#14 Foreign soil

Over the next two weeks I settled into the slow, steady rhythm that is Nepali life.

Walking anywhere with Ganga didi takes twice as long as it normally would because she stops to chat to everyone she knows. It's very similar to going anywhere with my own mother (😉 eh Mum).

School is only four hours everyday, except Saturdays which we have off, so I unexpectedly have a lot of down time. During this free time I mainly dream about chocolate, where to find it and how quickly I can get it out of the packet and into my belly. It's a sad state of affairs. I think daal bhat twice a day has left me deficient in something resulting in the most all consuming cravings.

There also has had to be a slight change of plans. The time I had chosen to volunteer actually included two weeks of school holidays. The first I'd heard of this was last week. I could stay and help redecorate the school with the teachers in the holidays but they really need a native English speaker to help teach English. Luckily I hadn't made any plans as is the theme of this trip/my life.

So Ganga didi suggested it would be best for the school if I did my sightseeing during this time and then come back to finish volunteering after the holidays. I agreed because after all I didn't really come for the sightseeing. I came to work and be of some help so that is what I will do and means I'll be in Nepal until around mid May.

The other day Ganga didi took me to her garlic plantation and we did some good old fashioned gardening. Amongst the garlic were casual Ganja plants growing. It's native here and only illegal if you grow it on purpose so we pulled them out like they were...well... weeds. There's nothing quite like getting foreign soil under your nails to make you feel like you're really getting to know a country.

Ganga is a wonderful host and includes me in everything she does - even going Saree shopping with her girlfriends. It was an interesting allbeit slightly tedious experience only because I couldn't tell what anyone was saying.

I trailed behind the women as they giggled like school girls and tried to figure out how they bargain. I still find that part of life so awkward. It's essentially a form of conflict and I instinctively want to shy away from it even though I know shop keepers expect it. It's just such a difficult concept to get your head around when you come from a culture where no one really likes to ask for a discount.

I watched their facial expressions and body language and decided it's best to decide on the price you'd like to pay and then work your way down to that with the seller. To do this you need some idea about the real value of the item however which is why shopping takes so long. You have to shop around a bit first.

This evening Ganga didi and I went to a festival in a neighbouring village with some ones volunteers and Sanju, the director of another volunteering organisation and guide who I will be trekking with in April.

It was basically just a big party that happens once a year when they bring out a statue/idol from the temple and wash it. There were drums, symbols, horns and people packed into the town square area.

People were dancing and leaning out of windows all around. Every now and then someone would toss some of the water they were using to wash the idol into the crowd much to everyones excitement.

It was such a happy occasion. Even though this part of the world has so little the people have their priorities right. Friends and family are at the top of that list. We are social creatures and without these two things we cannot possibly live a happy or fulfilled life no matter how many nice things we own.

That old cheesy saying about the best things in life being free rings true once again.

Ganga didi in the garlic fields - Kirtipur, Kathmandu - March, 2017 

#12 Namaste Nepal

Delhi was crowded, dirty and loud after the serenity that had been Pushkar.

I managed to catch the metro to the airport from my bus stop with the help of yet another kind gentleman and arrived with plenty of time to rearrange my bag, check in and eat something. I was feeling very disorganised for an international flight but in a good way. I hadn't had time to worry about all the little things like normal.

As I waited at the gate the excitement began to grow.

On the plane I was seated next to a Nepali soldier and his lovely wife. He told me he had been injured recently and had lost the use of his right arm. Half of his face didn't function properly either but despite this he was in good spirits as he was returning home to Pokhara after spending three months recovering in Delhi hospital. And he was alive.

It made me so angry to see him injured for the sake of someones ego (because that's what all wars are essentially about). His future had been dictated by men and probably some women moving soldiers around like pawns in a game of chess with no real understanding of the consequences of their actions.

As we flew into Nepal we were welcomed by a spectacular view of the Himalayas. I couldn't stop looking at the enormous snow-capped mountain peaks poking out of the clouds - trying to burn the image into my brain so I could carry it with me always.

The soldier from Pokhara was so happy to be returning home.

"Beautiful," he murmered to me.

I had to agree.

Deven, the volunteer placement officer picked me up, and as we drove I attempted to make polite conversation but he wasn't into it at all. I realised it is a typical Nepali thing to be shy to start with so after a while I gave up and we sat in awkward silence the rest of the journey home.

Home turned out to be a big cold building with many rooms and several floors. When I arrived no one was in sight and my heart sank. Was I going to be the only volunteer? Was this organisation so obscure I was the only one who had come across it? If so this was going to be a very isolating experience. Deven assured me that the others were just away at their placements and some were sight seeing in Pokhara and would be back tomorrow.

Salve, the lovely woman I had been emailing, came to meet me. She told me to sleep for a while and then come for dinner. I ended up falling asleep in the afternoon and sleeping right through until the next morning. I was so tired.

The next day I met one of the other volunteers at breakfast. There were other people here! Her name was Rosie and she was American Chinese, volunteering in Nepal for her spring break. She was still at high school and had come all this way on her own. She talked at 100 miles an hour and when she left it felt like a frieght train had just powered through the room. I was left out of breath but glad there were other volunteers with me.

Then it was time for my orientation and Nepali lesson. It was like going back to school after a holiday and my brain took a while to adjust.

Deven took me to a Monkey temple that afternoon and I met some more of the volunteers when we returned.

After a while they all disappeared and I found myself alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go for once. It was a nice feeling but I was still craving company. Thankfully not long after the volunteers returned and we decided to get momos from a resturant down the road.

During the course of the evening one of the girls asked if I had got sick when I was in India.
 "No,"
"Not yet. Touch wood," I added pessimistically. Then I deliberately touched the wooden chopping board out of some kind of superstitious habit. Well turns out superstitions are bullshit.

Almost immediately after eating the chicken momos I had decided on, my stomach started playing tricks on me. I crawled into bed and tried to read but after a while I gave up and lay there wishing the horrible, angry feeling would go away. Finally at some ungodly hour in the morning I managed to throw up the nasty momos and the relief was instant. Thank goodness it was all over fairly quickly so I didn't miss out on anything exciting.

I dragged my aching body out of bed the next morning and rather subduedly admitted to everyone I had finally been sick. On my first day in Nepal too. How pathetic.

The rest of the day was taken up with a Nepali lesson and a class about the Nepali caste system. I had no idea it was still such a prominent part of their culture.

Later Deven took me and two American sisters to the largest Buddhist stupa in the world. It was pretty spectacular and the smells and sounds and colours were exactly how I had hoped Nepal would be.

That evening we were free to roam as we pleased so the two American sisters, an Australian girl, a guy from Chile and I went into Thamel - backpacker heaven. It was St Patricks Day and I spotted an Irish pub advertising a live music event. It struck me as a funny thing to do in Nepal so in we went. After a couple of ciders and a big basket of hot chips my stomach had finally forgiven me for the momos catastrophe last night.

Later we found a place that sold donuts and I bought one without the slightest bit of guilt. It was time to revert back to the old western ways just for one night and it felt wonderful. Back at the HQ we found the HBO channel and feasted our ears on the American twang whilst gorging on chocolate.

Sometimes it's nice to forget you are very far from home and just enjoy the simple things that are certain make you happy. Like donuts!

#13 Eat fast, walk slow

Classroom at the women's school in Kirtipur

Kathmadu stretches out like a mass of crumbling brick coloured Lego pieces

On Sunday I was whisked away on Deven's 'scooty' as they adorably call scooters here, to my host family's home in a 'village' 40 minutes away from Kathmandu called Kirtipur.

When I heard the word village I had two images that kept popping up in my mind. One seems now a ridiculously idealistic image of a serene, remote setting with a river, thatched huts, snow capped mountains in the back ground and goats and chickens running wild.

