A Kiwi Bird in Kashmir (and other adventures)

Magical, Heartbreaking Nepal

alex21 — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 17:54:00 GMT

Deep in the foothills of the Himalayas, ponies and donkeys help to carry the supply loads of trekkers and climbers. The poo of these animals is dark and almost invisible when dropped next to the river stone path that we followed through our recent 4 days of hiking. In fact, their excrement is so hard to see that I ended up standing in it, almost up to my ankles, at least once every day. I preferred for this to happen towards the end of that day’s route, so I wouldn’t have to feel it seeping into my socks all day, but often it would occur in the morning when I was sleepy and not looking closely to where I was stepping. Consequently this meant that no matter how long or how thoroughly I showered after each day, for the entirety of the trek we just completed I smelt faintly of animal poo. Brilliant.

When Mum emailed and told me that she was going to meet me in Nepal, I insisted that we do a short trek in her time here. Kathmandu, in all its dirty, noisy glory, is not thought of as the ‘true’ Nepal – this is found out in the mountains, in the tiny little Tibetan-esque villages perched precariously on the sides of the Himalayas. A short 4-day trek that took us up to 3500m and allowed for some breathtaking views of the highest mountains in the world would allow mum to see the true essence of this country. And so we chose Poon Hill, a popular trekking route that started in Pokhara, a day’s bus ride from the capital.

I was under the impression that it would be a lot easier than it actually was. The first day was 6 hours of solid climbing, including a harrowing 2 hours of non-stop steep stairs in the final push. We climbed kilometres into the sky, staying in tiny Tibetan homestays and drinking cup after cup of hot lemon and honey. On the third day we reached the high point of the trek and were rewarded with eerie views of the world’s giant mountains – Dhaulagiri, Annapurna and Maccapuchre, all peaks over 8000 meters. Up above the clouds, reality seems distorted and slightly non-existent. Standing in the shadows of the roof of the world evokes feelings of heady, boundless freedom; and it was here that I came to a somewhat disturbing realization: one day i’m going to have to conquer one of these monster summits.

When we left for the trek, I felt so guilty at leaving the children at the orphanage. I have spent almost 2 months over this year there now and every day I fall more and more in love with these kids. When I first arrived back in February only one out of the 11 children attended school. Now, after a lot of hard work, all 8 of those that are school age have their own sponsor and will have the basic right of an education. Organising all 8 children for school every day is a relentless, chaotic task and is some of the best contraception I have come across! Yet the work I do at the home is also the most deeply rewarding experience I have ever had. The orphans are beautiful children full of character and life and it breaks my heart to think of their past and to not be able to personally ensure they are given the future they deserve.

My favourite part of the day is when one of the kids climbs up onto my lap, lets out a big sigh, links their arms loosely around my neck and falls softly asleep. Their hair smells like Indian oils and soap and their peaceful faces break my heart: I want to take all 11 children back to New Zealand with me and bring them up myself. One little boy is a hermaphrodite and his future worries me the most as there is simply no room in Nepali society for people who are different from the norm and he will, undoubtedly, have a desperately lonely and sad life.

I have fallen in love with Nepal once again, the magical land and people whose secrets I already knew. The narrow, noisy streets and snow-capped mountains that peek silently over the chaos. Freshly picked Mangoes sitting next to freshly beheaded goats. Aromas of chiyaa and cinnamon and curry spices, chanting of Tibetan monks blasting from street side speakers. And most of all, the smiles and the giggles and the cuddles from the children who I am starting to think of as my own. Nepal is where I feel like humanity is at its most raw, most intense. Sometimes Kathmandu and the orphanage is too loud, too crazy, too frustrating and I crave the peace of home. Yet, more and more, I find myself planning when I will next be able to visit this country and its orphans I can’t help but love so much.

I fly out Thursday and i’m already dreading the goodbyes: i’m probably going to sob all the way home to New Zealand. I’m looking forward to my 3 weeks in Kiwi land before I fly out to South Korea to start my teaching position. And, as far as Nepal goes? I’m already planning next year’s visit.

Cuddly Kids and Cockroaches in Kathmandu

alex21 — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 22:30:00 GMT

Back in Nepal it is just as magical, heartbreaking and fascinating as I remember. After taxiing from the airport to a cheap and basic hotel I legged it to the children’s home I fell in love with in February. The kids proceeded to cuddle me to death. Bikram, the child whose schooling I sponsor, held back and stared at me, looking like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“You came back!” he said softly. My heart pretty much melted right then and there.

The same couldn’t be said for Pushpak, the eleven year old eldest boy. When I sat down and started reading Hairy Mcleary, he too started staring at me.

“Alex Miss”

“Yes Pushpak?”

“I think you got a bit fat!”

“Um, what did you say?”

“You know. Fat. F-A-T. You got fat!”

Jeez, what a welcome. I flew all the way to Nepal for that?! Begrudgingly, I suppose I do love the way that children have no filter whatsoever.

In February, some of the other volunteers and I organised and paid for four of the children to start going to school. It has been so exciting to see the changes in them since then. In February, Bikram couldn’t even write his name in English, and now he writes whole paragraphs. When he started reciting his seven-times-tables to me a couple of days ago, I almost cried. At the moment it is school holidays, and the kids have loved me creating English and Math worksheets to keep them busy during the day.

Every night I get home happily exhausted from a day of cricket, painting, soccer, drawing and reading with the kids. Yesterday when it started to rain, all of the kids took their clothes off and danced and sang outside; it made me laugh. There are four new children at the home since I last visited, and their stories are heartbreaking. One little girl was orphaned at a young age and her aunt adopted her, only to put her to work in a huge laundry washing clothes for 16 hours a day. A young child, Porteeb, is a hermaphrodite, which is considered bad luck in Nepal. His family kept him locked up in a cupboard to keep him from bringing his bad luck into their lives. It’s all pretty heartbreaking and I could just sit and cuddle these kids for hours on end.

