Karin: We had a much better sleep last night - The Israelis were still as noisy as ever but we were far enough away from them for it not to disturb us too much.

This morning I had my first swim in the Ganges. It was really wonderful. The water is pretty cold as it is basically glacial melt from the high peaks. Fortunately I have been well primed for swimming in waters of this temperature through my antic with the  Serpentine swimming club in London and even glacial snow-melt isn’t  as bracing as the Serps in January! As you walk into the water the sand is kind of spongy and descends quite quickly into the turquoise water. The forested peaks soar up all around you. This really has to be the cream of outdoor swimming!

We’ve met the other couple, Claire and Martin, who are sharing the balcony with us. They are from Brighton and live in the 7 dials area where I used to live back in 1998 with Anthony. Martin had decided to rent a motorbike today and head off into the mountains so I plucked up the courage to do the same. It has been about 10 years since I last rode my Yamaha 535 in Japan so it was with trepidation that I clambered back into the saddle.

Karin on the motorbike

Dan: We figured that if we could hire a motorcycle and cruise up into the Himalayas, then maybe we could save some money, and do the trekking by ourselves - after all, how hard could it be? So Karin rang Triveni and said that I had an upset stomach, so could we delay the trekking for a few days (I was nominated to be the sick one as she made the call!). W figured we'd have a look around on the bike, and then make a call about the trekking when we got back.

Karin: To get to the main road and petrol station you have to cross the famous pedestrian footbridge that spans the river. This is always packed with throngs of Indian tourists and sadhus admiring the view and crossing from temple to temple. Negotiating this on the knackered old 125 that I had rented was quite a challenge! After several rather uncomfortable moments I did finally find my way over and after 30 mins of practice Dan hopped on the back and we headed for the hills. It was glorious to get away from the thronging hoards and climb up and up in to the foothills of the Himalayas. The views were breathtaking as the river curled languidly through the peaks, sometimes tumbling down rapids and skimming along the shallows. Even these Himalayan foothills are pretty impressive mountains by our standards. They are densely forested at this level with Tarzan-style liana’s dangling down onto the road, very much like those that you will find in the rain forests of the West Indies.

We passed a lot of monkeys, some leaner with pink faces and bright pink bottoms and others much chunkier with severe-looking black faces. They are always on the look out for a free meal so you have to guard any food items very carefully. There are also some beautiful and unusual birds. One particularly striking specimen which we saw swooping around the rocks by the river, has jet-black wings and a bright red body. Alongside the river there are a number of tented encampments where people on river rafting excursions stop to take a break. We made our way up and up to the nearest village which although only 10 km as the crow flies took us a good hour to reach. We soon realized that in this mountainous country travelling any distance is extremely hard work. As the Indian dusk began to close in, we decided to meander our way back down to the hotel.

On the way, we bumped into Martin and Claire who were heading back. Martin mentioned that the roads got very bad just after the next town.

Karin, Martin, and Claire on their motorbikes 

This morning, whilst swimming, I had seen an ashram on the other side of the river that seemed worthy of exploration, so we decided to take a detour and investigate. We headed down the steep driveway to see what we could see. After descending a flight of steps to a beach, we saw several monks praying and bathing, so, tentatively, we approached them. They ignored us completely. Feeling very much like intruders, we approached another slightly less scantily clad monk who did say a few words to us but who clearly spoke no English and did not seem enamoured to see us! We agreed to admit defeat and return to the bike as night was rapidly closing in. As we made our way back up the stairway we saw a man with a long beard standing above us. Thinking it was worth another go, we called up to him. He answered dryly that he couldn’t speak any English and then his face cracked up in a big smile. As it turned out we were talking to an Indian ‘Saint’ or Swami. When we mentioned that we might be looking for some advice about meditation, he beckoned us into a small veranda. Our saint was accompanied by another monk who seemed to understand English very well, but who, throughout our audience, didn’t look at us or talk to us at all. His attention was concentrated fixedly on the Swami. The Swami asked us a few questions about our interest in meditation as we were served Indian chai and ‘holy’ ganga water. It soon became clear that we were completely out of our depth and that this very special place was not exactly open to western part-time nirvana seekers! None the less, we were given some valuable guidance about how to proceed in the Hindu spiritual tradition and told that we were always welcome there.

Dan: Need Sleep. Now!

We discovered we were given the party floor.

There is a bunch of about 14 Israelis staying at the hotel, all about 19 years old, who are here to party.

And party they did!

We must have had about 3 hours sleep between us.

Needless to say, we’re feeling a bit scratchy.

