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The only way to describe the speed and constant sensation of the past two weeks is to try a Kerouac-style stream-of-conciousness approach, so here goes.

I was sitting in an internet cafe in Kathmandu when I received an email from Monika, one of the two Czech sisters I had been travelling with in Nepal and Tibet. They had left for Varanasi a couple of days before and I was heading back to India myself. After receiving the mail (contents classified) I sped up and left Kathmandu the next morning for Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha on the Nepal/India border. The journey was long and slow, a stop for boiled eggs for lunch and after telling the vendor I was from England he asked me if I could read and write in English, highlights the problem with literacy in this part of the world. I never made it to Lumbini, the bus driver decided to stop about 40km short of Lumbini, and still 20km from the border crossing. This was important as it had got late in the day and the chances of me seeing Lumbini and crossing the border were very slim! I jumped on a local bus to the Sunauli border crossing, passed through the immigration quickly and wrote Lumbini off for next time. Back in India I sat on a bus headed for Gorakhpur for around 30mins before it became apparant the bus had no chance of going anywhere and so we all had to squeeze in a jeep, which got us there considerably quicker but at an extra 20 rupees premium. In Gorakhpur I had time for an omelette sandwich before jumping on a bus to Ayodhya. I promptly fell asleep, only to woken several times by the conductor, first to purchase the ticket, then twice more to double and triple check I wanted to go to Ayodhya and finally to kick me off the bus at quarter past midnight.

He double checked I wanted to go to Ayodhya because it is a very volatile place. You may remember the riots in the mid-90's when the devout Hindu population came accross the belief that a Mosque in the town ahd been built on the site of a Hindu temple and was actually the birthplace of Rama. They burnt the Mosque and built a Hindu shrine. In fact, there was a riot just a few days after I was there. So, after a quick cup of chai I set out into the midnight monsoon to find a place to sleep. Easier said than done in a town which only seems to have accommodation for sadhus and pilgrims. I had to convince somebody that I was one of the above. On the second attempt I managed it, though it did require some persuasion in the form of rupees! Early in the morning I set out to investigate the Ramaboobri shrine, it took a while to locate because they don't exactly advertise it, though one old sign did help a lot. First visiting the temple next door for the morning prayer, receive puja and offering prasad with the pilgrims and standing quitely with my hands clasped as they recited some prayer. Next to the shrine. From the outside it appears as an army barracks. At the first checkpoint you receive a grilling as to why you are there, at the second checkpoint I was thoroughly seearched and had various items, including the camera, confiscated. I was then marched along a caged path ("nothing gets in, nothing gets out") to the third checkpoint when more items were confiscated and I was questioned staring down the barrel of an rifle. The fourth and final checkpoint was more laid-back and soon I was following the caged path through the burned remains of the mosque, currently being excavated for relics and proof, suddenly coming across the shrine, attended by a priest who gave me another puja and more offerings. Breathing easier I left the shrine, following the circuitous path and my goods were returned to me. The atmosphere in the town is electric, it makes you feel as though you have drunk ten cups of espresso in an hour!

Ramaboobri, Ayodhya

With little regret I left Ayodhya, passing a dead cow in the street and taking a shared rickshaw to Faisalbad where I got a jeep to Lucknow in order to surprise Monika and Lenka by intecepting their train en route to Haridwar. I arrived at around 1300 hours. I calculated that their train would pass through at around 1500, not giving me much time to see Lucknow. As it happens, after an hour or so talking with various railway officials I surmised that their train would arrive at 2000, possibly the slowest train in Indian Railways! I got a waitlisted ticket and convinced the supervisor to confirm my berth on the VIP quota. That accomplished I set out to explore Lucknow, first seeing the impressive ruins of the Bara Imambara, apparantly holding the worlds largest arched room without pillars. I could not comment on this boast because the entrance fee to the buildings was more than a weeks food money! Following this I set out to find the former British Residency, site of the siege of Lucknow. After wandering around some crowded market streets I still could find it when a guy stopped on his motorbike and asked me where I was going. He offered to ride me around on his motorbike for the afternoon. So I jumped on. We snaked through the various markets, crowded streets and bazaars, took a perfunctory photo of the Residency, did not enter due to the rather extornionate entrance fee, and then set off for his house so his mum could make us a cup of tea. We sat on the rooftop looking out over Lucknow, another chance to see the craze in India for kite flying, literally hundreds littering the sky. Sanjay had just opened a school in a less opulent area and we went off to see it, very interesting and he only charges the pupils 50 rupees per month. After hanging out in the headmasters office he delivered me back to the train station where I had time to collect my bag and develop a case of nerves before the train arrived. As it pulled into the station I saw Monika in the doorway of one of the carriages and raced to meet her. After a few steps my sandal fell off, I replaced it, set off at greater speed only for it to fall off again. I took both sandals off and raced along the platform barefoot, only to step in TWO piles of cow dung. When I finally reached the carraige she had disapeeared off to find some food so the emotional reunion had to wait whilst I caught up with Lenka, the sister. She did eventually return, with chapattis, or samosas, to tell you the truth in all the excitement I cannot remember. After a kind word with the conductor he confirmed my berth and as there was a vacancy directly under Monikas, the plan could not have been executed to greater perfection.

The train took us to Haridwar, not so far from Rishikesh, somewhere I had been before and hadn't liked. Haridwar was much nicer. There is a temple on top of the hill that requires a nice walk of a couple of kilmetres, the roads full of monkeys, scavenging for any scraps, given willingly or otherwise. The Ganges flows directly through and the ghats are filled with small boys jumping in from bridges, people of all ages taking a dip in the holy water and filling small flasks to take away with them. In the evening offerings in the form of flowers and a candle in a basket of leaves are sent downriver and we took part in this ritual ourselves. Returning to our hotel Monika and I heard some music emanating from a small temple on our street. Being inquisitive we had a look inside and discovered a wedding. We were invited in, although I had to sit int he courtyard with the men as only women were allowed in the hall for this part of the ceremony. Afterwards we were festooned with bountiful treats from the buffet and grilled by a family from Chattisgarh who seemed quite bored with the celebration. When we finally left we had a big box of sweets as a present.