The other was a gloomier image of a dark, cold tin shack crammed in amongst other dark, cold tin shacks in the city with no running water, no power and definitely no WiFi. What I got was something inbetween.

Ganga didi and her husband Dilip live with Dilip's mother Ama in a six storied, modest, typical Nepali house. They have no children and rent out the lower rooms to university students.

The kitchen looks like any standard kiwi kitchen except with very different ingredients in the cupboards and a gas cooker instead of a stove. And there is even WiFi! It's slow but it's there. There is running water most of the time but it's cold and there is no shower.

Washing involves crouching under a tap whilst steam rises off YOUR body. Normally the warmest thing in the shower is the water - not the person showering!

The view from my room is like a real life version of those treasure hunt books we had as kids. You know the ones where you have to find all the different items in the photo?

There is so much going on and something new is happening every time you look outside. It might be a mother bathing her baby on the roof top, a girl sitting on a balcony brushing her hair, a crow surveying the town from the window sill or a pack of dogs rummaging through the rubbish below.

From the rooftop Kathmandu looks like piles of crumbling brick coloured Lego. Many of the houses are half finished with some of the older ones becoming unihabitable after the 2015 earthquake.

Ganga is the principal of the school I am volunteering at which is called Kirtipur Grihine Mahila Bidhyalaya. It is a 'private' (private in the fact that it isn't government funded rather funded by charity grants) school for women over the age of 14 who have never had the chance to go to school. Most were too busy looking after siblings and later husband's and children.

The school is only a short walk away from Ganga didi's home and we quickly fell into a routine. It's the first time I've had routine since I left my job in early February so it was both nice and mundane at the same time.

Ganga didi makes daal bhat, the national dish of lentils and rice, twice a day every day. Once in the morning and once at night.

She is in her last year of a law degree so each morning she attends college from 6-9.30am. She then comes home and we eat daal bhat together before walking to school which starts at 11am until 2.30pm. After school we walk into town and eat lunch at a cafe or pick up some groceries before coming home and resting until it's time for daal bhat again at 8pm.

"You know something Ayla," she said to me one night after having obviously observed me for a couple of days.

"Westerners walk fast and eat slow. In Nepali culture we walk slow and eat fast."

Right on the money!

At first teaching was terrifying. The next day I felt a bit more confident and now I'm beginning to look forward to it. The women don't speak much English which means I'm left out of most conversations but I try not to mind.

I learn a few more words in Nepali each day and slowly, slowly (bistari, bistari) Nepali life is starting to make sense.

It's a good, grounding experience to be the odd one out. To be the idiot who doesn't know even the simplest things like how to feed myself with my right hand, how to communicate or do other things that Nepali people take for granted.

I feel like a child again - following Ganga didi around so I don't get lost in the endless maze of avenues and alleyways that make up Kirtipur neighbourhood and asking 101 questions, trying to make sense of this muddled world I've stumbled into.

Ganga didi told me Nepal is still recovering from years of being a dictatorship. After that they had a royal family for a bit until finally Nepal became a democracy about 27 years ago. Nepal was one of the few countries to have a communist party voted in back in the 90's.

The earthquake no doubt set them back a few years too.

The poverty is very noticeable but the saddest thing I've come to realise is that we have some of the same conditions back home. Even though New Zealand has nowhere near the level of corruption that Nepal has, things still aren't great especially in poorer parts like Northland, and the gap between the rich and poor is increasing at an alarming rate.

Although it's in our national psyche to chime 'we don't know how lucky we are mate' whenever anyone complains, I don't think accepting that comparatively being lucky, is the way to go. We need to raise the bar because, looking around Nepal, the bar is set very low.

#11 Pushkar part 4: Farewell to India

All good things must come to an end and on our last day in Pushkar I met the Mumbai friends at their hotel again. We breakfasted together before saying farewell to that crazy, hash-and-hippy-filled, holy city and heading to Jaipur. I had decided to stay in Jaipur one night as SCMG was flying back to Mumbai from there and I could take a bus to Delhi early the next morning to catch my flight to Nepal.

We spent the rest of the day relaxing, sorting out my bus ticket and eating more good food. Later we visited a cultural centre designed very much for local tourists rather than foreigners. It aimed to provide a taste of a traditional Rajasthani gypsy village.

There were magicians, palm readers, tight rope walkers, dancers, tarot card readers, camel's and every other fascinating, typically Rajasthani thing you can imagine.

I felt like a battery hen let out of her cage for the first time. After two years living in Dargaville, where eveything shuts at five on the dot, here things stayed open until 11pm! Heaven!

SCMG was brilliant at translating for me so I knew what was going on and later we got to sit down to another traditional Rajasthani meal. I've decided Rajasthani food is the best kind of Indian food. I can't remember what everything was called but it was blimmin delicious and contained a lot of animal products which, as SCMG is vegan, turned out to be a problem. In the translated words of the man serving him; "butter is love. You're breaking my heart."

SCMG stuck nobly to his cause however despite being judged for not being a 'proper' Indian.

The men serving us discovered the only word I could understand in Hindi was aloo - potato. SCMG translated for me and we all had a good giggle at my expense. I didn't mind. My belly was full, my heart was content and my mind was filled with happy memories of Pushkar and my first and hopefully not last Holi.

Then it was time to say sayonara to SCMG and catch a bus back to Delhi in time for my flight to the place I had been dreaming of visiting most of my life. Nepal was finally becoming a reality!

#10 Pushkar part 3: An Ashram, an argument and Holi!

There's a saying that goes something along the lines of 'it's not where you travel but who you travel with.'

As a solo traveller I previously had trouble accepting that saying but this trip I've met and shared experiences with so many interesting people I think it definitely holds some truth even for those travelling alone.

I met the Mumbai friends at their hotel the next morning and after waiting until midday to reach consensus on what they were doing for the day we drove to an ashram of a mysterious Aloo Baba.

The Mumbai friends reminded me of my friends back home in that they argued and bickered as only old friends can. But at the same time I could tell they were all really glad to be together again.

AIoo Baba was a fascinating man who ate only potatoes. The energy of the ashram was so calming. I sat under a tree with SCMG and his friends for a while listening to Aloo Baba even though I couldn't understand a word  - pondering about what wisdom he was sharing.

The ashram seemed to be carved out of stone and covered in a layer of whitewash. The building was an unconventional shape and included a quiet, cave-like space which I assumed was for meditation. I sat with some of the Mumbai friends for a while in silence and concentrated on the soft, steady 'plink' of water drops falling from the mouth of a cow idol.

Now this was more like it. I was so done with markets and shopping and all things consumerist. As I said before I didn't come to India looking for anything in particular but I was and still am certain it's not souvenirs.

That afternoon we stopped for food at a cafe in the middle of what seemed like a desert which claimed to serve only organic food. How very hipster for a place in the middle of nowhere I thought to myself.

We sat under a straw roof on a woven bench and waited. And waited and waited. We waited in total for three hours for two salads and a small lentil dish but thats irrelevant really. Whilst we were waiting something that I thought was wonderful happened. The Mumbai friends probably didn't think so.

After about two hours they started arguing. And it wasn't just a little disagreement - it was one of those a full on ethical debates that really exposes a persons core values. As an outsider and a someone who didn't know anything about the ethics of the large Indian corporation they were fighting about, I couldn't to do much but observe. It is a strangely inimate experience watching people you have only known for less than 48 hours argue like that.

Later I told SCMG, who admittedly had lost some of his chill during the discussion, that I thought their discussion was brilliant. It was the perfect example of what can happen when people are forced to put down their phones and spend time with one another.

