Calcutta

Calcutta. It's like New York City turned inside out, a vital metropolis wearing its heart, lungs, guts and bowels on its streets. And yet scraping the coal from its surface shows you the brilliant glimmer of its diamond quality underneath. People heave along its streets - a menagerie of humanity: paan-wallahs, chai wallahs, dosi stalls, juice stands and sweet shops cry out for business under the eaves of faded colonial facades. The passersby are mix of new rich businessmen, proud intelligentsia and the starving, begging masses dressed in rags with everything in-between.

    


Our first day we made a bee line for Queen Victoria. Her imposing statue is a Calcutta icon and local school children swarmed the monument. In some odd appropriation, Calcuttans take great pride and ownership of the image - perhaps commemorating as it does the time when Calcutta was capital of India, the largest of imperial cities and home to the flowering of Indian culture and national identity under men like Tagore and Roy. The Calcutta gallery in the museum  behind VM charts this rise to prominence with all the Positivism of a self assured city that was destined for greatness. It was here that we have found the most eager responses to being British, coupled with a chuckling reminder that India is no longer 'ours'. And yet the move of the capital to Delhi, and commerce to Mumbai, has left Calcutta reliant on its cultural superiority. Not that this claim is without merit - the work of Rabindranath Tagore, the quality of the Calcutta Telegraph, the scope of the Indian museum and the explosion of Durga Puja every October (for which we sadly saw only the earliest of preparations) are a tiny part of a city vibrant with the literary word, quality craftsmanship, and a heavy sense of its enlightened, educated status.

View of Calcutta Gallery from the Maidan, the massive field in the centre of Calcutta. Complete with man collecting grass, and wandering army truck.

Pav Bhaji Man

Our best experiences were with food however. Every street stall sold the freshest and tastiest food of our whole trip so far. I was converted to Pav Bhaji - a lime, spice and lentil fry over hot toasted bread. We repeatedly returned to the sweet shops for sugary samosas.

Best Sweet Shop in Calcutta. Seriously!

Our visit to the recommended Sidishwari Ashram was equally intense. Everything written in Bengali, with virtually no English spoken, we were kindly ushered into the kitchen to point at what we wanted. Small bowls of meat, fish and veg curries bubbled away on a hot plate, ready to be served up. As we pondered our choices, waiters dived in and out throwing curry, daal, rice and breads onto trays to be whisked into the eating hall. Having made our choice, we took a seat crowded with other eaters, mixing and eating their food with their right hand. A feast of food arrived for us, mercifully with forks, and we plowed in. The unctuous, deep flavours of the mutton curry stuck gummily to the insides of my mouth as a peppery heat started to rise with each succulent chew. At some point a waiter had come round and added a raw chilli and a raw red onion to our plates. Getting in the spirit we gamely shred them over our rice and daal. Ten minutes later we finished with bloated happy bellies. And the cost for two with free filtered water? 80 rupees; less than a quid. Our only regret is that with the multitude of Bengali eyes that watched us intently as we ate, we couldn't take any photos...



The rest of our time in Calcutta was spent wandering the streets and taking in the atmosphere. It was here that Mhairi got accosted by the snake charmer. We took a lovely beer (our first in over a month!) at a green garden terrace retreat. A quick tour around Rabindranath Tagore's house and visit to Kalighat temple rounded off our experience, but the real star of Calcutta is the life it plays out on the street everyday.

If you have anything handwritten, this man will TYPE IT UP on his AMAZING machine. You can even post it afterwards, as he is right next to the post box! Email any thing you need typed up...

Late-season Ladakh

If I'm honest it may well have been Shah Ruh Kahn who got me stuck on Laddakh. It's many years since I watched the late 90's masterpiece Dil Se but unless my memory is dramatising (quite probable), I'm sure there's an epic montage of some kind where he actually appears to walk most of the way (crossing altitudes of around 5,600 metres at some passes, you understand), blankets and silk scarves billowing across the screen, poetic tortured gazes, at the head of some sort of refugee camel train... yes I may well be imagining this in fact, I'll YouTube it. But. The landscapes and mountain vistas were mind-boggling and I've now had a hankering for over a decade - lunar terrains, jagged and inhospitable, not bleak but other-wordly and haunting.