Haridwar

The next day we took a trip to Rishikesh. It was much as I remembered, dirty, crowded and full of fake-Sadhus smoking chillums and trying to get photos taken of their king cobras in baskets. Add to this all the pseudo-spiritual tourists flapping around and talking about how 'Mother India' is just simply wonderful and you can see why I don't really like the place. But in the evening as we returned to our hotel in Haridwar we found a procession in our street. First we assumed it was part of the wedding baraat but we found out it was a pilgrimage from a lcoal ashram to the temple on the top of the hill. It would take a long time as they were only moving at around 5 metres per minute, the procession involving singing dancing and a marching band taking its time. We got roped in to the procession and had to dance and sing our way along in the streets for about three-quarters of an hour, being refreshed with a constant supply of soft drinks before we ducked into an alley and allowed the procession to pass.

We fled the next day exhausted from these days of fun and revelry. Headed for Chandigarh, only built in the 50's as a planned city, kind of like an Indian MIlton Keynes. It is a strange city. There are no animals in the streets and barely any street stalls. The city is divided into Orwellian sectors, the centre (with the shopping mall) is in sector 17, we eventually found a cheap hotel in this expensive city way out in Sector 45! The highlight of a trip to Chandigarh is a visit to the Rock Gardens designed by Nek Chand. They are actually quite interesting, being designed from houseold waste and other discarded items, creating armies of statues made from broken bangles and electical sockets. The Garden is set out like a grotto, it is so easy to lose ones bearings and around the corner is a new surprise. Leaving the Rock Garden we were accosted by a minister of the state of Punjab and he demanded that we have a drink with him, who were we to argue. So the driver, the minister and one armed guard got in the front of the jeep, the three of us and two more guards in the back, off we went for a fresh orange juice. I felt quite important being guarded by a man with an automatic rifle! After the juice the minister was very emotional and told us we must return to visit him soon. We made the promise and went to recover in the Rose Garden, Chandigarhs other, and less impressive, attraction.

From Chandigarh it was a long bus ride to Amritsar, a return to the Golden Temple, this time sampling the free food and also finding a great view from a tower and another night of boistrous one-upmanship at the border ceremony. We also took a side trip to the town of Taran Taran in oder to see another, equally impressive Sikh temple, again so impressed with the warm welcome and hospitality.

Monika in disguise, Taran Taran

And from Amritsar a long train ride back to Delhi, around 10 hours in General Department, it was an intersting trip. Al the food outlets in the train stations in Punjab and Haryana are on strike and the only drink available is free water. The train was, of course, packed to the rafters and many fights (unusual in India) broke out between groups of people vying for space for the bags or themselves and slowely wiltering the hot sun.

At some point during this hard and fast fortnight I developed some infection in my face which closed my eye and made me look like I had just been several rounds with Sugar Ray Leonard. The Indian guys have found it very amusing, all of them insinuating that Monika was the culprit and I was some sort of battered husband! They all laughed. It "popped" out a couple of days ago, just in time for Monika's flight home, and to make matters even she had a smaller version growing behind her ear.

Back in Delhi, excrutiating heat, overwhelmed by the tourism and realising that the end is near. Whilst Mumbai is flooded under the fulls trength of the monsoon, it has yet to reach Delhi, apart from a couple of warning showers. We spent a couple of days hanging out, no sightseeing, just a bit of last-minute shopping for Monika and Lenka and some feasting for me. They flew out on Lufthansa Thursday morning, back to Prague, connecting over Munich.

After spending a last few hours tying up loose ends in Delhi (and sorry to Gunjan, I still did not get a chance to meet up with you) I also left, albeit by a slower route. A tourist bus back up to Manali, somewhere else I was not so impressed with but that it is necessary to go through to get up to Leh. The bus departure was due for 1600, reporting at 1500. I got there at 1530 and waited until 1700. The bus came and my bag was loaded on, with a mandatory 10 rupees fee (welcome to the tourim industry, back to local buses in future) and then I was told my seat was double booked and I would have to go in the bus on the other side of the road. My bag was removed and put in the second bus, whose conductor demanded another 10 rupees. I explained the situation calmly, as is the way in Asia, and received a verbal pasting in return from the conductor and his helper. I had to wait for a guy with a calmer disposition to fix the situation. Not satisfied, the conductor then told me I had to sit up in the drivers cabin for the journey as there were no seats. Fine by me, a new experience, and quite fun for an hour or so. When this did not faze me he put me to the backseat, amongst a large Indian family with a seemingly infinite number of children. Again this was no problem. At the dinner stop there were more shenanigans that make up the travellers tales from India but that I seldom encounter. The waiter would only give me water whilst I was reading the menu and when I decided I didn't want to pay a premium price for a paratha, he took the jug of water away. It's not mineral water, it isn't even filtered water, it is just plain tap water! But I was not allowed to use their resources and I was directed to the local water pump. Again fine by me. So after a 0100am chai stop and a 0600 hours breakfast chai we arrived in Manali at 1100am. Only six hours later than advertised, pretty good really.

So here I am. Back in Manali, back on my lonesome voyage. Off to Leh very early tomorrow, travelling on the famed Manali-Leh road and should arrive sometime in the evening. It is usually a two day trip with a night halt in a tent but the jeep is going to make it in one day so it should be interesting.

I have just realised that this is in no-way Kerouac-esque, nor stream-of-conciousness, but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway!