of money, and I'd say one is surely enough for most purposes. After seeing the Taj and the Agra Fort, we had dinner with Sara and Gaute before catching a train to Varanasi.
Varanasi, home of Shiva, is one of the holiest cities in India. It is situated on the banks of the Ganges, where thousands of people come to wash away their sins and hundreds are cremated every day. Personally, we decided to givethe bathing a miss, upon learning that the Ganges has three thousand times the level of faecal bacteria that is acceptable for humans to swim in. We did go on a rowing boat trip though, which was a peaceful and scenic experience spiced up by the occasional observation of floating human corpses, feasted on by crows and seagulls. As the price of firewood is steep, burners use as little as possible in order to incinerate a human body. Due to this, the funeral pyres are not the large wooden structures one might imagine, but rather medium-sized bonfires, head and feet of the corpse sticking out. Another consequense of the high prices, the expense of burning a body might be too high altogether, in which case the family of the deceased will, evidently, toss the body straight into the river. Varanasi is truly a fascinating place: spiritual, chaotic, holy and utterly mental.
Nevertheless, saturated with the hustle, bustle and hassle (not to mention the immense pollution) of the north-Indian metropolises, it was with a light heart we headed north towards the kingdom of Nepal.
(to be continued)
Sigurd B
The Mississippi, the Ganges, and the Nile,... the Rocky Mountains, the Himmaleh, and Mountains of the Moon, have a kind of personal importance in the annals of the world.
- Henry David Thoreau
Time: early December
Location: Central North-India
Namaste (North-Indian/Nepalese greeting)!
The title of this post refers to the numerous butt-numbing journeys we have had on various buses, trains, trucks and whatnot. A selection of such vehicles have most recently brought us to Pokhara, at the foothills of the mighty Nepali Himalayas (even the name has a majestic ring to it, doesn't it?), from where we have ventured on foot. However, as the crossing of the Nepali border in my mind marks the entry into a new phase of our travels, I choose to split this update into two blog posts, chronologically.
Thus, I begin where I last left of: Mumbai. On our last day we did a guided slum tour, hoping to gain some insight into how the vast majority of the city's sixteen to twenty-something million (no one really knows) inhabitants live their lives. It was a fascinating and educational experience, inspiring feelings of despair and pity, but also of optimism. The conditions under which so many people are living are truly miserable. The slums are so cramped and so filthy that they are hardly habitable at all, certainly not for so many. Yet there is cause for hope. The sense of communality and tolerance displayed by the slum-dwellers is incredible, as is the intensity and ingenuity with which they strive for a better life. Examples of business entreprises we visited included a keyboard recycling shop and a cardboard box repair shop. As the Mumbai slums is a world beyond my grasp, I borrow the words of author and bombayite Suketu Mehta as he observes:
Why do people still live in Bombay? Every day is an assault on the individual's senses [...] Why would you want to leave your brick house in the village with its two mango trees and its view of small hills in the east to come here? So that some day [...] your eldest son can buy two rooms on Mira Road. And the younger one can move beyond that, to New Jersey. Your discomfort is an investment. Like insect colonies, people here will sacrifice their individual pleasures for the greater progress of the family.
The next stop on our journey was Jaipur, also known as 'The Pink City' as it is mandatory for the owners of buildings in Old Town to paint them in the same colour (a tradition dating back to the visit of some royal character centuries ago). Truth be told, the 'pink' was rather an ordinary reddish-brown colour, and if I hadn't known about the uniformity in advance I don't think I would've noticed. Jaipur's most characteristic features were dust, noise and some of the most annoying people I have ever encountered. The beggars were tenacios, the touts more obnoxious than usual, and the rickshaw drivers were impossible. At some point a kid threw rocks at Sigurd S. Even the dogs would, without exeption, bark at us. We did a nice hike around the city fort, though, and had some of the best north Indian food so far.