View from Leh palace

And one of the main ogranising principles of our early itinerary was to make it it up north in time to to do the epic Manali-Leh highway approach (17 hours to 2 days depending on vehicle and willingness for drivers to sacrifice sleep) before the rapidly cooling climate makes the passes too calamitous and the road 'closes' for winter. Though in reality I'm sure there are plenty of crazy drivers willing to try and get you through way past the Autumn cut-off. However we'd remained a little unsure if jeeps and buses were still going even as we arrived in Manali. So after all that, Ladakh had a lot to live up to. And it did. I love it when that happens. It's so hit and miss with places you have a thing for and imaginatively over-invest in - even when you've travelled enough to temper your expectations and know nowhere's ever quite as you pictured it and that destinations deliver or not entirely on their own terms.

Leh was stunning in the late September light - icy at night and in the shade but a scorching sun beating down through almost cloudless blue skies most days. Why 'the season' was at its end we couldn't totally grasp, since flights continue to get in most of the year regardless of the two key road routes (from Manali to the south and Srinagar to the West). Town felt pretty quiet, with tour agencies, Kashmiri craft emporiums and tourist cafes half closed and agents and vendors in need of the last precious rupees before the winter cuts them off from much external income. Yet for all that economic necessity, Leh was utterly peaceful, with very little of the hustler shuffle that tends to follow the tourist pretty much ceaselessly elsewhere in India. In fact, Ladakh didn't feel entirely Indian - and people tend to joke to about heading 'to India' as they leave. It's sheer remoteness has tended to keep the predominantly Tibetan Buddhist region pretty separate from Hindu Jammu and Muslim Kashmir which make up the rest of the state. The contrast felt striking between the narrow and precipitous, occasionally suicidal, passes (the 'Rohtang La' just past Manali apparently means 'piles of corpses' in Hindi. Reassuring.) on the hair-raising 17 hour jeep ride, and the seemingly developed well-lit city outskirts of Leh.

Executive backpacking at Bon Appetit, Leh

The remoteness from the rest of India felt pretty palpable throughout our stay, with people referring to themseles as Ladakhi first and foremost. The region's mountains also don't see quite the trekking and climbing action that Nepal does and despite the other late-season visitors around, in our 8 or 9 day stay it still felt like we had the place to ourselves. After our first weekend acclimatising further to the altitude and exploring Leh - its Main Bazaar, formerly a hub on the central-Asian spice route, the craggy hilltop palace and gompa, calling Lhasa's Potala Palace to mind - and some pretty stunning but definitely off-budget chocolate momos (executive backpacking if you will) - we planned our side-trips.

Rugged manly hill walker

After the stunning Nubra Valley in T's last post, we ventured into the Indus Valley for a mild 3 day hike from Zinchin to Stok, just the two of us and a guide, a 16 year old boy called Tsepil (sweet and amiable enough but who gradually wore through my nerves as teenage boys inevitably will). It was a beautiful, if strangely paced couple of days walk, interspersed with homestays. Having thought the price very reasonably compared with other options, it did start to feel clear why this was on various counts but none that detracted from the experience. For example, this may make me a bad-tempered Orientalist old biddy but I'm not sure it's unreasonable for a guide sent by a tourist agency to have a rudimentary grasp of English in order to facilitate some, you know, guiding.... (as opposed to kind of, sort of, knowing the general direction and being able to ask passing shepherds for clarification). Or adapting to your ward's tempo a little: on day 3, a tough 8 hour climb up from Rambok to the peak of Stok Kangri before down and through the valley to our pick-up in Stok village, Tsepil would constantly gallop ahead and then stop and stare back until we caught up. 