I made friends with another volunteer, Sam, who is working at the orphanage at the moment too. She is a nurse who specializes in women’s health and sex education, and I have come and helped her take some presentations to local Nepali women and schools. These topics are taboo in Nepal and, as a result, there are a lot of rumours and untruths surrounding them. It was fascinating to hear some of the questions from the women – they seemed to really love the talks and be really interested in what Sam had to say to them.

Sam and I have also been sharing a room together in a basic hotel to cut down on accommodation costs. Last night we were chatting; Sam was standing up and I was lying in bed. Suddenly she stopped in mid-sentence; there was a cockroach bigger than a mouse climbing across her sheets. I jumped out of my bed, and we screamed for about 10 minutes. It was almost midnight, what were we going to do? All of Kathmandu closes down at about 9pm and the streets get pitch-black, dangerous and deserted. Not to mention all the hotels close their big roller doors at night time for safety reasons. However, Sam and I both agreed that there was no way we would be able to sleep in a place with roaches in our sheets!

We packed quickly and carefully, shaking out all of our clothes that were on the floor to make sure they were free of creepy crawlies. By the time we checked out of the place it was 1am, so we walked the streets to find a taxi to take us to the swanky part of Kathmandu and found a nice hotel that would let us in. We fell into clean, white, soft beds around 2 in the morning, and laughed at the thought of us recalling the night in years to come. This was third world, budget travel at its finest!

Sometimes when i’m lying in bed listening to the sounds of Kathmandu sleeping, I start to think of home. Barbeques and bikinis, running along the beach, tramping in Hunua, lazing on the deck with a glass of wine chatting to the people I love. All the things I once took for granted I would give anything to have right now. How do you know when the right time is to come home after travelling’s addictive emotional extremes? It takes a different type of bravery to live a sedentary life – a diligence, a resignation, a fortitude. In the secure and more predictable world the pendulum of life rarely swings as wide. It’s less brutal, but also less exciting. Some days, I think i’m ready to come home and experience that again.

Mum flies in on Friday, and it’s going to be great to chew her ear off about all this stuff. I can’t wait for her to meet Bikram and introduce her to the country I love so much.

Ciao!

Goa: land of hippies, beaches and cheap beer!

alex21 — Fri, 8 Jul 2011 18:28:00 GMT

Spending a week in charming, beachy Goa has been a delightful end to my Indian Odyssey. The silken sands and laid-back ways of the previously Portuguese colony means the place has a pumping tourist industry and an abundance of western amenities. Combine this with lush green jungles, friendly locals and bloody cheap beer, and Goa has made for an enchanting place to spend my last week on Indian soil.

We have filled our days exploring the backwaters and quiet roads behind the beaches on our hired scooter. Having the independence of our own wheels has made for some awesome day trips: giant Portuguese churches, hidden historic mansions, secret beaches, tiny villages. The monsoon makes everything damp and green; some backstreets are so overgrown with jungle that the trees grow up and over the road, dappling the sun and distorting the light. I have loved stumbling across quaint Goan towns and finding a tiny Portuguese-inspired cafe to stop for a curry and a beer.

Accidentally arriving in Goa in the middle of the summer rains has had its upside: everything has been ridiculously cheap. We found a place called Spicy Idlis, which specialises in Goan food, and where a hearty feed costs less than NZ $2. It’s been great being able to afford a hotel with a pool and big, filling meals.

Before I left New Zealand, Mum suggested packing some big, black rubbish sacks – she’s the queen of ‘you never know when you might just need something’. Trying to be as budget as possible, I avoided buying a rain jacket and instead employed some kiwi ingenuity . I cut arm holes and a neck hole in the rubbish bag, and used this to keep my torso dry when scooting round in the rain. Unfortunately, they were the budget variety of bags, and I only realised towards the end of my stay that emblazoned on my back the entire time has been “LOW COST” in huge, clear writing. Thankfully this hasn’t made me be mistaken for a prostitute again.

One day we were riding back to the hotel and stumbled across two tiny baby kittens that had been dumped in the middle of the road – the poor things were so small they could hardly open their eyes. They couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks old, and they were crying and mewing like crazy. They were covered in fleas and were bony and skinny. I picked them up and put them down my shirt, and Diego drove to one of the restaurants where we had made friends with the owner. He told us about an animal rescue centre that would take them, and we found the place easily. I know similar things happen in every country, but what kind of monster dumps tiny kittens in the middle of the road in the hope they will get run over? It made me sick.

Goa used to be a raging hippy, druggie, party destination, particularly in the 60’s and 70’s. There are still remnants of this today – skinny, white, bedraggled 60 something year old ex hippies dot the streets in some places, and I have never been offered so much hash in my life. On one of our day trips, we stumbled upon an old house in the jungle with a sign reading ‘deep trance, house, drum and base, international dj’s’ – it was a secret venue in the bush that hosts amazing parties in the summer months. Lonely Planet said that often mad trance parties are in secret locations so that they don’t get shut down. I vowed to come back to Goa for one new years – I get the feeling it would be pretty awesome!