We got up at 10:00am, and went downstairs to speak to the (very friendly) manager and see if we could get a quieter room. When we mentioned we were thinking of staying a month, he took us up the stairs to the top of the hotel, and the most amazing roof terrace, which had panoramic views over the village, the river, and the hills. And there were rooms up here – big rooms, but only two of them – and one of them had become free!

The manager told us that the Israelis come every year to party, and they always want these top rooms as they’re perfect for partying – however he said that that’s not what he wants his hotel to be about, so he only ever gives the young ones the rooms on the bottom floor (where we were).

He asked if we wanted the room and without hesitation, we said yes. So we went and moved our stuff.

Karin outside our room

Two views inside our room - I wonder if Daniel actually exists, all these photos are of Karin!!

When we’d moved in, we came back out on the balcony, and saw that there was another couple there – who happened to be from Brighton (in the south of the UK – one of the places we were considering moving to when we got back) – their names were Martin and Claire, and they were our neighbours.

Both of them were just emerging from four days of the dreaded Delhi Belly, and were eating their first food in that time – honey and toast!

Martin and Claire were absolutely lovely, and both Karin and I perked up after our not-so-good first night, thinking that 30 days in this room with good company would be ideal!

Karin: The first night at hotel Divya was a complete ordeal as we realized, a little too late, that we had taken a room next to a bunch of noisy Israeli teenagers. Not even Daniel’s top-of-the-range kiwi earplugs could reduce the sounds of the hard partying that went on til 4 am. We both decided that we needed to make a move as soon as possible. We were persuaded otherwise when the hotel owner, in a bid to keep our custom, offered us the best room in the hotel – a much larger space right on the roof of the hotel with  a huge terrace with spectacular views overlooking the Ganges.  

Daniel: We woke up at 9am, after a delicious 13 hours sleep – best sleep I’ve had in months!

Feeling very refreshed.

We were halfway through our showers, when the phone rang at 9:30am, and we were informed that our taxi had arrived – doh! It’s a 7 hour journey from Rishikesh to Delhi, and our driver had left at 2am!!!

We told him we had to have breakfast, and then hurriedly finished our packing and had breakfast.

When we got outside, I was intrigued by the car sent to pick us up. The web site for the taxi company indicated that all the cars were less than 4 years old, but this car looked like a morris minor!

The car was an Ambassador, and we found out later (from Karin’s father) that they were all based upon the design of a car that the Indians had seen in the 1950s when the English were still a presence in India – and they hadn’t changed the design since! Well, if it works and is easy to build and maintain, then why bother I guess..

Still, the car was pretty new, although basic – our driver (Anil) was very sweet, but didn’t speak much English.

An indian Abassador car - made by Hindustan Motors

And off we set for our 7 hour journey to Rishikesh and then Laxman Jhula.

I was intrigued to find out why a journey of 230kms should take 7 hours… but as we finally left Delhi (which took 2 hours!) I began to realise why.. this is a country of no motorways.. and in a few places, the road disappears and you’re driving on a dirt track – and these are major roads!

What struck me on the journey was the driving – it was worse than I’d seen in Italy.. at first I thought it was just chaos, but then I realised that there was a basic system: just don’t hit anyone, and you can do what you like – as long as you honk your horn! After the first hour, my ears were smarting from the constant honking and general noise.

I always figured that once we left Delhi we’d be in countryside, with just a few villages on the way.

Boy was I wrong! I had forgotten how heavily populated India is.. there were always people everywhere.

Most of the villages we passed through seemed to be a collection of shops and houses made out of wood and corrugated iron – very temporary-looking structures.

And the trucks were amazing – all painted up into a riot of colours, with mirrors and beads and ornamentation hanging from them. And the loudest horns I’ve heard!

And they all, without exception, had “horn please” painted on the back!

Horn Please - Indian Truck

We stopped after 3 hours at the equivalent of a UK Motorway Services (we don’t have them in NZ, but basically a service station and restaurant beside a motorway).

These services were run by Nestle, and as such, everything being sold was made by them and branded by them (it was a bit of branding overload – Nestle signs were everywhere).

They didn’t really sell Indian food – only Chinese and Italian (guess it’s where the Indians come to get a taste of culture!) and we were the only westerners there.

Karin gets a bit of attention from the locals I think on account of her blonde hair – or maybe it’s because she’s prettier than me!

After a filling chop suey, we jumped back into the taxi, where we slept for most of the way.

We arrived into Rishikesh at about 5pm, just as it was starting to get dark.

My first impressions of Rishikesh weren’t that promising – it was another long dirt street filled with temporary buildings, and there was noise, people, and traffic everywhere. The noise was deafening.

