Away2Travel

Finding Silence in India

away2travel — Tue, 18 Nov 2014 09:13:11 GMT

Infectiously curious, resilient, ambitious, colorfully tolerant and passionately stubborn. I am Tarynne Mingione. Once I settled into a career as a dietitian, a serious relationship and played housewife. I quickly admitted I wanted the opposite. I wanted to revisit a burning desire to play, to explore. Like a child. To experiment, laugh that contagious unguarded laughter, learn, unlearn, get a few scars, make embarrassing mistakes, work on humility and reshape reality. So I did. A oneway ticket enabled me to start a serious relationship with my camera. My appropriately named Rebel covered every inch I did as I made my trip around the world. I loved her company and the constantly renewed enthusiasm each time I picked her up. My images transformed over those 17 months using the world as my classroom.
Why me? Because I will recycle that rejuvenating enthusiasm into this project. I genuinely believe that borrowing such a talented photo journalist such as Jason Edwards provides the opportunity to do exactly what this scholarship can- manicure that powerful childlike curiosity and creativity into a mature, refined photographer that can be introduced to the professional world.

Accidentally Around the World

away2travel — Fri, 2 May 2014 18:55:44 GMT

The sky has just sprung a leak and the contents of some seriously congested clouds have all departed at the same time.
Wondering where the billions of spheres of water can possibly be coming from has me ironically answering your same question – how did I end up here?
For this type-A, mature beyond her years young lady, it’s still surprising for me to admit my own story.
Sixteen months ago I resigned from relationships and a career as a clinical dietitian to travel. The home I spent countless weekends transforming into ‘mine’ was unemotionally exchanged for a steel five foot storage unit.

I ended up here after traveling overland from Cape Town to Kabale. Along the way I dove with sharks, camped in the bush, traversed canyons, explored deltas, nearly got stepped on by an elephant, swam atop Victoria Falls, met click-speaking bush tribes, had my kneecaps brushed by a mountain gorilla, hugged kids in Malawi I never wanted to let go of, witnessed lions kill and slept under the stars on top of boulders.

It was in Tanzania that I realized I had poorly planned my time and neglected to give the tallest freestanding mountain in the world the attention it deserved. At 19,341 feet, Kilimanjaro was my last stop in Africa.

With no other choice, in just 31 hours I was standing on top of the highest peak in Africa staring at the indifferent signpost congratulating me. If I want something, I go get it, and Uhuru Peak was no exception.
I refined my palate for gelato in Italy, pedaled around Prague, danced at a Scottish wedding and reset my visa over a summer in Ireland.
In Spain I developed a crush on Gaudi and hiked through gypsy hills.
I skated across calcium terraces in Pamukkale and saw for myself why foreigners should avoid Taksim Square on NYE.
The Burj Khalifa and the Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi left me absolutely speechless.
In India I lost my mind, digestive health, sanity and temper. Three months and a Delhi exit stamp later, I was spit out more alive, elated, in love and open-minded than ever before. I recovered from Delhi belhi in Kuala Lumpur and saw orangutans in Borneo. A few Thai massages later and I am sitting on a spring-roll stand in Luang Prabang, finding shelter from the rain while recapping and ridiculously grinning as I answer your question. While I just provided an animated itinerary, the basic answer to your question is that a lot of determination, a pinch of street smarts, guts, a good attitude and a flexible sense of humor got me here.

60 Seconds in India

away2travel — Thu, 1 May 2014 12:26:00 GMT

A white-bearded sweet old man with a genuine heart
An elephant walking down a highway
19 people crammed into a single rickshaw
An old man pushing his pedal bike uphill
An entire family that thinks a white person is a zoo animal
4 religions living in harmony
Hundreds of shops selling things for which there is no purpose
More colors than you can find in the color wheel
12 people piled into a storefront buying shoes
Cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, rickshaws, pedal bikes and pedestrians all sharing the same tiny bit of road
People moving effortlessly around each other like bubbles in a beer glass
6 people on a pedal-bike driven by a man in his 60s
A dog with a third eye
A dog with no eyes at all
A cripple crossing traffic on all fours
2 cows blocking the road, uninterested in the idea of moving
Women with infants begging
A 12 year old kid that owns a shop
Hundreds of chapattis being flipped
Lassi bowls being washed on the ground
Half a dozen kids ecstatic about the half-suitcase they found to play with
A handful of kids you thought were too young to be interested in you because you’re white
Someone’s whites hanging out to dry
A few ox that are far too intimidating to ask to move
Kids preoccupied in a street game of cricket
Painted signs covering every vertical opportunity
Locals selling fake things claiming they are real
An untouchable
A grown man taking a poop
Someone begging for your business
A donkey
A horse
A camel
Yes, a camel
Dads with little kids piled on the front of their motorbike
Shopowners sweeping
Monkeys monkeying
Monkeys tapping into the clean water supply
Postcards that look like they were printed in the 80s
Piles and piles of garbage
Pigs enjoying the garbage
A man taking a nap on his bike
A skilled rickshaw driver maneuvering through the crazy streets
A grinning man that just made his first “lucky” sale of the day
Every other person drinking chai
A cow scratching the inside of his ear with the handlebars of a motorbike
An already overfull bus with a conductor hanging out the side shouting loudly inviting more
A goat stealing her share of the fresh fruit that was going to be your breakfast
Probably still will be
A few men peeing
Women going nowhere special wearing the most elaborate, sparkling, colorful sari you have ever seen
Young boys holding hands
Shopowners standing around watching the world go by, just like me
Newspapers floating through the air
Tattered kites in the distance
A fresh litter of puppies excitedly trying to hunt down mom
Endless amounts of used plastic bottles littering the streets
Cow poop. Cow poop. Cow poop.
Human poop. Human poop. Human poop. No way. More human poop.
The gaze of someone whose life you will never come close to understanding.