India has been fascinating – both the good and the bad. The ugly experiences seem to have made the transcendental ones all the more arresting. Drinking salty Tibetan tea then chatting to monks in exile, marvelling at Arabian desert palaces and camels and snake charmers. Sunsets in Kashmir, listening to the 4am Muslim prayer call, sleeping in Ladakhi homestays, coming across disfigured beggars with piercing eyes. Saying silent prayers in crumbling Portuguese churches, sleeping with the Sikhs in the Golden Temple, riding on the backs of motorbikes through narrow hilly streets. Flying down the world’s highest road on a mountain bike and feeling the sting of fresh snow on my face. Climbing up to the roof of the world and being utterly enchanted by how close the top of a Himalayan mountain peak feels to heaven. All the perfect days, and the difficult ones too.

Every bleak moment in this country has been worth it for all those incredible places and smiles and spirits than would have been forever unknown if I hadn’t decided to travel to India to seek them out.

Tomorrow it’s back to where I caught the travel bug in the first place – magical, heartbreaking Nepal. I can’t wait to get to the orphanage where I worked and cuddle Bikram and the kids again.

Ciao!

Being Mistaken for a Hooker in Mumbai

alex21 — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 21:18:00 GMT

A couple of days into our stay in Mumbai I was waiting for Diego outside a shop when a greasy Indian man came up to me.

Avoiding eye contact, he said: “You and me make the good sex, yes? How much for the good sex?”

Brilliant. My first time being mistaken for a hooker happens in Mumbai, of all places. I gave the man a look that screamed that I was most definitely far too expensive for him and stomped off back to my hotel.

Mumbai is a riot of color, people, sounds and cultures. It’s busy but laid-back; poor but distinctly middle class, beautiful but smelly all at the same time. Decidedly more liberal than close-minded Delhi, I have loved being able to wear above-the-knee dresses and not be visually undressed by every Indian man on the street. Mumbai women are very on-trend and classy with their colorful, tailored clothes and signature black glossy manes of hair. It’s decidedly more expensive to eat, drink and stay here, but I think that might be down to my recent habit of seeking out European gelato ice cream and expensive Japanese restaurants. Yes, I feel like I have been cheating the backpacker’s lifestyle slightly for the last week, but since I lost practically half my body weight and burned my face off summiting Stok Kangri I have been able to rationalize to myself the way I have been living it up in this huge, cosmopolitan city.

We flew from Leh to Delhi after I decided I couldn’t handle the 4 day, 20km an hour jeep ride alternative. From Delhi we caught the Rajidhani Express night train south – and what an experience that was! Sleeping opposite to a sweet little Sikh family, we put up with bloody religious Sikh chanting all night played from tinny wee speakers. As if this wasn’t enough I slept above a man who would definitely be in the running for World’s Most Annoying Snorer. His three chins jiggled with every breath, and he slept with his mouth slightly open all night long. I know this because I lay in my bunk shooting daggers at him, silently thinking murderous thoughts. Oh yes, that train was definitely an experience, and what’s even more exciting is that I get to catch exactly the same one when I head back up to Delhi in two weeks! Oh, happy days.

Our stay in Mumbai has been rather wonderful. We booked into a gorgeous hotel because we felt we needed some TLC, and it has been one of the most indulgent experiences I have had in a long time. G&T’s by the pool, amazing food, workouts in their state of the art gym – bliss! I feel like we have really got to know the city in our time here.

Our hotel is on Marine Drive, right on the water. At night it’s known as the “queens necklace” as all the streetlights come on around the bay, like a pearl necklace. A couple of days ago we took a tour round Mumbai’s sights, which was eye-opening, to say the least! They included the “Indian Big Ben” – rather underwhelming, hanging gardens with a giant version of The Old Woman Who Lived in A Shoe boot, Malabar Hill with a view across Chowpatty Beach, the house where Ghandi used to live (so cool !!) and the Washing Laundry where over 50,000 people have their clothes hand washed everyday – just mind blowing. Along this tour we were confronted with some of the worst poverty and slums I have ever seen. Think Slumdog Millionaire, but so much worse. I still can’t get over seeing a massive slum, then right next door to it is a branch of McDonalds. If that doesn’t illustrate India’s gap between rich and poor, I really don’t know what does.

One rather uninspired idea of mine was to visit India’s only water park – Water Kingdom, about a 1.5hour taxi from central Mumbai. In my head I thought Wet N Wild, offering slides, pools and some lovely respite from the heat. However, I should have thought this through more. I couldn’t wear a bikini of course, so I wore some lycra running tights and a singlet. I think I could have worn a garbage bag and I still would have attracted some of the most lewd and suggestive stares and gestures that I have experienced in all of India. The water park would have been probably 80% men, and some tall white blonde chick was a definite novelty. I lasted about an hour before wanting to go back to the comfort of the hotel, with a rather more realistic view on what an Indian water park was actually like. Won’t be making that mistake again!

Tomorrow we are off on the overnight train down to Goa, an old hippy beach paradise. The Goan fish curries are rather famous in India, as are the Bang Lassis (no, I’m not going to describe what they are). I have a good book and I’m planning to chill out for the last two weeks of my Indian odyssey, before I head to Nepal to see Bikram and catch up with mum.

I’m rather sorry there are no death-defying summits or war zone stories in this blog, they are much more fun to write about and I’m sure make for much better reading!

Conquering 6153 meters

alex21 — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 10:39:00 GMT

11.6.11 The night before we leave

This mountain, she keeps winking at me. I’ll be sitting on a rooftop café, drinking Tibetan Tea, and I can feel her presence behind my back. I’ll be walking down the hill from my guesthouse & I’ll catch a glimpse of her summit, peeking flirtatiously above the treetops. Her name is Stok Kangri and she’s 6153m tall. She casts shadows over Leh, all snowy curves and jagged peaks. Tomorrow I will set out on an expedition to climb her.