He partially agreed but from his perspective he had been having the same disagreement for many years with his friends and was at the stage where talking about something passionately was becoming frustrating and didn't make any difference to the world at all. I think we can all probably relate to that feeling.

I concluded SCMG was an idealist and his friends were realist. The two will always disagree. But shouldn't we aim for ideal when it comes to ethical decisions? Isn't that how change comes about?

Finally it was Holi, March 13, the day we had all been waiting for and an experience not easily summed up in words.

Deliberately missing my train and staying in Pushkar for Holi was the best decision I've made this entire trip so far. Crowds of people gathered on the streets tossing powders in the air and covering one another in every colour of the rainbow. Young and old. Local and foreigner. At work and partying. Everyone was fair game.

The streets, once lined with stalls, were now lined with a thick carpet of pinkish powder underfoot and the mishmash of telephone and powerlines above were adorned with items of clothing that had been ripped off men in the crowd as per tradition.

It was a brilliant, dusty experience and I was so grateful I had found a group of people to share it with. It wasn't a place I would have wanted to go alone. In the back of my mind I knew that if anyone tripped they wouldn't be getting back up unharmed. Thankfully SCMG was looking out for me even though this was his first Holi in Pushkar as well and he was equally as in awe as I was.

After dancing* for a while and eating at the Sunset Cafe we retired to the Mumbai friends hotel for beer and showers before everyone promptly fell asleep. I'm not sure if it was something in the powders, quite possibly ganja, that made everyone so tired or the fact we hadn't gone to bed until 3.30am that morning.

*everyone at home knows I can't dance so it would be more accurate to write awkwardly bobbing up and down whilst trying to take in the scene around me and not lose sight of the group.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of sleep, cigarette smoke and delicious Rajasthani food.

The colours would soon fade from our skin but the memories would remain as vivid as ever.

#9 Pushkar part 2: Magical mystery tour

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering the markets. The entire time I'd been in India I hadn't seen half as many travellers as I saw here. Many of them were mid 20's - 30's, dreadlocked, tattooed, pierced, dressed in bohemian style clothing looking like they were straight out of that book The Drifters. I was surprised and confused to begin with. Where had they all come from and why Pushkar? I had only stumbled across this magical, mysterious place because Mr Travel Agent told me to go. One and a half weeks ago I didn't know it existed.

It struck me as such a town of such strange contrast. On the one hand Pushkar is a very religious city. On the other it serves beer in many resturants next to the 'special lassi' and hash is absolutely everywhere. One part of me instantly loved it. The other part of me felt a little bit bad for liking it so much. It didn't feel like real India. Just shut up and enjoy it I told myself.

The Australian guy had only been in India four days and he had that fresh optimism that we all start out with. In the market he was stopped by two very beautiful desert gypsy women asking him to take their photo. Before he knew it we both had been ushered into a shop door and he was getting henna. Their names were Noori and Sindoori and something told me they were probably about to seperate us from more of our money in a very cunning and flattering way.

They invited him to their home, gave him their number and told him to call them tomorrow for chai and a chat before asking for money to but food for their babies. They ignored me almost completely. I discovered when I walked with Australian guy most stall holders only interacted with him. Perhaps it was the red mark on his forehead that signalled he wasn't one to say no. I wasn't worth the effort. I was glad.

That evening we hiked up one of the hills to watch the sunset over Pushkar. It was beautiful and close to what I had been craving this whole time. A place to walk that didn't require a guide or a fee of any kind. Bliss.

The next day Australian guy and I went our seperate ways. I was already thinking about staying in Pushkar for Holi instead of returning to Delhi. I wandered the markets in circles for hours feeling bored with shopping and only returning to the hotel with a few postcards and wrote them on the rooftop overlooking the lake.

I discussed my train dilemma with Mr Travel Agent in Delhi. He said he couldn't change my booking as it was peak season so I would have to return as planned before Holi.

But the misguided rickshaw driver in Jaipur was right about one thing. In India, anything can happen.

That evening I forced my introverted self to leave the hotel and eat dinner at the Sunset Cafe recommended by the Lonely Planet website as the best place to sit and watch the sunset. If guide books do nothing else they at least bring travellers together and I needed to make some friends.

I got a table for one and, feeling that all too familiar conspicuous feeling of dining alone, ate a delicious Kashmiri dish and watched the sun set over the lake.

I could hear drums and music coming from the ghats so when I'd finished eating and thanked the waiter, who I was sure was judging me for eating alone, wandered down to where all the action was.

There were people juggling, belly dancing, drumming and playing ukelele. I was still thinking to myself 'what is this place and how does everyone know to come here?' when I met, who for the purposes of this blog, I shall call Super Chill Mumbai Guy or SCMG for short.

He was sitting alone and petting a stray dog when I first saw him properly. I commented that the dog looked very healthy by Indian standards. Next thing I knew I was walking with his friends around the lake and eating again at the Sunset Cafe. I laughed as the same waiter that served me earlier have me a strange look as if to say 'where did you find this lot?' I was looking for one friend and found five!

They were old school friends and had come to Pushkar to play Holi. I told them about my train dilemma and SCMG said I could maybe catch a ride with them as they were driving back to Delhi on the day before my flight to Nepal. I don't know what it is but things always seem to have a way of working out in India.

#8 Pushkar part 1: Pilgrims and perplexities

That evening I discovered my train to Ajmer was actually at 10 am the next morning. Not at night as I originally thought. I quickly packed up and organised another rickshaw driver to pick me up and take me to the station.

With my confidence still a bit shaken I vowed to keep my head down and ooze fuck off vibes to the extreme.

I plugged in my iPod and didn't speak with anyone. There was a family travelling complete with a young baby, a baby carry pack, an enormous backpack and a pram. Here I was finding it difficult to look after myself in this crazy country whilst they were looking after each other and a small helpless human being as well. It gave me the perspective I needed to shake off the self pitying mood that had crept in and get back to almost normal.

When I arrived in Ajmer, the city closest to my destination of Pushkar, an Australian backpacker asked if I would like to share a taxi which I gladly accepted. I had felt him following me from the train station but was still in a not making eye contact zone.

It turned out he had lived in New Zealand and had spent time in Nelson and Whangarei, even going to Parua Bay Primary for a bit! What are the chances.

After I checked into my hotel I met him outside and wandered around the lake trying to find his accomodation. I knew very little about Pushkar and wished I had read up about it before I left. Unfortunately I discovered I'd left my guide book in Jaipur. That guidebook was obviously trying to escape as it's the second time I've left it behind somewhere. This time it was successful in its quest for freedom. So I began my stay in Pushkar very much in the dark about where I was and why Mr Travel Agent had sent me here.

We wandered down to the lake which I now know, post Google search, was meant to have been created when a Hindu god dropped a lotus flower on this very spot. Now pilgrims come from all over India to bathe in the holy water.

As we stepped on to the ghats a woman selling some kind of seed gestured for us to remove our shoes. So we headed off in the direction of where the Australian guy thought his hostel was, our toes curling amongst the cow poo, pidgeon poo and human spit.

We were almost there when a man took my hand and told me to come with him for some kind of blessing. Not wanting to make any more cultural faux pas as we had done with the shoes, I went with him naively under the impression it was a simple Hindu ritual. I soon realised I was expected to give a donation for a blessing I didn't actually want.

I was so done being nice by this stage I'm ashamed to say I lost my temper. He told me I needed to donate enough to help feed a family the same size as my own and that if I did this I would get good karma.

At first I made the rather cowardly decision that the best way to get out of the situation was to simply get up and walk away. Which is exactly what I did. I could see the Australian guy also getting the same treatment and I wanted to warn him but my holy man, who also happened to be wearing a nice pair of jeans, got very angry at me.

