A Farewell To India

So we're counting down our hours left in India, having spent the morning back in Delhi, trudging around the streets that just under two months ago felt very strange and today, trying to find somewhere to dump our packs, induced a warm feeling of familiarity. Since my time in Chautala a lot has gone down, and I could write all too much just on the one week I spent out in Harayana, so let me try and outline our journey so far without the need for a toilet/boredom/suicide break.

After Rishikesh we caught an un-godly 15 hour bus journey up to Dharamshala to meet up with Eula. Sometimes you see these swanky air-con, reclining seats, curtains and sick bag tourist coaches pacing it around the roads. Not for us, oh no, that's far too "Lonely Planet" for us. We opt for the local government bus, easily identified by the large streaks of vomit emanating from each window. Spurred on by an over-confident Mr Sinkovich declaring that it will be fine to sit with our packs on our laps for that long, we jump on board in high spirits and wait for the fun to start. After a few hours I notice the words deep, vein and thrombosis are having a cup of Chai with my imagination and have decided to convince my brain I have a clot forming in my leg and very soon it will take a quick vacation to my lungs.

Always the adept travellers, Captain Timbo and I McGuyver a hanging rig using our chains and padlocks in order to suspend our packs inches above our laps. High fives all round and a few hours of sleep, occasionally interrupted by my pack smashing into my face as we make a sudden stop, and we are in Dharamshala. Timbo got really lucky and scored a bit of dribble off a local kid who fell asleep on him.

We spent just under two weeks in McLeodganj, up at the bottom of the mountains, above the actual town of Dharamshala. I fell into a deep love for this town as they openly sell beer, and have a large selection of restaurants all willing to cook you chicken, bacon and let you bring your own beer of a cheaper variety into their establishments. I didn't get to see the Dali Lama because I am physically incapable of waking up at 5:30am, as our friend Jess discovered upon our room door swinging open to reveal a blurry-eyed Mr Sinkovich, scratching his head and muttering if the nice young Australian girl had come about the croutons.

We did, however, dine in the same restaurant as Pierce Brosnan did once. Well not so much dine as drink a load of beer. I'll let you decide which one is better.

After McLeodganj we decided to get back on the road and head out to Agra where we had arranged to meet Eula, again, who had left Dharamshala a week or so before we did. We kind of sold out for the bus journey back to Delhi, booking in on a "luxury" bus, which basically means you can put your shit in the boot and your chair reclines to an angle that juuuuust about reminds you how it feels to be horizontal. Another 15 hours of bus, and 8 on a train, and it's hello hug time in Agra train station as we meet back up with Eula.

We spent a night in Agra, and the next day seeing the Taj Mahal before the road lust saw us back on a rickshaw across town to score another train out to a village where we just about made it onto a bus out to Khujarau (It's hard pulling yourself, your pack, a rucksack and a guitar onto a moving bus, even if you work out 50 times a day like I do). The last bus part of this trip took us back to our hardcore bus roots, as it was another local bus, and required us to get up close (like, yes that's someones balls resting on my knee) and personal with the locals, none of whom spoke English, but all of which responded well to my rendition of "Dance Magic Dance" and Timbo and Eula's "Country Roads".

We kicked it around Khujarau for a few days, checking out some of the erotic temples, which didn't fail to deliver with their weird and wonderful depictions of what three guys "getting their groove" on with a horse looks like. I have, however, never wondered what an orgy with a dragon looked like. I wouldn't have guessed it would look like that, though.

We got a little too comfortable in Khujarau, hiring some bikes and spending a few days out at a swanky five-star hotel in order to shoot some pool, drink some cocktails (the first, and only good alcohol we have found in India) and have a swim when it got a little too hot. Suffice to say, we lowered to tone with our raggy clothes, bombs in the pool and occasionally smacking the cue ball onto a marble floor. It was time to get back on the road.

From Khujarau we had our final destination of Varanasi, which had me slightly concerned as the guidebook suggested we were in for death everywhere, burning bodies and even some flesh eating dolphins (the latter were never visually confirmed but I am a big fan of the concept). What we found was an awesome city, the best part of which, in my opinion, were the miles of tiny alleys filled with useless tacky crap, jewelry, more useless tacky crap, dead dogs, tacky crap that flashes and music.

We happened to luck out and arrive just before Diwali, completely ignorant to what this meant to the Hindu population, and were treated to three days of virtually non-stop fireworks. I am a big fan of any culture that has no problem with lobbing very large firecrackers into moving traffic, and dancing with glee when the tourists on the rickshaws nearly die from the shock. On the last night we got involved in our own little way, and let off half a dozen rockets, and I got the chance to send my smelly old shoes to Valhalla via four large firecrackers (kaboom).

We had intended to travel north for our last few days, but with time moving a little faster than we were prepared to, we settled for a few extra days of sunset boat rides and roof-top beers as Timbo, Eula and I waited for the inevitable breaking of paths.

One more last supper (my count makes it number 3) with Eula was over all too quickly, and before goodbye hugs and garbled well wishes as the sky began to dim towards another sunset, we watched her wander down toward the road and disappear into the traffic. For me, the city felt suddenly dull, and the knowledge that we too would soon be headed onto the next part of our travels was comforting.

As I write, we have 8 hours left in India, and it's fairly hard to imagine what the next four months are going to be like. If they are even half of what has gone in the past two, I will be more than happy.