Lured by an expedition sign looking for more climbers, we were ridiculously attracted to the prospect of our first summit. After reading numerous climbing books in Nepal, and freaking Mum out by telling her I’d one day love to climb Everest ,I’ve been a little bit spellbound by the peaks of the Himalayas. The highest in the Stok range of mountains, Stok Kangri is an extreme altitude but not overly technical climb. It take 2 days to climb up to base camp then an overnight, pitch black attempt on the summit. I’m regretting all the beer and pizza I have consumed in the past month and I’m hoping my body remembers some of the fitness I once worked so hard for!

12.6.11 Day 1, 1700 hours

I’ve got a wee bit of a headache, and my legs feel rather heavy. Today we climbed over 1km into the sky. Closer to Stok Kangri, I can better make out her ridges and her angles, and she seems to loom larger than ever. Along the trek this morning I kept on seeking her summit with my eyes – snow capped and glistening in the sun’s rays, reminding me of how far I have to go.

This afternoon we pitched tents on a flat, rocky outcrop next to a fast-flowing river. This is camp one, about 4100m high. When a climber is working with altitude they must ascent slowly to let their body get used to dealing with less and less oxygen. Stok Kangri’s 6153m has one third of the oxygen found at sea level . Altitude sickness can strike at random, and it is more common for people who have been brought up at lower altitudes. Born and bred by the beach, this was definitely a large concern of mine.

13.6.11 Base Camp 1400 hours

The oxygen-starved air at 5000m is amazing – clear, cold, sparkling. We walked 3 hours this morning, through snow and ice cold rivers, to reach Base Camp. It was a rather steep climb and we ascended a further 1km into the sky. Base Camp itself is a barren, flat outcrop sandwiched between two snow capped slopes. Raul, our Ladakhi guide, pointed out the beginning of our route to the summit – a 700m ridge that’s about a 80 degree slope. I’m preparing myself to have to dig pretty deep to make it! There are two expeditions attempting the climb tonight, myself and Diego and also a party of 5 Israeli men.

I’m enjoying the deep peace of the outdoors more and more. When we arrived at Base Camp I spent half an hour with our Pony Man tying prayer flags to bamboo sticks to string above our tents. These ward off evil spirits and bring good luck for the climb.

So far I’m coping with the altitude remarkably well. One of the main affects it seems to have on me is bad diarrhea - everything I eat goes right through me. This is due to the fact that digestion demands a lot of oxygen, which is not available at 5000 + meters, so my body refuses to digest anything at all. I’m suffering from really bad indigestion too, so it’s becoming almost impossible for me to eat anything. I’m so nervous – scared of the pain, and questioning whether I can actually do this.

13.6.11 Base Camp 2330 hours

Our guide has just woken us up. It’s pitch black outside and minus zero – the wind flies off the mountain snow in great, bone-chilling gusts. We scramble for our climbing gear, shrugging on 4 layers and then lacing up the uncomfortable snow boots. I chug down two cups of hot, sweet coffee. I feel like I’m dreaming.

We start the climb to the ridge. Diego is having a hard time with the altitude – he’s sick, breathless and a little delirious. At the top of the ridge he decides to go back. Now it’s just me and the two Ladakhi guides, but the Israeli’s are hot on our heels. After the ridge we make our way along the ice-covered side of one of the smaller slopes. Raul slips in the darkness, plummeting about 300m down the icy slope. I panic – if our experienced guide can’t do this, I don’t have a hope in hell! Raul laboriously climbs back up the ice, and insists we put our crampons on our shoes now. Crampons are spikes attached to the underside of the soles, and they make clinging on to the side of mountains a hell of a lot easier. After 3 hours, we finish the slope and stumble on to the glacier.

Because it is June, the thin ice has begun to melt and we have to cross this part of the mountain fast – no stopping. This freaks me out a bit, it’s dark and I can hardly see where I’m going, but I pump it and don’t break for over an hour. Now we’re at the base of the final slope. I can see the summit – it’s beautiful; tantalizing; and so inspiring. By now the sun is casting shadows of light into the sky, basking the slopes of snow in a golden haze. I can’t recall ever seeing anything quite so beautiful.

2 hours later and we are halfway up the summit ridge. One of the Israeli guys has given up already. I trick my body by counting my steps – two hundred steps for every rest. It helps me forget the pain. I can’t remember my lungs ever burning this much. We make it to the very top ridge. We’re so close. Raul fixes ropes to the rocky outcrops and I dangle precariously over bottomless drops while I climb. I can’t feel my fingers, my toes are numb. More rocky outcrops. The summit is so close I can almost touch it! I see the rest of the Israeli group turn back below. Now it’s just me and the two guides.

A final, soul-destroying climb with ice axes up a 90 degree ice ridge. I can’t make myself look down. Finally! We make it! It’s the roof of the world – I can even see the top of K2 all the way in Pakistan. It’s absolutely beautiful, magical, breathtaking. I sit on the summit grinning like a madwoman for ages before Raul suggests getting the camera out. We take heaps of photos and tie prayer flags to sticks as an offering to the mountain gods. Then we do a small chant, kindly asking the powers that be to help us climb down safely.

The way down is terrifying. I’m so exhausted it’s hard to keep my eyes open. It took us 9 hours in total to make the summit and I have nothing left. I’m so thirsty but the water in my drink bottle is frozen. We scamper down snow, ice, rocks. I slip and fall countless times. I whimper, cry, I sound nothing like an athlete. We make it over the glacier and onto the ice. I slip again, falling all the way to the bottom of the slope. I gather myself and climb up with my ice axe. I’m so cold, so exhausted. Finally we make it over the ridge and I can see base camp. I stumble, shivering and muttering to myself, down the steep hill. Everyone in camp comes out clapping, shaking my hand. I’m completely numb, I seek the comfort of my tent, take off my gear and fall into a dreamless sleeping bag slumber.