Doesn't sound that annoying but believe me, it was a slow burn to my rapidly shortening fuse. It's like, dude, modify your pace. I've paid sizable money to soak up these views and and not rupture my ancient kneecaps galloping home so you can clock off by teatime. Grrrr. Ahem. Anyway, he was fine, bless him. And the views - particularly on the punishing Day 3 climb were unrelentingly stunning.

Top of Stok Kangri after a steep few hours climb

We stayed in homestays each night, the location of which dictated a slightly off-kilter 2hr/3hr/8hr walking programme over the 3 days - and arrived at both by lunchtime giving us the whole afternoon to relax, ready and wander about pointing at goats and 'dzos (improbable yak/cow hybrid). The scheme is pretty impressive, bringing extra income into rural agricultural households through the valleys and getting trekkers a more comfortable night's sleep and window into Ladakhi life. You do eat alot of chapattis thought. Chappati breakfast, chappati lunch, chappati at dinner. A whole world of chapatti if your gut is ready for it. Our second host Dolma, at Rambok, was a very bright and welcoming young woman with one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen - a gorgeous little gnome in bright knitwear sat with perfect posture and a steady gaze. Her cosy kitchen even extended to viewing the India-Australia cricket match, followed intently by older male relatives and farmhands growing gradually more slurred over their watered down Indian whisky.

Goman gompa next to our guesthouse, Leh

We weren't sure how we'd cope with the bright lights, big city of Leh on our return for our final evening in Ladakh at the awesome Cafe Jeevan and our final sleep at the endlessly gracious and welcoming family-run Goman guesthouse who'd allowed us to come and go leaving our bags as necessary throughout the week.

I think I'll be back to Ladakh. It's easy to say that when there's a whole vast unexperienced world out there. But it's quite singular - understated, dignified and beguiling, sharing more with Tibet in many ways than India. And while we feared the risk of 'gompa-fatigue' as hill-top temple succeeded hill-top temple, it never really got old for me. Most perched precariously but nimbly to the cliff-faces like mountain goats, taking the breath away - Diskit, Sumur, Sankar, Tiske. The latter particularly noteworthy for its incredible Maitreya Buddha, a vast icon barely contained in a temple room, upper and lower halves accessed through two different levels  - one of the few buddhas to actually take my breath away (indeed they display a quote from the Dalai Lama to this effect - and I paraphrase - 'I've seen a lot of Buddhas in my time but this one takes the biscuit, well done guys'. But also for distracting us past the last bus back to Leh, stranded on the dusty roadside as night fell, our frankly rubbish hitch-hiking attempts only alleviated by a passing monk (never far away in Ladakh, as in Dharamsala) whoe bantering promises of guaranteed moksha secured in 2 minutes what might have taken us all night to achieve - a lift back to Leh, speeding off into the darkness towards its flickering lights with a couple of amiable chain-smoking, baseball cap wearing 30-somethings.

And flying out, just when you thought your jaw couldn't drop any further...

Flying overhead

In Manali (Vashisht) and a bit of Leh..

Arriving in Manali, we headed for the small town of Vashisht about 2km away. Vashisht is a smaller, more relaxing place than Manali and dedicates itself to the charas that the tourists smoke in many cafes. Some pleasant hot springs and a spot of yoga over the two day stay was enough for us. The view from our hotel was not so bad, but the cows on the ground floor were a little unnecessary...

The highlight was our trip out to Old Manali, which saw us visit the Hadimba temple - a dark, smokey wooden edifice built far up into the surrounding forest hills. Here the chanting and dim, thick atmosphere testified to religion being practised as a fully immersive experience. Everything seemed to sit as it had done for hundreds of years (not counting iPhones).

We left at 2am for one of the most epic drives in the world. 17 hours and 500km long, driving through passes over 5000m high. Altitudes headaches knocked all of us out as the long day wore on, with chai stops helping to combat the fatigue. Only the driver, mercifully, stayed awake and alert. the mountains were everywhere, at once thrusting jaggedly upwards while their sandy bases collapsed into meandering rivers.