I felt a bit bad so I gave him about 7 rupees. It turned out this was more of an insult than anything and he continued to chase me across the ghats asking me why I was running like a crazy person. The events of the past day and constantly being charged too much caught up with me and I snapped at him that I was getting very tired of being treated like a walking ATM machine.

A few more angry exchanges and he finally left me alone. I could see Australian guy had parted with some cash. He had been given a blessing and marked with red on his forehead and given a bracelet.

Maybe the money did go to help feed hungry families and maybe I was incredibly rude. I hope for the Australian guys sake his family is well looked after by the Hindu gods.

We found the hostel shortly after and chilled in the roof top cafe for a bit whilst I recovered from my bout of angriness. Thankfully the rest of the time spent in Pushkar would prove a completely different experience and one I will never forget.

#7 Patriachy and the pink city

I was wondering how long it would be before things got so interesting I wouldn't have time to write. I'm guessing you were too friends? It turns out it was up until Jaipur.

As I remember it, I left Ranthambhor on the train at 7pm a soon as I arrived back from the tiger safari.

The train ride from Ranthambhor to Jaipur was only a few hours so it was quite a treat not having to try and sleep.

Near the end of the journey I took the opportunity to ask the very well spoken business man I was seated next to how much a rickshaw should cost to my accomodation so I didn't get the tourist price.

Before I knew it, every man, and it was all men, in the carriage was offering advice and one even called a friend to ask as well. I've said it before and I'll say it again. India never ceases to amaze me.

The kindly businessman and one of the younger fellow passengers told me to follow them and they'd help me get a rickshaw for the local price.

When we reached the station in Jaipur I felt very smug trotting along behind my new friends as they shooed away over eager rickshaw drivers.

As it happened a pick up had already been arranged by Mr Travel Agent and a friendly looking middle aged driver with glasses was waiting with my name on a piece of paper.

The kindness of the two men on the train made me drop my guard a bit and so I made the first bad character judgement of the trip so far.

The rickshaw driver looked like a nice man and I remember thinking he had an honest face and kind eyes.

He appeared to be so very friendly and happy. He smiled and chatted and even sang all the way back to the hotel. He told me how much he loved his job and western culture and had made many foreign friends some who he was still in touch with.

I was feeling so relieved after the nice train ride I was probably a bit more friendly, perhaps talking more than I usually would, smiling unabashedly and the future misunderstandings most probably began there.

I remember talking with him about trust and how important it was when travelling in India. I remember telling him I thought he had an honest face. I really thought he did.

He offered to be my driver the next day and I happily agreed to be picked up at 9 am.

"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift," he happily shouted at me as we weaved through Jaipur traffic.

"I don't like to make plans or dwell on the past," he said. "In India anything is possible."

The next morning he picked me up for sightseeing as promised but he wasn't as bubbly as the night before. After taking me around some of the sights in Jaipur he began to tell me about how unhappy he was in his marriage.

When he was 18 his parents arranged his marriage to an unknown girl of 17.

"One day my father offered his congratulations to me. I asked why are you congratulating me and he said 'on your engagement.' Within the week I was married," he said.

I genuinely felt sorry for him. He went on to tell me too much information about his sex life or lack of with his wife. I ignored how uncomfortable that made me and accepted the comments as coming from a culture that invented karma sutra. Maybe sex was discussed openly here and why shouldn't it be? Maybe he just needed a friend to talk to. As a fellow human I should listen and be a sympathetic ear.

Unfortunately he had some strange ideas about single western women and asked me to 'help him out' with some kind of 'favour.' When I finally clicked to what he was implying any child-like innocence I may have managed to retain over the past 24 years evaporated and I knew it would never return.

Thankfully my words did not fail me this time and I told him how disappointed I was that he would think that was ok. I reminded him about our conversation on trust. I told him he'd broken mine and that I'd like to go straight home now as didn't feel like sightseeing any more.

My face must have given away exactly how dissapointed I was and how terribly he had misread the situation. He was so apologetic. In the end we shook hands and I agreed to continue our tour on the condition that he respected my wishes that I only saw him as my driver.

The rest of the afternoon was awkward. I'm not going to lie. He took me a few more places before dropping me home where I was so dissapointed I couldn't even muster the energy to leave the hotel to find food.

The feminist in me was angry with myself for expecting and accepting something like that was bound to happen and for telling myself it was possibly even partly my fault. I shouldn't have smiled so much.

After a while mulling it over I wasn't angry with him or patriachy and vowed to be much more cautious in the future but that it definitely shouldn't be my fault.

For the first time I gained a tiny insight into how it felt to be objectified. He didn't see me as a fellow human being but as a sexual object. And it felt awful. A combination of his own misconceptions about my culture and a moment of naivety led him to make a very misguided judgement.

So that was Jaipur. In between the mess of human experience there were some nice forts and beautiful palace ruins. It is sometimes called the Pink City as many of the shops in the old part are made of terracotta. But that is sadly not what I'll remember the city for.

In the afternoon he took me to see elephants which were kept in a tiny concrete enclosure chained up and fed on chappatis.

I'm a firm believer that not all pictures speak 1000 words. The background behind that photo of a contented looking Ayla next to the pretty painted elephant just goes to show how photos and social media do not tell the full story. Neither Ayla nor Madonna the elephant were very happy at that moment.

Despite the nice picture neither beings in this photo were having a good day

Fort in Jaipur

It's easier to accept bad living conditions for animals when people's conditions aren't much better. I know not everyone will agree but at the least there is more of a sense of equality somehow. Maybe? Something to ponder anyway.

#6 "Slowly, slowly"

The most important things to bring with you to India are; a chunk of patience, a handful of confidence and, above all, a sense of humour.

My second day in Agra began before dawn when I met a rickshaw driver at six in the morning to watch the sun rise over the Taj.

I'm not usually much of a morning person but even I didn't have a problem getting up for this.

It was stunning. The morning sun rays cast a beautiful pink light over the stone which changed as the sun got higher.

I'm always fascinated by the people at places like this. So as much as I enjoyed feasting my eyes on the Taj I was equally entertained by the human activity.

They came from all over the world. Many specifically to see this sight. They came armed with phone's, cameras and selfie sticks in all shapes and sizes. There were old people on guided tours, huge families, couples and friends with the occasional fellow solo traveller like me thrown into the mix.

Work on the Taj was commisioned in1632 by Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan, to house the body of his, how's this, favourite wife Mumtaz Mahal who died during the birth of her 14th child. I wondered what kind of woman she was to get that sort of treatment and how the rest of his wives felt.

Little did I know that India was about to test my patience for the next 12 hours.

It really started when my tuktuk driver didn't turn up to take me to the train station as we had arranged. That was fine. I got another one easily.

I was then told the train to Ranthambhor was running two hours late. That was again fine. I could people watch to my heart's content at the train station. Although I suspected a woman sitting at a train station for an extended period of time was just asking for some creepy conversations. I plugged in my iPod, kept my nose in my book and tried to make myself look as unfriendly as possible.

It worked. After two hours I went back to the ticket office to check the status of the train.

"Oh only another 45 minutes," the ticket man said.

No problem. Chalega. I was really getting into my book. An hour later still no train had arrived. No worries. This is India. It's famous for the trains never being on time. This is all part of the experience I told myself.

Another hour passed. The monkeys I had been watching had gone to bed. A large friendly rat had crept out of a hole next to me and was pretty intent on running behind me and my bag. I threatened it with Bear Grylls' biography. I was reading about Bears' endurance tests in the SAS so I took a leaf out of his book, for lack of a better phrase, and pretended this too was an endurance test. A large Indian family set up camp next to me. They had come prepared with blankets and food. My heart sank a little when I saw this. It looked like they were in for the long haul.