15.6.11 The day after

I wake up the next day with a fever, vomiting, sunburn, diarrhea, frost nip on my fingers and toes and muscle aches so bad I can hardly sit up. But I did it – I climbed Stok Kangri, the only person and the only girl within two expeditions to do so. No matter how much pain I’m in, nothing can wipe the grin off my face! Although, I’m a little bit concerned – as I lie here, unmoving in my tent, I’m already thinking of more summits. I know I heard of another 6800 meter peak that’s close to Leh.

This mountain climbing business – it’s bloody addictive!

10 tips on travelling in North India

alex21 — Thu, 9 Jun 2011 14:48:00 GMT

1. When the driver tells you it will be a 12 hour journey, he means at least 30. Double, even triple predicted driving times and you might get close to the time it will actually take you to get there.

2. Embrace altitude farts. It is difficult, however, to get the rest of the people sharing your transport to embrace them quite as much.

3. If you suspect you have worms, don't embark on long distance, isolated road travel. Trust me on this one.

4. The best scenery - snow capped mountains, glaciers and amazing views - generally mean the worst roads imaginable. Be warned, some of the potholes are the size of Australia.

5. Make sure you love tea. Or at least pretend to like it, coz your driver will make tea stops several times per hour.

6. Don't expect to get any sleep. At all. Between the potholes and the blind corners, it's rather hard to nod off and get comfy. Oh, and if a friend offers you sleeping pills - TAKE THEM. Don't even think twice.

7. Prepare yourself for squat toilets overflowing with half frozen poo. I find myself wishing I had a willy at least a dozen times every day.

8. Learn to enjoy Hindi music. The screechy, air drum hurting kind. Your driver will play the same CD several times during your journey. Hell, even try to sing along and learn the words - it will make the time go a lot faster.

9. Read all the Indian road signs. My personal favourites are "Bro, if you are married, divorce the speed" and "Bro, drinking the whiskey makes the driving risky!"

10. If you, or anybody else you are travelling with has long blonde hair, get them to wear it loose and flick it around a bit at military checkpoints. It just makes for a more efficient, easier trip. However, if a creepy soldier who hasn't seen a woman in months enquires about the marriage status of said blonde chick, help her in convincing him that she has a big, burly devoted husband back home in New Zealand.

Trekking in Leh

This morning, I woke up in the mountains, had fizzy, fermented yak curd for breakfast, almost killed myself climbing a 4000m pass then finished the day with a private tour from a chubby-cheeked monk round a centuries-old monastery. It's the last night of our first trek in the Himalayas, and i'm more in love with travelling than ever.

Our houseboat in Srinigar was a refreshing respite from the chaos of India. Treated like royalty, we ate incredible Kashmiri food and were waited on hand and foot by our Indian man servant (feel rather uncomfortable using that word!) We slept late everyday, toured ancient Mughal gardens and had boat rides atop of mirror-flat lakes. It definitely wasn't a backpacker's lifestyle!

The visibility of the famous Kashmir conflict was limited to high military presence pretty much everywhere we went. There were numerous checkpoints and security stops, and, rather disturbingly, graffiti on public walls reading "GO INDIA GO BACK". Our Muslim guide informed us that most Kashmiris wanted their state to be independent from both Indian and Pakistan rule. I didn't feel threatened or scared at any point (unlike bloody Jammu!) rather simply a little wary of being around so many men with guns. We left Srinigar, well rested about about 5kg heavier, after 3 nights on the houseboat.

Early in the morning we hopped in a Jeep bound for Leh - a gorgeous mountain town close to India's border with China. The driver told us to expect about a 12 hour journey, so we settled in with fully-charged ipods and plenty of chocolate. However, about 2 hours into the drive, we had to stop because a military convoy was blocking the 1 way road. We parked up for a mind-numbingly boring 8 hour stop in a deserted field. A couple we were sharing our Jeep with said that you need 3 qualities to travel in 3rd world countries - patience, tolerance and flexibility, none of which I would say were my strong points!

31 hours later, and after some of the most beautiful and mind-boggling mountain scenery I had ever seen, we pulled into Leh.

The Ladakhi scenery is very Tibetan, prayer flags are on every high point, and the architecture is quintessentially Chinese. The people, too, don't look very Indian at all, and even speak their own language that resembles Tibetan more than Hindi. It's a barren, beautiful land where desert-like plains are shadowed by towering, snow-dusted peaks and ruins of ancient empires are strewn everywhere. We immediately committed to a 3 night, 4 day short trek to get a taste for the mountains and go a bit intrepid.

Being brought up in sea-level Auckland, my climbing at altitude experience was naught. Sucking in thin, oxygen starved air, my breathing on the fist day resemble that of an overweight couch potato. Each day it has got a little better and I felt strong and fit scaling today's passes. We have been staying in local Ladakhi home stays and eating home cooked food, which has been a fantastic way to learn about this fascinating, isolated culture. I have also fallen in love with a few Ladakhi babies on the way, and have fleetingly considered marrying a local guy in order to spawn some of the super cute offspring myself (just joking Mum and Dad).

Tomorrow we get back to civilisation and I can't wait to wash off 4 days of accumulated sweat, dust and filth! We have our sights set on completing an 8-day tented climb over 7000m passes and up to mountain lakes in the clouds. First priority, however, will be a beer and a pizza back in Leh.