We stopped at the offices of Triveni Travel, the people that we organised our taxi through, and met Harsh, the owner’s son.

Karin had warned me that because we’d been staying at a posh hotel, most people would make the assumption that we had money to spend and wanted to stay only in nice places – Karin was concerned that this was against the principle in which we’d organised the trip i.e. to keep it as cheap as possible.

With this in mind, we could understand why Harsh suggested that the hotel we had booked (Hotel Divya) would not be suitable, and that we would feel more comfortable at another, more pricey hotel. Harsh also suggested looking at renting one of the western-style apartments that could be had, on the banks of the Ganges (which is known as the Ganga up here).

However, we opted to stay at he Divya for at least tonight.

Anil drove us the extra 9 kms to get to Laxman Jhula.

Laxman Jhula is a little settlement just upriver from Rishikesh. Laxman Jhula is actually the name of the suspension bridge across the Ganga used to reach the village.

Laxman Jhula

There is another village between Laxman Jhula and Rishikesh, and another suspension bridge, known as Ram Jula.

Karin: We had another smooth flight from Amman to Delhi. Today we are feeling very disoriented as we left Amman at 8.00pm local time and after a 5 hour flight we arrived in Delhi at 5.00am!. It was quite amazing flying over Delhi at that time in the early morning. The dawn was just breaking and the whole city was twinkling with the fairy-light adornments of Divali - the festival of lights. India is the 2^nd most populated country on earth and Delhi, its capital city, is huge and swarming with people. It’s a wonderful sight from above even when everyone is asleep. I have been dreaming of coming to India for a long time now so it was very special to be arriving here for the first time. I felt much anticipation to see how much my half-formed ideas about India were going to match with reality. As it happens, my first impressions of this place have exceeded all expectations. It is every bit as different and challenging as every one will tell you. It was as we stepped out of the arrivals terminal into the balmy air of the taxi rank that India really hit us. We had been thoroughly warned just how overwhelming this can be for first-timers. As new comers to India we are instantly identifiable as “green-shanks” and are pounced upon by every possible man-with-a-scam – we feel like very easy prey! Luckily we were armed with our LonelyPlanet guide and we knew to buy our pre-paid taxi-voucher from the one official transport police source. The tell-tale sign was that this was the only pre-paid taxi voucher cabin where the vendor wasn’t yelling at you to buy from them. Grateful thanks again to those helpful people at LonelyPlanet!

Taxi drivers in Delhi are the worst predators of all and are not to be trusted until you know how to play the game. Happily, in spite of nerves and jet-lag, we managed to find our way to the Claridges Hotel without getting ripped off which felt quite a success at the time. Dan and I plummed for a posh hotel for our first night in Delhi as we wanted to give ourselves a little time to acclimatize before taking on the best/worst that India could throw at us. It was definitely a good move, as having had very little sleep on the flight from Jordan, we were both suffering from sleep deprivation and a good dose of jet lag. The hotel is nice but not quite up to western levels of service and cleanliness - but this is obviously not why we are here in India. We braved our first meal – a mixture of fruit, cheeses, cereals, full English and a selection of extremely hot curries. It’s advisable for all visitors to India to avoid any food that may contain or have been washed in untreated or unboiled water. This means that most salads are out. Also it is best to avoid any un-peeled fruit or vegetables so what with our wheat and yeast allergies we are somewhat limited in our digestive range!  It is a good idea to drink plenty of the local yoghurt as this introduces you gradually to the local bugs, so Dan and I ladled the stuff over everything. There were a few discreet rumblings down below but nothing sinister. The next seemingly insurmountable challenge was to stay awake. We arrived at the hotel at 6.55 am or so and by 8.00 am we were completely done for.

Dan: Our room wasn’t ready till 9:30am, so we spent them time lazing around on chairs in the large grassy area that was in front of the hotel.

This whole things just feels very Raj and Colonial – hard to explain it, but from the turbaned doorman who saluted us every time we went through the door, to the number of people they have to do the simplest thing, it’s incredibly obvious that we’re in a different country!

The room was lovely – very large, with a super king bed, big bathroom, and a view onto the pool complex.

We really wanted to take advantage of all this, as it’ll be the last bit of luxury for a while (well, at least until Japan!), but jet-lag and tiredness were taking their toll, so we decided to venture into the city in an effort to stay awake, and begin to explore what Delhi had to offer.
Before we set off into Delhi, we had to work out how we were going to get to Rishikesh.

A friend of Karin’s had suggested that we go to a place called Laxman Jhula, which was a village a bit further upstream from Rishikesh, and was apparently much quieter.