By this stage I'd been waiting for five hours. No worries I told myself. It will all be worth it when the train arrives and I get to Ranthambhor -tiger land!

I began to write some notes for this blog to pass the time.

'Luckily I'm not in a hurry anywhere,' I scribbled.

'I will be late to my hotel but that's ok. I should be able to get a rickshaw fairly easily. I've been reading Bear Grylls and listening to my iPod. When I get sick of that I have a little watch of the monkeys and shoo the friendly rat away. Ahhh India you beautiful, filthy, crazy country.'

Four hours into my wait I was less chilled.

'This is it. I live here now,' I wrote.
'I'm starting a new life at Agra Fort train station. I'm convinced this train isn't coming. I asked the man at the counter four hours ago and he said the train was two hours late. Now a freight train has stopped on our platform. A large family have set up camp next to me and the monkeys have gone to bed. Even they have got tired of waiting. I have one pack of masala triangles and some weird looking fruit I picked up at the market to eat. I think it should last maybe one week. Then I can live off the monkeys and Mr Rat. Thinking about hitching a ride on a freight train just for a change of scenery.

'Update. The freight train is slowly moving. It reminds me of the hotel manager in Varanasi. Every breakfast he would tell me "eat, eat, slowly, slowly. Just relaaaax." '

A young Indian doctor struck up conversation with me. He was waiting for a train on the same line and helped me download an app which gives you the status of the trains. Life changing stuff. I was so grateful.

We were sitting there chatting for maybe another hour when a voice came over the intercom to announce the train I had been waiting for all afternoon had now been cancelled. What...

The next 30 minutes were pretty confusing and I still don't understand what happened but the doctor and a lovely but slightly grumpy rickshaw driver spoke to various station managers and ticket collectors and before I knew it, I was on another train which would stop especially to let me off at Ranthambhor.

I still don't know how they managed it but I am eternally grateful. That evening made me realise how useful it would be to have a much firmer grasp of Hindi. The staff on the train didn't speak English and I had a hard time trying to ask them to let me know when I was to get off because I had no clue and it was dark outside.

It was the first time I'd been in this situation where no English was spoken so I got out my guide book and hastily learnt how to say:
"Please let me know when we get to..." and pointed to my ticket.

Success. With that sorted I promptly fell asleep listening to a Mitchell and Webb podcast.

Next thing I knew someone was tugging at my blankets and gesturing for me to get my things.

We had arrived! Luckily I had an Indian sim card and had been able to call the accomodation place and explain the situation.

So I arrived in Rathambhor at 12.30am and found an honest looking driver who took me to my hotel. Thank god India never sleeps.

Someone showed me to my room, which was huge with a bathroom the size of an Auckland inner city apartment, and I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.

The next morning I checked in and text the lovely Indian doctor who I had luckily exchanged contact details with to let him know that all was well. People are so caring here and he was really concerned for my well-being. Things like that make travelling alone not only bareable but enjoyable.

I was ushered into the dining room and had the biggest breakfast I've ever seen in my life set out before me. I was the only one in the room and a friendly staff member brought out more and more food, smiling and cheerfully ignoring my gestures that there was plenty.

First came toast, jam and butter cut into neat squares. Then a bowl of cornflakes arrived followed by a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. Next came baked beans, paratti, yoghurt, coffee and lastly a bowl of fench fries appeared! I couldn't believe it and set about doing my very best to stuff it all in so I wouldn't need lunch. It worked. Breakfast and lunch all in one. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. What a terrible task. The best part was that it was all included in the room price.

I had a few hours to kill before my safari into the Ranthambhor National Park so I strolled up the road and spied a sign with the words 'Women's Handicrafts. Home for Independance' painted on it. It occurred to me it was International Women's Day and I thought it would be appropriate to support some fellow independant sisters.

Walking in India for pleasure just isn't done. Only the poorest of the poor walk and even they avoid it as much as they can. So a western woman walking alone was quite the talking point it seemed. I had to turn down several offers of lifts, shoo away various small children and some not so small children asking for money and dodge the piles of cow poo along the way. Not unlike walking in Dargaville really... 😉

Eventually I found the women's home and bought a blue hand stitched Salwar Kameez (long cotton tunic) to wear in the hope I'd blend in better.

Later that afternoon I found myself bumping along a very dusty road in an open top jeep next to a nice lady from London on safari.

As if India was apologising for the train debarkle, luck was on our side. We spotted two tigers in the distance, and a leopard right next to the road. Amazing! Our guide had warned us that our chances were slim and it was very rare to spot anything on your first jeep ride. Yet there we were. About 200 metres from a real live wild tiger.

My stay in Ranthambhor was over far too quickly and as soon as we got back from the safari I was due on another train to Jaipur. This one was, thankfully, right on time.

 Whilst they were watching the tiger, I was watching them. Ranthambhor National Park - March 8, 2017

#5 Trains, thali and the Taj

The next morning I was woken by the sound of people singing.

It was like some kind of Bollywood movie except without the dancing.

I was on another overnight train. This time to Agra. Home of the Taj Mahal.

The lovely old aunties I was sitting with must have noticed I didn't have any food with me as the train was running six hours late so they bought me chai and offered me some kind of strange savoury spicy cake and lemon muffins. I was so touched. A little boy even offered me one of his chocolate wafer bars.

Everywhere I've been people have gone out of their way to be incredibly kind. Except when it comes to money. If money is involved then they are ruthless. I guess that's the same in all countries.

So I arrived midday in Agra and took a rickshaw to my accomodation, had a quick wash and took a rickshaw, or tuktuk as they call them in the north, back into the main part of town to a cafe I had read about in the Lonely Planet that promised good, cheap Thali (a combination of vege curry, rice, a lentil dish and naan) and a nice atmosphere.

I was just about to walk up the stairs when a large Indian man with crooked teeth approached me and wanted to know where I got my earrings and ring from. I was a bit suspicious because that to me sounded a bit like the beginning of a mugging.

I told him they were just cheap from New Zealand and then he wanted to take a photo of them. I was still a bit suspicious but I told myself there was no harm in that unless he had some cunning plan that I wasn't clever enough to forsee. He told me he was a jewellery designer from Goa and was just interested in new designs from around the world. I don't know whether to believe half these stories but let him go ahead and take the photo.

He shook my hand and followed me upstairs to the cafe asking all sorts of other questions. He told me his name was Ali and that I had good energy. He and Mr Travel Agent both said that. I think it's the beginning of a typical sales pitch. Or perhaps I'm too cynical.

I wonder how many other tourists let their guards down with that flattery? I wasn't falling for it. Any way Ali went on to tell me he had spent a lot of time in the Himalayas with his grandfather disconnected from modern life so had developed a sort of sixth sense.

"You have an honest heart," he said.
"But your brain is too busy. You should do yoga and meditation."

He then asked how long ago I'd broken up with my boyfriend because he could see some kind of romantic hurt in me. I told him fortunately he had missed the mark on that one. I wasn't one of those a heart broken solo female travellers on a journey of self discovery this time thank you very much.

He also had a friend who could take me to the gardens across the river from the Taj Mahal that afternoon for a good price. I was still guarded but my instinct told me he was honest and to stop being so paranoid.

So I agreed for his friend to drive me in his rickshaw to the Taj gardens. And he kept to his word. His friend took me there and back and helped me find some fresh papaya I had been craving on the way home. All is well that ends well!

The Taj Mahal was beautiful. It's such a strange feeling seeing something in the flesh, or should I say marble, after seeing so many pictures as a child and thinking it seemed so exotic and far away.

I was wandering around the gardens and began to feel a that little niggling loneliness that you get sometimes when travelling solo. 