Welcome to the war zone, girls

alex21 — Thu, 2 Jun 2011 20:02:00 GMT

After the border between Himachal Pradesh and Jammu/Kashmir, military presence increased noticably. Driving into Jammu, a huge army sign proclaimed:

"Jammu - a nation's pride, a neighbour's envy", referring to both Pakistan and China wanting the territory.

Diego then turns in his seat and says to Aisling and I; "Welcome to the war zone, girls!" Brilliant.

We had decided to head up to Kashmir after talking to a few people in Delhi and doing a bit of research of our own. The Indian Kashmir-Pakistan border was proclaimed by TIME magazing as the world's most dangerous. Three countries claim this land - India, Pakistan and China, which has resulted in thousands of bloody deaths and terrorist attacks. However, we know that chances were we would never be up this way again, and when we heard that relations had improved markedly from last year we thought 'What the hell' and embarked on our journey north to India's paradise on earth.

Prying ourselves away from the Tibetan tourist mecca of Mcleod Ganj was difficult to say the least, as we pulled away in our taxi I could only hope that one say I would return. On our way north to Srinigar we had planned a night in Jammu to break the 13 hour trip. We arrived in Jammu, Kashmir's capital, at about 5pm and immediately tried to find somewhere to stay. Jammu, quite literally, felt like a war zone. Soldiers made their presence felt everywhere, strutting around with AK47's with cocky swaggers and leery stares. A horrible, busy, dirty town, we tried 5 different hotels till we found one that would take us. It felt like we were being turned away because we were westerners - people took 1 look at us and shook their heads, even though we could see the keys to empty rooms hanging on hooks on the walls.

The hotel that would let us stay was absolutely disgusting. Walls covered in piss and brown stains, thin curtains, broken windows. Cockroach-infested squat toilets, bed brown with dirt and a suicide note scribbled on the wall, I had never stayed somewhere so repulsive. We had to take it because it was getting dark and we didn't fancy walking the streets of a muslim war-zone at night. After checking in, we found a clean (ish) fast-food restaurant round the corner, where we tried to make pizza and pepsi last as long as possible until we saw a rat the size of a cat scurrying along the rafters above our heads.

Horrified, we fled back to our cesspit of a motel, got into our sleeping bag liners fully clothes and settled into what was to be a terrifying night. Ripped curtains flapping under the wind of the fan meant that freaky Kashmiri men would walk past deliberately to stop and stare in the windows at us. The room next door was having some sort of loud, mens-only gathering, and my overactive imagination had me convinced that it was a terrorist ralley. Mosquitoes and moths divebombed me all night, and rickety trucks rattled past on the potholed roads (I thought they were army tanks). Sweaty and terrified, I got about 10 minutes of sleep the entire night.

As soon as our 4am alarm clock went off, we packed in a flash and almost trampled over each other in a rush to get out of the motel. The jeep taking us north to Srinigar was waiting (thank god!) and we hopped in, locked our doors, and said a little prayer of thanks as we drove out of the hellhole that is Jammu.

Our ordeal was not quite over. Our driver, young and cocky, was bent on getting to Srinigar as quickly as possible. We drifted around corners, tyres screeching, above 300ft drops into the valley below. He passed slow trucks on blind corners, missing oncoming cars by what felt like cm's. Had we survived our Jammu ordeal only to fall to our deaths when our crazy driver loses control? There were times when I honestly thought we were going to die.

The scenery during the drive, however, was exquisite; towering snow capped mountains stood guard over lush green valleys and ice-blue rivers rushed over boulders and pebbles. We got caught in a traffic jam in a small muslim village, caused by lots of men with flags and megaphone celebrating some political victory. By this time, the only thing I wanted was to get to Srinigar safely.

Two hours later we arrived. Women in burka's scurried through tree-lined streets and a wide, flat, rowing-worth river snaked alongside the old town. We drove through backstreets and were taken through a beautiful garden to our old school houseboat. It was absolutely stunning. A short Kashmiri butler waited for us and guided us to huge rooms with private bathrooms and baths. Everything was made out of Oak, and a huge dining room and lounge backed on to a private balcony overhanging the water - all on a beautiful, calm lake that mirrored the snow capped mountains above. After our ordeal, it seemed we had finally found paradise!

When experience and pleasure and pain are at their most raw it is impossible to be distracted from being alive. Yes, it was a dangerous and terrifying journey, but what a ride! What an adventure.

Momos and Mountains

alex21 — Mon, 30 May 2011 13:24:00 GMT

Yesterday I learnt that the word Nepali guys use to call a girl "ugly" is the same word as "tall". Brilliant!

After a wonderfully enjoyable week of jasmine tea, tibetan history, monks and dumplings, I am forcing myself to leave McLeod Ganj. I can see myself getting far too comfortable here and spending a couple of months eating good food and trekking the canadian-esque mountains that tower behind the hilly town. If that happens, I wouldn't be able to fit in the rest of India before my visa expires!

The temperature here hovers around 20 degrees, which is rather refreshing after my time in the desert. We have spent a lot of time at the temple which also has a comprehensive Tibetan museum inside. I never realized the extent of the horrors and control the Tibetan people have had to put up with since the invasion - political prisoners tortured and imprisoned for 10-15 years because they took part in a peaceful "Free Tibet" demonstration. It's one thing for a government to tell you what to do, but an entirely different concept when they dictate what you can believe in - even mentioning the name "Dalai Llama" in Tibet is a crime. Even today, thousands of political prisoners are still locked up in Chinese jails. It's beautiful that the Tibetan beliefs still shines through under chinese rule - there is no violence or malice, instead it's all peaceful demonstrations and positive "Free Tibet" thinking. Not sure if I would be able to be so compassionate after everything they have been put through.