One curious highlight was the most elaborate and pleasant attempt on a scam I've ever been subjected to. It started out with this kid, fifteen or so, striking up a conversation on the street 'to improve his english'. He was polite and friendly enough, so we didn't mind him tagging along as we strolled the streets of Old Town. He told us about the number one leisure activity in Jaipur, kite-fighting (the Jaipur sky is littered with small kites, the string attached to each of them greased with some substance containing glass. This enables the pilot of the kite to cut the cords of other kites, thereby winning the kitefight), and invited us to try our hands at this sport on the roof of his house. 'Why not', we thought, and went along. Kitefighting was a lot of fun, though we didn't really get the hang of it, and the roof top view of Jaipur was as good as it gets. We had a great time. Still, we sensed that something was afoot when we were invited to have coffee with the kid's big brother, manager of the family's jewellery business. Sure enough, after some friendly small talk (through which he cunningly presented himself as the hard-working and successful entrepreneur victimised by the unreasonable taxes imposed by a corrupt government), the proposal was set forth: We were to transport a large amount of jewellery to Norway on our 'tourist quota', where we would be met by the company's Oslo representative and be richly rewarded for our efforts. All we needed to do was to pay a small amount of money (by visa) as a sign of good faith, since they were entrusting us with highly valuable merchendise. Without doubt, the 'Oslo representative' would never have showed up, the jewellery would have turned out to be fake, and our bank accounts would have been emptied. Needless to say, we firmly but politely declined the offer, and the meeting was adjourned without any drama or hard feelings on either side. On the whole it was an amusing and rather pleasant experience.
Our next destination was Delhi, capital of India. It was a fairly nice city, where one can easily move from the chaotic and cramped Old Delhi to the spacious and western'ish New Delhi. We crashed into a pedestrian while we were in an autorickshaw, but he wasn't badly injured. Beyond that, there isn't much to say about Delhi.
While in Delhi, we did a one-day detour up north to the Corbett Tiger reserve, home of some four hundred tigers. We didn't have the good fortune to spot one (seeing how the driver of the large truck we were in drove like a madman, I think the only way we could've spotted a tiger was if we ran over one). Nevertheless, it was refreshing to spend a day in clear mountain air and the laid-back villages in rural north-India.
From Delhi we completed our tour of the 'golden triangle' as we travelled to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. A mausoleum over the wife of the mogul Shah Raha, the Taj was described on a t-shirt I saw as 'the largest erection over a woman ever'. The monument was both large and magnificent, worthy of its spot as one of the seven wonders. Originally, Shah Raha intended to build an identical mausoleum for himself. Unfortunately he was imprisoned by his son, possibly because the latter found his father's fascination with building massive marble structures to be a bit over the top. Can't really blame him, as the Taj took decades to complete and cost vast sums of money, and I'd say one is surely enough for most purposes. After seeing the Taj and the Agra Fort, we had dinner with Sara and Gaute before catching a train to Varanasi.
Varanasi, home of Shiva, is one of the holiest cities in India. It is situated on the banks of the Ganges, where thousands of people come to wash away their sins and hundreds are cremated every day. Personally, we decided to givethe bathing a miss, upon learning that the Ganges has three thousand times the level of faecal bacteria that is acceptable for humans to swim in. We did go on a rowing boat trip though, which was a peaceful and scenic experience spiced up by the occasional observation of floating human corpses, feasted on by crows and seagulls. As the price of firewood is steep, burners use as little as possible in order to incinerate a human body. Due to this, the funeral pyres are not the large wooden structures one might imagine, but rather medium-sized bonfires, head and feet of the corpse sticking out. Another consequense of the high prices, the expense of burning a body might be too high altogether, in which case the family of the deceased will, evidently, toss the body straight into the river. Varanasi is truly a fascinating place: spiritual, chaotic, holy and utterly mental.
Nevertheless, saturated with the hustle, bustle and hassle (not to mention the immense pollution) of the north-Indian metropolises, it was with a light heart we headed north towards the kingdom of Nepal.
(to be continued)
Sigurd B
The Mississippi, the Ganges, and the Nile,... the Rocky Mountains, the Himmaleh, and Mountains of the Moon, have a kind of personal importance in the annals of the world.
- Henry David Thoreau
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