It usually hits me at all the big sights and I began to think how nice it would be to share these experiences with someone even if they are someone you've just met and only spend the day with. But it's not an unfamiliar feeling and I knew it would pass so I focussed on the Taj and it's astounding beauty.

I sat down in the shade of a tree for a bit to have a drink and to take it all in.

A friendly local girl gestured for me to sit next to her. She only spoke Hindi and I only English and a few words in Hindi so neither of us had a clue what each other was saying but I gathered she was asking if I was sad because I was on my own. Indian people are incredibly intuitive. 

We sat for a while in the shade looking at the Taj Mahal chatting in our own language and laughing because it was a pointless exercise. I should have, on reflection, read out some Hindi words from the language chapter of the Lonely Planet but I didn't think of it at the time. As I was leaving a little boy ran up to me.

"Photo?" he said.

"Money?"

"Sweets?"

"Pens?"

Sadly I had absolutely nothing to give him except money and I have a strong stance against giving money to children. Giving to a charity that can make a lasting difference is a better option in my opinion. Instead of getting upset he gave me a flower and ran off. 

This country breaks my heart.

View of the ol Taj itself from Taj Bagh (gardens) across the river. March 6, 2017

#4 Gurus, body parts and Bob Marley

On my last day in Varanasi I went with Rajesh back to the city. He took me to get some henna and then sent me off on a walking tour of the oldest part of town.

Getting Henna in Varanasi
March 6, 2017

It was like a maze and there was no way I could have navigated it without a guide. The alley ways were very narrow and at times we had to squeeze past cows who have the right of way of course.

The walking guide was quite a character and unfortunately a bit creepy. He asked me if I was single pretty early on. Never a good sign. Then he really really wanted to take me to the karma sutra temple even though I said no many times. Something about him made me uncomfortable.

He kept on about it but I was determined not to endure that level of awkwardness with him. He went on to ask me a whole bunch of rather inappropriate and personal questions. Is it too much to ask to go on a walking tour without one's intimate history being examined I wondered?

It turned out when he wasn't trying to pry into tourists personal lives he was also a part time Bob Marley fan. He decided this was a good time to play some tinny reggae from his phone. So now not only was I getting the usual white tourist stares I was now also a tourist following a short Indian man in Ray Bans blasting Bob Marley. Fan-bloody-tactic.

The tour led us down to the ghats again and to the crematorium which I was morbidly fascinated by. I wasnt dissapointed! There were dead feet sticking out of the piles of wood and bits of bubbling roasting flesh.

The priest told me that the families are ok with tourists coming to look because they were so proud their loved ones had made it to the Ganges.

At some point during the day Mr Ray Bans and I got talking about gurus and palm reading as I was still thinking about what Mr Travel Agent had said in Delhi.

Varanasi seemed like a good a place as any to go to a guru especially because it is meant to be a very spiritual city. And of course Mr Ray Bans knew just the place. Mr Guru wanted to charge me an arm and leg to read my palm which was ironic because there were plenty of free arms and legs going at the crematotium. I bargained him down to 500 rupees from 1500.

He sat me down and took my left palm in his hand and began to tell me about my past.

He told me I was very independant and didn't like relying on anyone. It's a pretty safe bet when someone is travelling alone.

"You are like coconut. You put up hard outer shell but inside you are soft," he said in his gentle Indian accent.

He then told me I had some kind of intellectual/social job rather than manual labour. Again anyone can see that. My arms are tiny and my hands are callous free. I wasn't impressed.

Then he moved on to the present and said I'd had my heart broken three times and would have always problems with romantic relationships. But that I had a good relationship with my family.

According to him I wouldn't get any bad diseases but I would have issues with my lower back later in life and that I should do yoga. Given my height, that's another good guess. I'd also live until I was 85. Yippee!!

He finished by telling me I would have two children and would marry a younger foreign man in four years time. Hilarious. Mr Guru then tried to convince me to buy some stones that would help me with my unluckiness in love. I declined.

With that I left Mr Ray Bans, Mr Guru and lovely driver Rajesh behind in their crazy, hazy city of cows, cremations, palmistry and lassi and headed for Agra on an overnight train.

#3 A politically incorrect guide to the Ganges

When I woke up that morning on the train I had a quick panic that I was meant to get off at an earlier stop. Visions of  the little boy in the movie Lion flashed through my mind.

Not speaking Hindi has me in a constant state of uncertainty. I'm never sure if I've understood what's going on completely.

Any way it turned out I hadn't missed my stop and a lovely driver named Rajesh met me at the train station and took me into town. On the way he told me he was taking two other ladies around that day who were also from New Zealand.

He then tried to up sell a more expensive hotel to me but I declined and explained I was on a budget. He obliged but there was some problem with the checking in so he took me to the very upmarket hotel where the other New Zealanders were staying. I told him I was not paying any more as I had booked and paid for budget. He assured me this was fine.

The room was blinking amazing. King size bed, beautiful gold curtains with a blue sash, flat screen TV and a proper shower. After a good sleep, a hot shower and a solid breakfast of toast and omelet I was in a brilliant mood and thanked my lucky stars once again.

As soon as I hopped in the taxi with the two New Zealand women the one I will call Sheila #1 exclaimed, "You came to India in your own?! Are you fucking mad?"

The only people I've had tell me that travelling in India alone is a bad idea have been New Zealanders. We are a timid bunch it seems. Everyone else hasn't blinked an eye with one Indian man even congratulating me for travelling without a partner.

The women were classic middle aged, upper working class, white women. They smoked like chimneys, swore, gossiped and cackled like hyenas. Luckily the driver took all their very politically incorrect comments about his people and his country with a grain of salt.

They were finding the rubbish and noise a bit confronting which was understandable. I hardly noticed it any more and for some reason it never bothered me.

I kind of wish it did shock me. It should shock everyone. We share this planet and we need to look after it.

However there is a sense of hopelessness when you realise that your tiny country of four million people vigilantly washing out their two peanut butter jars a year is doing very little when millions of people in India are too busy struggling to survive to worry about anything else. It's not their fault. Change has to come from the top.

So the two cackling Sheila's and I were taken on a tour of Varanasi. It is a very religious city and has more of a rural vibe than Delhi. There is a slower pace of life and you can actually see the blue sky.

Our driver told us that his brother spent three months in prison for accidentally hitting a person with his car. Rajesh had to pay a large fine for him to get out or he would have been in there for up to five years.

That afternoon we visited the Mother of India temple where I spied a snake charmer outside. I was almost beside myself with excitement. Dad had asked for a snake charmer picture last time but I never saw any in the South.

My conscience completely desserted me and I happily took photos of these poor snakes and the monkeys on chains. The gentleman had put make-up on the monkeys faces and they looked incredibly strange. The snakes must have had a horrible time stuck in a bag all day and then provoked by their owner for tourists amusement.

I fell a little in love with the female monkey. I gave her some pats and she climbed up on my knee and didn't want to get off.

I told her she was beautiful and that eveything would be ok.

"Is she happy?" I asked the man.

He didn't answer me. I think he was insulted by my question.

Despite this I still gave him 100 rupee for letting me take photos. After all everyone is just trying to survive.

He told me he had been bitten many times by his snakes but he didn't die because he tied off the bites quickly before they entered his blood stream.

That evening Sheila #1, Sheila #2 and I went down to the Ganges for the evening 'festival' which happens every night.

Evening time on the Ganges. March 2, 2017

We hopped in a boat and I dropped a candle into the river as a blessing so the God of the Ganges would protect Mum during her operation back home.

Sheila #1 suggested I ask the gods to break up her son and his girlfriend. Charming.