I have met heaps of awesome people here, it is peak season so the town is packed with western tourists/hippies. We have gone on a few treks up to the mountains which have had amazing views - I love it when the fog clears to reveal snow capped peaks so close you could almost touch them.

Today its off to Jammu, capital of Kashmir, to sleep in cheap dorms with Indian pilgrims. Tomorrow I will head to Srinigar to stay in a houseboat on one of their gorgeous lakes. It's meant to be India's "Little Switzerland". I'm enjoying north india a lot more than the Delhi area!

Among the clouds

alex21 — Wed, 25 May 2011 14:12:00 GMT

I'm in love with McLeod Ganj.

The Dalai Llama's town and the sanctuary that Tibetan refugees have fled to since the war, McLeod Ganj sits high among the clouds under towering Himalayan peaks. It's all pine trees, steep narrow roads and gorgeous wee Tibetan cafe's, and it also has an air of sadness about it. I can't help noticing the "Free Tibet" signs posted around the place. There's heaps of short-term volunteering opportunities dotted around the place, and one that caught my eye was teaching casual english to women refugees who have recently fled their homeland. I'm going to check it out later today. I can see myself spending weeks here, going on hikes around the mountains and taking classes on tibetan cooking and buddhism!! uh oh...

To catch up on the last few days, Varanasi was chaotic and hot, but still beautiful. You can't help but feel how important this city is spiritually to the Indian people, and this is reflected in the labyrinth of temples and religious men. We took a boat ride along the ganges and saw people burning bodies by the side of the river. I was grateful for the breeze that carried any scary smells away.

From Varanasi we headed back to Delhi for a night, and I got accosted my a crazy spiritual fortune teller, who yelled "Your mother's name is Robyn and your favourite colour is yellow" from across the street. Intrigued, and a little bit freaked out, I sat down for a chai and a chat with him. Stoking his white whiskers and wobbling his head as he spoke, he told me that my spirit is the "same-same" as my mother's and that I have come to India to find freedom and clarity. He said that I am on a long road of self-discovery, that from November I will peace, and that I have a good heart. I was pretty stoked with my first Indian spiritual experience, and it only cost me NZ $6.50!

Early the next morning we caught the bus up to Amristar, home of the Golden Temple and the Sikh relgion. The golden temple is the equivalent of Mecca for the Sikhs, and is a huge white-marble place with a floating golden palace in the middle. Its breathtaking, and it was interesting to learn about some of the Sikh religion while I was there. The Sikhs believe that everybody is equal, and it is a very open, welcoming religion. Seeing the temple is free, as is food - they have a massive kitchen where they feed 100,000 people 24 hours everyday. They also have free dorm rooms for anybody who wants to stay, which are basic but clean. We stayed in the dorm rooms with other religious pilgrims, and it was amazing! We gave a donation in the end to show how much we appreciated their hospitality. Now i'm on the hunt for a book explaining more of their religion. Not that i'm becoming a Sikh or anything, I just think there's a lot of cool morals and principals embedded in the way they live.

Well, i'm off for a coffee and a walk around...the temperature here is in the low 20's, and it's so refreshing to walk the streets and not be covered in sweat! Hopefully will get to see the Dalai Llama in the next few days.

Sandstorms, sleeper class and sleazy men

alex21 — Fri, 20 May 2011 22:46:00 GMT

Over the last few days the temperature has soared to a blistering 49 degrees, sapping my energy and my appetite. It's been hard enough to stay hydrated, let alone to work up the need to eat anything! We have farewelled Rajisthan and the tigers and headed east, to Agra and Varanasi. Agra has some freaky, apocalypse-style weather - blistering sun, monsoon rains and sandstorms, all in 1 evening! The Taj Mahal was everything I expected, and more - towering above the chaotic Indian landscape with grace and femininity. It's all beautiful symmetry and intricate detailing and you really get the feeling it was built to represent an enduring and eternal love.

The Indian men seem to be more and more fascinated by me everyday, sometimes getting to the point where it is downright rude. A typical conversation goes like this:

Creepy Man: "Where you from?" while rearranging himself on top of his crotch

Me: "New Zealand"

Creepy Man: "Do you have a husband?" at this point he's reaching down his pants

Me: "No. I'm very young, and being married isn't as important in New Zealand"

Creepy Man: Steps closer. He smells like wees. "You are very nice looking. Nice white-skin. You would make the nice pale babies" now he's having a full on, fervant scratch of his bits

Me: "Um, thank you, I guess. Oh, look, heres my train! Nice to meet you!"

I can normally cope with it, but on particularly hot, chaotic days where I havent a wink slept because of the mice in my room, I tend to flick them the birdie and a nasty glare before they start up a conversation.

I caught the night train from Agra to Delhi last night, and opted to book the cheapest class possible - Sleeper Class. I reasoned by telling myself that this is an adventure, I am young and how bad could a 13 hour train ride possibly be? Well, my carriage smelt like poos and curry, the man opposite my bed enjoyed watching me sleep, and I had to haul my big pack up to my bunk and spoon it so that it wouldn't get stolen. Despite all this, I actually had a rather solid sleep! For the last few nights we have been staying in shitty monkey-infested hostels with no AC so I think the motion of the train combined with the fresh air coming in through the open windows lulled me to sleep. Although, I must admit, it is rather difficult to close your eyes when you know the man across the aisle will be staring at you all night long.

Tomorrow I am all set to explore Varanasi, India's most holy city - this is where people bring their dead loved ones to burn them over the river Ganges. I have heard the stink of human flesh is rather overpowering at the moment because of the heat, so i'm going to take a cloth to cover my nose and mouth. Should be interesting. Will keep you posted!