In my mind, I pictured a quiet village of maybe 100 people, with hardly any westerners, and just a lot of peace, quiet, and tranquillity… Just the ticket I needed!

During my online-research (spot the computer geek!) I’d stumbled across the website for an American lady who was a guru at Laxman Jhula, and held classes there from Dec – Feb.

As one of the main tenets of this guru was eschewing commercialism, the website had a good list of very economical travel and accommodation options.

Although at first glance a train seemed to be cheaper, we realised that once you added the costs of getting to/from the station, it was only £2 more to get a taxi all the way to Laxman Jhula.

We rang the recommended travel place, and booked a taxi for 11:00 am the next day, and rang one of the hotels at random, and found they had a room for the night – we figured we’d stay there one night, and see about other accommodation when we got there.

The owner of the travel place (Ram Bhuta) was incredibly friendly on the phone (especially after he learned which hotel we were staying at!) and said that it was possible to rent apartments at Laxman Jhula – he suggested coming into the office when we got there to look at our options.

Warned by our guidebook that we should avoid all un-treated water, and any skinned fruit/veges that may have been washed (as well as ice), I’m a bit apprehensive about what I’ll be able to eat… part of it is that I’m not sure if once you’ve had Delhi Belly whether you’re immune from it again… maybe it’s best to just get it as early as possible.

My other big worry is malaria – I’m terrified of being bitten by mosquitoes! Karin seems much more complacent about the whole thing than I am. I have the appropriate malarial prophylactics (as they’re known i.e. anti-malaria medication) but I’ve heard such bad things about the side effects that I’ve elected not to take them unless I actually contract malaria (when they can apparently be used as emergency medication).

Anyway, before we go out into Delhi I cover myself in mosquito repellent.

We ask the hotel concierge for a taxi to take us to Connaught Place, the massive series of circular streets that the un-official centre of New Delhi.

The taxi pulls up, and we ask the driver how much it will cost to get to Connaught Place – the driver shrugs and indicates we should get in – however our guide book has warned us about doing this, so we appeal to the concierge – who shouts at the driver for ages, and then the driver sullenly moves a little towel on the dashboards, that I had assumed was for cleaning the windscreen. Instead, the towel covered the taxi’s meter!

We’re learning one of our first lessons: also establish the price before getting into any form of transport.

The other big lesson I’ve been learning is about tipping – my guidebook indicated that at a hotel you should tip 10-20 rupees to a porter for any given action (e.g. carrying your bags to your room). However, when I tried this at the hotel and gave him 10 rupees, he just stared at me. Ooookeee. Well, next guy, I tried 20 rupees. Again, just a stare. Then it clicked: I’m staying at an up-market hotel, therefore they probably expect up-market tips! So, the next two guys (who brought us some lovely floral garlands to celebrate Diwali) both got 100 rupees (about £1.20). Result! Big smiles and big “thanks you”s. Hmm, at this rate I’ll be out of money within a week! It’s hard to work out what the rupee is worth here, as it seems to be so variable. Still, I’m sure it will become clear over time.

The taxi took us to Connaught Place – the driver seemed to want to give us a tour, but we indicated he should just pull over and drop us off – he pulled into a car park area to let us out. We paid him and gave him a 20 rupee tip – he then started arguing with us, saying we had to pay for his parking in this car park, as he’d be waiting for us. We explained that we didn’t want him to wait, and he said it was too late, and that we’d have to pay for his parking. In the end, we just walked away, and let him shout at us. As soon as we had gotten out of the taxi, a group of young men had run up to us, either trying to sell us things, or give us directions.

As a westerner, it’s very hard to not be cynical about strangers – I’m always convinced that anyone we meet always wants money from us, so it’s best to treat everything with suspicion. Still, this one guy that followed us seemed to genuinely want to help us – he asked where we wanted to go, and we said we wanted somewhere to buy food. He flagged down an auto-rickshaw (basically a TukTuk – three wheel contraption with a noisy and smoky two-stroke motor) and we got in – we asked to guy to take us to the government Co-Op where we could buy food.

Well, I can tell you now that auto-rickshaw’s are a whole new experience! Imagine a roller-coaster ride, without the safety bars!

One of the Rickshaws in Delhi

Ripping through the incredibly chaotic traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions all the time, the driver dropped us outside a building. He said that the cost was 20 rupees, but that as it was a quiet day, he’d be our driver all day for 40 rupees. This seemed like a good deal.