The Ganges and surrounds were beautiful in a dirty, ugly, messy way. But that is life and in its entirety life is beautiful. I couldn't quite believe I was really there. I'd seen it on TV and read about it and now I could actually touch it and smell it. It was a surreal feeling.

By this stage I was getting a little tired of the Sheila's complaining. Sheila #1 was hungry and bored and didn't want to stay for the festival.

It was embarrasing the way she spoke about Indian people and their culture and frustrating that she was not willing to see any beauty at all. The fact she was a New Zealander made it even worse. We have a reputation to uphold!

When the festival was over we had dinner together and they cackled and smoked away until the resturant closed and I could escape to my room.

The next morning I met Rajesh at 5.30 am to go on another boat ride along the Ganges to see the sunrise. It was stunning and this time I was alone so could appreciate it better.

Sunrise on the Ganges, Varanasi. March 3, 2017

It was so peaceful watching people and animals on the ghats and not understanding most of what was happening. There were people chanting and washing laundry as well as people bathing in the river. Dogs ran around in packs and I even saw a dead cow floating down the river at one stage.

We had a brief look at the cremation area of the ghats where the bodies are burnt. We didn't get up close and although I was dying (pun unintended) to see the bodies it seemed quite disrespectful to go any closer.

I opted not to do any more sight seeing whilst in Varanasi and just soak up everyday life instead. Despite things being comparatively cheap EVERYTHING costs money, even using a public rest room, so you soon get through it.

Rajesh took me home and I spent the rest of the day happily writing about everything that had happened so far and cheekily hand-washing all my clothes in the bathroom. The amount of grime that came out of them was impressive! The inside of my nostrils were coated in Delhi grime as well and you don't want to know what the bottom of my feet looked like.

What are we doing to our beautiful planet? How do we stop it?

Trevor from Australia and I agreed on one thing. There needs to be a major shift in how we organise society. We can't keep this up forever.

Unfortunately he didn't have any answers and neither do I although he believed he should be in charge.

As leader of our singular global authoritarian government Trevor from Australia can fix all our problems. If only we'd take him seriously...

#2 'Money Temple'

After such an eventful first day in Delhi I was less enthusiastic about life the next morning.

Nodi knocked on my door and gently urged me out of my room by 10 am. He dropped me back at the booking office on his scooter where Trevor had spent the night smoking pot and watching the men gamble.

I waited for my itinerary to be printed which took ages. Whilst I was waiting I chatted to Trevor who told me he was going to be the world leader one day.

After having recently watched a lot of Louis Theroux documentaries I kept an open mind and probed a bit deeper despite my crazy alarm bells ringing. He explained he was studying politics and economics at university in Australia.

He'd had a vision when he was 17 of a symbol similar to yin and yang but different which he worked on until he had a visual depiction of the 'natural order of things,' with positives and negatives.

He showed me how it happened to look like a person with a head and a body and told me this was no coincidence. It was very complicated but it did make sense in a way. I was fascinated and asked him what he wanted to do with this knowledge and what his ideal outcome was. It may have come out a bit patronising but I was having difficulty keeping a straight face. He could tell I wasn't convinced.

He told me that it was a loaded question. People love to say that when they know you're a journalist especially when it's a perfectly valid question that makes them uncomfortable.

He said he wanted world peace and that he was going to be an advocate for this belief system. Brilliant.

Mr Travel Agent then suggested we go on another tour of old Delhi which I agreed to as I wanted to see the Red Fort.

After sitting in the Travel Agents for hours waiting for something to happen finally another man from Ireland came in and was convinced to go on a tour with us. I was relieved because I couldn't face spending any more one on one time with Mr 'Trevor from Australia.' I think the Irish guy also sensed Trevor was a bit crazy but he was new and fresh and enthusiastic about India as I had been the day before.

I let the two of them sit in the back of the taxi. I just couldn't figure Trevor out. He kept giving money to beggars yet said he had lost all his money. He seemed to think he was some kind of prophet and gushed over Gandhi when we visited a Gandhi memorial.

At the Red Fort in old Delhi we discovered Cannabis plants growing wild like weeds (ha ha) in the dried up moat. Brilliant line of defense I thought. Get your enemies so stoned they don't want to attack any more!

That day we also visited the spice markets by bicycle rickshaw. It was the Irishman's first day in India ever. Our rickshaw driver took us into oncoming traffic and Mr Irishman was finding it all spectacular which was quite hilarious.

The rickshaw driver was pointing out all the temples on the way and at one stage he pointed at a bank and said "money temple" with a big toothless grin. I caught the giggles after that. The joke took me by surprise and he was very pleased he had made me laugh so much.

That evening I was put on a train to Varanasi which is famous for being on the banks of the Ganges. I say 'put on the train' because amidst the chaos you are forced to pay a porter to help you find your train carriage. It takes a bit of getting used to relying on other people and then tipping as well when you are used to doing everything yourself.

I was quite exhausted by this stage so fell asleep on the train very early before food was even served.

I woke up a little while later to a boy presenting me a tray. In my sleepiness I presumed, embarrasingly, he was selling me something so shook my head and said no thank you. Then as my eyes adjusted I realised it was food, apologised and gratefully accepted it. The boy just stared at me like I was a complete moron. And rightly so.

After dinner I fell asleep again to the soothing motion of the train, hurtling towards the unknown, and the second day in India came to an end.

View from the spice markets into the streets below. March 1, 2017 - Old Delhi 

 Looking towards New Delhi. March 1, 2017 - Old Delhi

Spices for sale 

#1 The first 48 hours

The first guest house in New Delhi

Feb 28, 2017

 Sufi Shrine

Feb 28, 2017

In a way it seems silly to be using words to describe India. There just aren't enough to give any reader who has not already travelled there an idea of what it is like.

It is a country for the senses. India needs to be smelt, tasted, seen, heard and felt.

It is also a country where time dissolves.

Last time I was in India I came believing all the usual things about westerners coming to find themselves. I hoped I would maybe find myself, whatever that means, or at least find some kind of clarity, but of course I didn't. Finding yourself probably requires a bit more effort than just showing up. There wasn't even much of a culture shock. This time I came not wanting or expecting anything as it was just a stopover on the way to Nepal but soon enough I was under India's spell again.

Travel always makes me aware of luck more so than when at home and it seemed to start immediately when I was seated next to a very interesting Belgium guy on the flight from Auckand to the Gold Coast who had just finished a one year working holiday in New Zealand. He had loved his time in NZ and his positivity was contagious. It wasn't long before my fears of the unknown slowly evaporated and
I felt very lucky to have such good company right from the start of my trip.

Travel also exposes you to the best and worst of humanity. The best started before I even got to India in Australia when a fellow passenger had his water bottle taken off him in customs. He was asking the cafe worker if the bottle of water he had picked up was the cheapest around and the lovely man behind the counter paused for a second and then said, "Just take it. Welcome to Australia." Such a tiny gesture yet so big at the same time. The fellow passenger, who was obviously on a pretty tight budget, walked away with such a big smile.

The worst of humanity I can see in myself. I walk past beggars and feel very little emotion. I think putting up an emotional wall in these situations is my default survival tactic.

The Belgium guy and I had a long stop over in Kuala Lumpur airport. We discovered a movie room and spent the time eating, looking around the airport, using the free WiFi and me trying to get him to teach me some phrases in French. He also told me this past year in New Zealand was the happiest he's ever been and wants to keep travelling for as long as he can.

After he left for the Philippines I still had eight hours to go so I attempted to read my book. I felt very old fashioned as everyone was on some kind of device. In classic Malaysian style there were designated charging stations for devices but none of them worked. I've learnt it's best to embrace this kind of thing as there is nothing you can do. I found it kind of hilarious and entertaining watching everyone test out the power points and then retreat defeated just as I had done hours before hand.