 Time and again we'd double back on ourselves up the narrow zig-zagged roads of these slumbering giants to find some high pass that let us break through to the next valley. Finally, we reached Leh...

Epic Buddha (up-close)

I'm writing towards the end of our time in Ladakh (though by the time I post we've moved on to Kolkata/Calcutta) - with its leafy capital Leh and surrounding white-topped mountains, verdant valleys and snow-melt rivers. To the North in the Nubra Valley we saw some of the dramatic scale with which the province's nature comes together: grand valleys with huge mountains where the Ladakhis have founded some of their biggest monasteries. At Diskit, the mountain top monastery is itself dwarfed by a giant Buddha. 40ft of Maitreya Buddha raised on a massive dais that towers over the valley. The visual power and majesty of this totem to Ladakhi Buddhism was truly awe-inspiring.

Epic Buddha (from a distance)

As we pushed further into the valley, sand dunes started to undulate across the lower reaches of the plain. And what goes with sand dunes? Camels. The bactrian camels in Nubra are a legacy from the old silk route. Now it costs pennies to enter the Nubra dunes and a couple of quid will get you 15mins on an animal. So of course we did it. Illusions of my Lawrence of Arabia moment soon evaporated though, as my camel was tethered behind Mhairi's and we were led by the nose at walking pace over the sand. The novelty was enough though, and as my Alpha beast tried to push its way in front of my partner's, I clung to the humps and smiled with the ride...

The rest of the trip to Nubra was less eventful - some more hot springs and monasteries but not surpassing our previous encounters. The main feature was the passing over of Khardung-La, "the world's highest motorable pass" at 5600m. 

Here there is an icy wind despite the clear skies, and the Dalai Lama's voice booms out continuously from speakers festooned with prayer flags. Sickly sweet black tea is dished out to ward of the chill - 10 rupees for a tiny plastic cup, while a plaque on the wall extols the virtues of the infusion. It does its job though, and to the best of our ability we carry on over the bumpy roads back to Leh before the second half of our Ladakhi experience. We see wolves dash around our jeep: while on the road the army and road-builders fight it out with tourists and haulage trucks over priorities on the highway. Delays, chai stops and chat- but it all is becoming part of our travels. When we step into a vehicle it is part of our journey itself...  

Wolf:

Road Builder:

(My favourite) Army:

Nubra:

 

A Note on Buses!

Leaving for Manali, What Had We Done?

The bus is just a metal cage on wheels, no matter how many flowers and buddhas the driver has stuck to the dashboard. Vertiginous drops to our left all the way, and we squeeze past oncoming traffic by millimeters. Pedestrians, who of course walk on the road, manage to scramble out of our way. The ubiquitous Indian stray cow even manages to get its hide on the verge after some liberal horn honking by the driver. 

All the time the rain lashes down. Little rivers have have formed down each side of the road and they flow torridly under the weight of their ever increasing waters. Here and there a landslide has brought tons of rock and earth down across the road. The bare minimum has been done to clear the way and we bounce brutally over the remaining scree. I am grateful that we at least have cautious driver. He and the ticket collector both have an Indian Freddie Mercury thing going on, but they could look like Lady Gaga for all I care as they continue to pilot us safely along the road... ... ...

8hrs, currently going on 9 and we're still 50k out. When some less cautious drivers banged each other up on the road, we got stuck for over an hour waiting for the machines to be disentangled. To compensate, our driver has begun to accelerate around bends like a maniac. Indeed, maybe everybody is now late for Indian X Factor. The delay of the crash means that all cars are now hell for leather around the twisty roads with constant horn-honking and, from where I'm sitting, some eye-watering near misses at-speed. Ill as Mhairi is, she has shut her eyes long ago to get some rest. Indeed, it's time to close my eyes and dream of the slow-moving, congested roads of my homeland. Ah, for the traffic of England...