Us in the Rickshaw

Karin: We emerged at 6.00 this morning to search for a taxi to take us the 250 km ride to Petra and back again in time for our flight out to Delhi at 20.30. After some efficient assistance by our kindly hotel receptionist (ED: Who I think was quite affected by Karin’s blonde hair and obvious femaleness!) we were soon scooting through Jordan’s Martian-like landscape. It was quite a shock to be in this desiccated land when only 24 hours before we had been cruising through England’s green fields on our way down to London from Leeds. A UN jeep which sped past reminded us that we were not so far away from some pretty war-torn places. We remembered the adverts for armored cars that we had seen at the airport the previous night, which advertised that they were "ideal for traveling through Iraq". In spite of our initial reservations (mainly cause he insisted we got into the car and started traveling before agreeing a price!) our taxi driver, Khalid, turned out to be a real gem. He got us safely to Petra and set up a rendezvous with us 4 hours later to make sure that we were back in time for our flight. After all the hard months of life-reorganization up in Leeds, both Daniel and I had begun to turn grey both inside and out. In one day the grey has been banished by the awesome sights and bewitching beauty of Petra. Several years ago when I lived in Manchester, a friend recommended that I go. It has been in the back of my mind since then and today, almost by accident, we were there and it was every bit as wonderful as I had imagined. When the city was abandoned by the Nabateans some time in the run up to the 14th Century, it was lost from western view until a Swiss traveler, Johann Ludwig Burckardt rediscovered it in 1812. To reach the city you have to walk 40 minutes through a narrow gorge (the Al Sik) which is 1200m long and has walls up to 80m high. The rocks here are an orangey pink shade and when lit up by the sunshine it is a truly spectacular sight and then, as if by magic, through a gap in the soaring 80 metre-high gorge you catch a glimpse of the towering structure of the Al-Khazneh (Treasury).

View of the Treasury from Al Sik

This is the most beautiful monument at Petra. It was carved in the 1st Century BC as a tomb for an important Nabatean King. It is enormous, and seeing it for the first time is one of those moments in life that you will never forget. 2 hours just isn’t enough to explore Petra properly. It takes about 3 days to do the visit properly as the site is so huge. Petra’s second most famous monument is the Monastery, which can be reached by climbing a flight of 800 steps cut into the mountain of Ad-deir.

The Monastery at Petra

Dan and I had to race up these steps (and down again) as in trying to visit this distant part of the site we were in grave danger of missing our rendezvous with Khalid. After a full-on endurance run of about an hour we did finally make it back in time and slept like 2 exhausted babes all the way back to the hotel. After a somewhat shambolic transit check-in back at Queen Alia airport we are now airborne again and on the 6 hour flight to Delhi.

Additional Petra Photos:

Dan: The day has arrived – the start of our 3 month holiday!

We leave London bound for Jordan, where we have an overnight stay in Amman before our connecting flight to Delhi tomorrow night.

The flight from London to Jordan is 6 hours, and we’re a bit apprehensive about it after reading bad reviews about the airline, Royal Jordanian Airlines, online.

Karin: Thankfully the flight was not the horror that we had feared. We picked it from the bargain basement of flights – a £350 deal with Royal Jordanian including a 24-hour transfer in Jordan. Despite some bad reviews on TripAdvisor.com the service was pretty good and even the tiny new-born who screamed much of the way through the flight had little effect on our spirits. Whilst on the plane Daniel and I began plotting our whistle-stop tour to Petra – we weren’t sure if we could do it.

Dan: Karin mentioned that Petra was one of the must-see things in the Middle East, and we endeavored that if we find a way to go visit it, we would. Petra is an ancient city carved into the stone walls of a valley, and was hidden from Western view until the 1800’s. According to everything we’d read, we needed at least 3 days to see Petra properly, and that was assuming we were in Petra to start with! Getting to Petra and back again in a single day was going to be our biggest problem. Buses (the cheapest option) were out of the question, as there were only 3 a week, and none on Tuesdays (the one day we had in Jordan).

Taxi looked like the only option, providing we could agree on a reasonable rate.

We arrived at Queen Alia airport in Amman, Jordan at 11:30pm.

The first idea that we were in the Middle East (and very close to Israel and Iraq) was the array of advertisements for armored cars and limousines which apparently were “perfect for traveling in Iraq” according to the poster. Hmmm….!

The transfer desk told us that there was a bus outside to take us to the hotel – we said how would we recognize it, and he said, “Easy – it’s the only bus out there”.

We went outside… and discovered there were 4 buses! And none of them were the transfer bus. Hmm, welcome to Jordan…

Still, eventually it arrived, and we were in our room and asleep by 1:00am, ready to be up at 5:00am to track down a taxi to take us to Petra…

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