Finally it was my turn to board the plane. The nerves were back and I began to feel uncertain about travelling alone again.

With a few deep breaths and a quick mental pep talk I was on my way to New Delhi, India.

I managed to sleep most of the way and woke up in time to catch a glimpse out the window of a mass of orange light and haze that is Delhi from the sky.

It looked quite beautiful. Tiny clusters of lights were sprinkled amongst the darkness. A hint of the organised chaos we were about to enter.

As soon as I arrived, time did that dissolving thing again. There is never any rush, yet everything seems effortless, and runs like clockwork.

Customs was quick, my bag arrived and a driver from my guest house was there to meet me. 

As I trotted along side him on the way to car I felt a huge sense of relief. Delhi wasn't scary. I'd done this before. The warm, hazy air and traffic noise made me so happy to be back.

In the van I revelled in the feeling of being a passenger in a vehicle in India and surrendering your fate to the powers that be.

The guest house was down a tiny lane in New Delhi with no name and through some large iron gates. Scooters, dogs, rubbish and people were everywhere even at 11.30 at night.

As soon as I arrived the owner of the guest house, Nodi, was out the front to meet me and took me to my room. I was so happy to see a bed but I was not to sleep just yet as Nodi had other ideas. Before I really knew what was happening I was on the back of his scooter and we were heading to a place to get maps. I'd never been on a scooter before and this seemed a strange time for firsts after such a long day but it was fun anyway.

Experience warned me this was probably some kind of deal he had with a friend to make money but I agreed to go as I hardly had the energy to argue.

 A man with a beard and wearing one of those mafia type hats greeted me at shop with 'Tourist Office' on the window. He really did look like some kind of gangster and had a vaguely Italian appearance with a gently curved nose and olive skin but I trusted my gut and didn't feel I was in any danger.

He ushered me into his office and asked me all the usual questions. 

Then he asked me about my plans for India and I told him I had none. In no time at all he had mapped out a train intinerary and I was to meet him at 9.30 for a tour of the city the next morning.

I asked if I could sleep on the itinerary part first as I knew my brain wasn't up to making good decisions and he was very obliging. Later he would tell me this was all part of his sales technique. "You have to make them feel comfortable," he confided. Clever. I am still unsure if taking tourists straight there after they have been travelling all day is part of their sales technique or just that Delhi is a city that never sleeps and everyone is just trying to make a living.

The next morning I woke up very early and was rearing to go. I wandered around the guest house which had an outdoor courtyard and roof top terrace. As I waited for my ride I struck up conversation with a nice Japanese man who was in Delhi for a yoga course. After a short conversation he lit up a ciggarette and the sweet and not unpleasant smell of 'ganja' clouded the courtyard. 

A small part of my brain was surprised, a bigger part found it hilarious and the rest was concentrating on keeping a polite expression on my face.

Nodi took me back to the booking office and again I was ushered into a room and supplied with piping hot chai and some kind of delicious lentil and naan combination for breakfast.

After looking at the itinerary, and making sure Mr Travel Agent knew I was on a budget, he booked a string of trains that would take me around the golden triangle of North India. I decided its best to just let things unfold in this country and accepted his itinerary and price. 

Soon I was in a taxi with two lovely German guys and a kindly looking driver with an unusual looking growth on his left ear that I couldn't stop looking at, honking and swerving our way through New Delhi traffic to the parliament buildings. I won't bore you with all the details about the things we looked at. It was all very touristy and you can easily Google it yourself if you want to know all the main sights of New Delhi.

The most interesting thing was getting to know the German guys and talking to our driver.

He told us the elections are coming up soon. I asked him if people like the current politicians. He laughed and said, "In every country politicians are not good." Classic.

We also visited the Lotus Temple which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a Bahai Faith temple and shaped like a lotus flower. Quite an impressive feat of engineering and design. What was even more impressive was that it was someones job to shush people inside . Hilariously one very studious looking woman took her job so seriously she even shushed a crying baby. Meanwhile a very chirpy sounding bird sang its heart out in the roof and got away with it.

That evening the two German guys left to catch a train to Varanasi and I waited in the office with Mr Travel Agent. He told me I should come experience 'indian nightlife' with him. 

I was already tired but didn't know the way back to my hostel and didn't want to miss out on anything so I agreed. Whilst I was waiting in the office I saw a grey haired western man with a beard looking as bewildered as I imagine I did when I first arrived at the office.

I gave him a polite smile which he took as an invitation for conversation and next thing he was introducing himself as Trevor from Australia and telling me he had found this amazing book. He showed me a coffee table type picture book about India that really wasn't that amazing. Mr Travel Agent informed me that I would be going with him and Trevor to listen to some music tonight.

I told myself that was fine. After all I am here for new experiences and to meet new kinds of people. Well...Trevor certainly was a new kind of person I was to discover later.

After some consideration I have decided to include the next part in the blog because I feel it is important to have authentic truthful accounts of experiences and leaving this part out would be dishonest. Just keep and open mind and remember this is India as you read on. Also...don't worry Mum and Dad. Have faith that you raised me to be sensible.

Once Mr Travel Agent had finished work he invited Trevor and myself upstairs and proceeded to roll a very fat joint.

I had already made it clear I wasn't going to be participating in this particular activity and that was fine with him.

I was very aware of keeping my wits about me and had made a promise to myself I wouldn't do anything that could make me more vulnerable than I already was when travelling alone.

I asked him a little incredulously if people get in trouble for having weed in India as it is still very much illegal.

He replied, "No. Just don't smoke it in public and no one worries."

After a while chatting upstairs and watching card tricks by one of his employees we took a taxi somewhere. I have no idea where we went and could not find it again if my life depended on it.

Mr Travel Agent led Trevor and I down some long winding alley ways lined with stalls selling religious merchandise and arrived at a Sufi* shrine.

*Sufism is a religion. Google it to know more. I had to as well.

Before we left the office, the employee who was showing us card tricks told me he knew things weren't ok for me at home. I can only imagine he meant Mum being sick and told me to listen to the Sufi music and I would feel cold inside and then I would feel better.

I asked him how he knew things weren't ok at home and he just smiled and said he sensed these things and to go enjoy the music.

So I did. Well I tried. I was feeling so exhausted by this stage I couldn't appreciate it properly and Trevor was beginning to get on my nerves. He kept saying how 'devotional' he felt and how spiritual he was. I had really had enough of it all by then and couldn't wait to get home. Something about Trevors story didn't add up but I couldn't figure out what was the truth and I still can't. 

Previously he told me he lost all his money when he first arrived in India in a hotel scam and had only booked his ticket to India one week ago. He had done no preparation at all and didn't understand the money so handed over a large chunk of it in the first hour.

I asked how he had come to see Mr Travel Agent and all he would tell me was that they had a spiritual connection and he was his 'brother.'

Mr Travel Agent then took us back to the office where we had dinner with his staff and he kindly walked me home.

There 'Mama,' Nodi's mother, was waiting for me and she was angry because I was back so late. By this time it was 12am. Mr Travel Agent said some angry words back to her in Hindi and left. It was then that I realised Mr Travel Agent was very short and not as tough as he appeared sat at his desk. Also he was going bald which was why he wore the hat all the time. It appeared to me he had shrunk as the day went on and I saw him in a completely new and vulnerable light. Poor Mr Travel Agent. He also had had a long day and now he was getting yelled at by a scary old Indian woman.

Earlier in the night he had asked to see my right palm. He looked at it and murmered "oh no. I don't want to tell you."

I looked at him in horror.

"What is it?" I asked. "Is it something bad? Please tell me?"

He had wandered out of the room and said over his shoulder, "It's not bad. Just something you need to change. I'll tell you when I'm high." But he never did.