Arabian Nights (and days) in Jaipur

alex21 — Sat, 14 May 2011 18:17:00 GMT

India's "City of Victory" smells like dust, curry and wees, and it's utterly gorgeous. Jaipur, capital of Rajisthan, is full of remnants of a rich and romantic past. Over 100 years ago the reigning Maharaja had the whole city painted pink - the color of hospitality - to welcom the then Prince of Wales. As a result, the entire old city is a blur of the rosy hue. Its very, very cute, and I feel like I have stepped back in time.

The main attraction of this city is the Amber Fort. A desert palace, it's majestic and awe-inspiring, rising out of the dry desert like a scene out of Arabian nights. Theres snake charmers, camels and middle-eastern live music, all shimmering and sweating under the 45 degree heat. This could easily be Egypt, but it's definitley nothing like New Zealand, and I have never felt so far from home. I was so enchanted by this Indian Aladdin's palace that I spent a whole 20 minutes just sitting in the heat and gazing at it. I have uploaded some photos with this blog as it's impossible to do this place justice with words!

India's extremes are endlessley confronting. The beggars, the heat, the colors, the smells. You can almost feel the ebb and flow of the lives of a billion people and it's an absolute assault on the senses. I'm so suprised by how safe I feel here - there's leery men, but I don't feel at all threatened by them. I want to wink at one while he's looking at me just to see what they do! I think half the time they are more scared of this huge blonde white woman than I am of them.

My feelings about the Muslim faith are also changing. The driver who we hired to take us to the amber fort was Muslim, and he was entirely lovely, friendly and chatty. Today we went with him to his cousin's shop where we had tea and a big chat. He is upset that the muslim extremists have given his faith a bad name all over the world. Hanging out with him has made me almost embarassed about my previous fear of the muslim people - they too are human and only very few are extremeists. I love that my perception of different faiths is changing as a result of being in India.

Yesterday we visited a tailor where I had a light, Indian-style colorful dress made. It makes me feel like a blonde Princess Jasmine.

Tomorrow we are off to Ranthambhore National Park, to spot some wild tigers in the Jungle and sleep under the stars!

I'm melting

alex21 — Thu, 12 May 2011 01:04:00 GMT

From Delhi airport to Paharganj, I have never sweated so much in my life. Likening the 40 degree heat to a sauna does not come close to doing it justice. This was a fry-an-egg on the pavement, sweat-through-your bra kind of temperature.I'm sure I perspired less when I ran a half marathon in the height of the NZ summer.

Nevertheless, I was pretty proud to have actually made it to India. I was slightly worried that I might chicken out during my tearful goodbye to mum at the airport and not actually hop on the plane, so I gave myself a little personal pat on the back when we landed. Getting a taxi was disappointingly uneventful, as was the drive through the traffic-clogged and smoggy Delhi streets.

To describe the first room I was shown as cell-like is being complementary. A 2x2 windowless box didn't hold much appeal after my 16 hour plane trip, so I agreed to take the marginally larger air conditioned room down the hall. I pursued the "Yes Please" hostel after reading great reviews in Lonely Planet. However, I'm pretty sure I have the wrong place, as the decor and size of the room make it more of a "No Thanks" type of place. It will do for a night!

Today I found myself wishing I had that olivey, perma-tanned skin of the experienced backpacker. It seems to stand up attractively well in the oppressive Indian heat. Instead, all of today I had constantly blotchy, sweaty, rosy cheeks. I think I will blame that on my lovely ginger-haired grandfather - thanks, Gaga.

One thing that really shocked me today was locking eyes with a young women with a horrifically scarred face. Holding a baby in her arms, I couldn't help but get angry about the barbaric practice of acid attacks. These are common practice in India, and occur from the husband's family to punish the bride for petty misdemeanors or to gain a higher dowry.

Tomorrow i'm off to Jaipur, capital of India's desert state Rajisthan. With India under my feet and adventure ahead of me, I'm feeling pretty bloody happy to be alive right now!

Photos: General

alex21 — Mon, 9 May 2011 10:46:00 GMT

Holy Cow - leaving tomorrow!

alex21 — Mon, 9 May 2011 10:20:00 GMT

Today i'm wondering what made me choose to leave New Zealand in the first place.

When I deferred university, got a waitressing job and announced on Facebook that I had just purchased a 1 way ticket to the poorest, busiest and most unhygenic city in the world, I don't think I truly understood the repercussions of my choice. Frankly, veering off the path of school-uni-successful job isn't part of my cultural paradigm, and I think I shocked my mother with the pace in which I changed the course of my life. To me, it was a spontaneous, exciting decision, to her, it was rather rushed and impulsive. After having visited Nepal in February I had well and truly caught the travel bug, and no amount of study, partying or hot showers could endear me to stay in New Zealand. With an optimism and excitement only a naiive 21 year old could possess, I have gone about selling up my worldly possessions - goodbye car, goodbye bike, goodbye 5 year old ball dress. Combine this with a waitressing job and I have managed to scrape together enough to dive head first into the life of a backpacker.

After weeks of goodbye lunches/barbeques and parties with friends, tearful conversations with mum and generally just putting my entire New Zealand life on hold, I am ready to fly off into the sunset. Am I scared shitless? Absolutely. Positive i'm making the right choice? Not completely. Am I ridiculously excited about starting the adventure of a lifetime? You bet.

Tomorrow night I will fly one way to New Delhi, India: stay tuned to my travel blog for lots of interesting, shocking and downright funny tales of my travels through one of the most chaotic countries in the world.