The gaze of someone who reminds you, this is real life.

Not just 60 seconds.

Block Printing in India

away2travel — Sun, 20 Apr 2014 13:20:00 GMT

Block Printing

Posted on March 24, 2014 by Tarynne Mingione

Friday, March 14, 2014

Yeah sure, I love calling a tent home, having my nails be painted only with dirt, and I’m okay admitting that I am still carrying around the tube of foundation that was already half-empty when I left home a year ago…but sometimes, just sometimes, I really really miss reading Martha Stewart magazines, perfume or planting far too many seeds in the vegetable garden.

The truth is, this travel thing has completely squashed the crafty female in me.

Well, I had some big plans in Jaipur to fix that.

I signed up for a block-printing workshop in Bagru. Bagru is a city 30 km outside of Jaipur, and is known for its use of vegetable dyes and block printing.

I imagined I would be whisked away in the morning, spend a day drinking tea and taking ridiculous amounts of time creating chaotically organized patterns and getting happily lost in ink and fabrics, only to return home to James refreshed and ready to roll for the next few months.

The first portion of the morning was spent learning about natural vegetable dyes. These dyes have been used for centuries, with some of India’s most sacred and oldest texts referring to these dyes.

Since the 19th century and the introduction of synthetic dyes, the use of natural vegetable dyes is steadily declining. I’d compare this to organic and conventional foods – of course the natural vegetable dyes are more expensive and more difficult to use than their chemical counterparts. Everyone likes easier and cheaper, so go figure that natural dyes are on their way out.

Bagru is one of the areas in Rajasthan that continues to use natural dyes.

I had signed up for a one-day Block Printing Workshop, which meant I would learn about all of the steps and processes involved to make final block printed pieces.

The Steps of Block Printing

1. WASHING

Gujrat and Maharashtra are two states in India that produce lots of cotton and have an abundance of weaving mills. Punjab and Hariyana also produce cotton, but there is an absence of mills there. I also learned that rice starch is used in the weaving process to strengthen fibers. Gluten-free cotton, now that’s my style! Kidding – if I see this on the market one day I am going to lose my mind.

The artisan I was learning from revealed that cottons used to be washed in cow dung mixed in cold water and were left to soak in that yummy mixture for 48 hours to remove impurities naturally present in cotton. After two days, the fabrics were removed and washed on stones. The final product was clean white, linen-fresh cottons ready for the next step!

Although there is an abundance of cow dung scattered in the streets and I wanted to suggest they put it to good use, I remained silent as I was told about the present day washing process.

Ten liters of cold water, 100 mg caustic soda and one liter of acid slurry are combined to make liquid soap that is used to wash freshly woven cottons. That much soap will wash 1000 meters of fabrics. After soaking 10-12 hours in this soap mixture, the fabrics are removed and ready for the priming steps of block printing!!!

2. HARDA DYING

Harda is black myrobalan seed powder, prepared from the harda fruit. This harda powder is a natural mordant, which means it is used to fix a dye to fibers. It also improves the take up quality of the fiber and helps improve color and light fastness.

I am not exactly familiar with the harda fruit, but I could see the powder was a yellow color and I was told it would be used for dying cotton fiber base fabrics, such as the one I would be using.

News to me, my old home Goa is a major producing center for this little fruit. I know you don’t care, but I was curious how much all of these “ingredients” cost. For just 30 rupees you could get one kilogram of dried harda powder, which would dye 50 meters of fabric.

I went outside and watched as my two pieces of clean white cotton were soaked in the harda for 2 minutes before being twisted dry.

3. DRYING

The now yellow tinted cotton pieces were laid on the dirt ground and left to dry in the sunshine for nearly an hour.

I was told that after harda dipping, the items must be laid on a flat surface rather than hung to dry because the harda will shift downward with gravity, resulting in poor mordant functions and having dye stick variably to the piece.

4. PRINTING

The evenly dried pieces come inside to the printing room. Traditionally printing tables were 2×3 feet and just 1 foot above the ground, but presently these tables look like a sweet family style Pottery Barn dining room table dream come true. The tables are covered with 22-26 layers of hessian cloths and then covered with three to four layers of old fabric (acharas), which are changed with every new piece that is being printed.

Wooden blocks are created using tiny tools and are all sketched and chiseled out by hand. These blocks are what are dipped into thick dyes and then create beautiful designs on the cotton pieces.

Small pins and an extra set of hands helped me pin my pieces onto the tables.

I selected my colors; my options were black, red, brown or multicolor (black and red mix). So I selected black and red for one piece and just black (and white) for the other. I’ve seen too much brown in India, I definitely don’t want it on my about-to-be-new scarves.

The Natural Dyes Come to Life As Follows:

Black:

The black dye is made from black horseshoe nails. The owner of the horse collects the horse clips, washes them and dry brushes them to remove dirt. The clips are burned over a fire for 5-10 hours.

About 30 kilograms of horseshoes (50 rupees for 1 kg) are added to 50 liters of water and 2 kilos of jaggery (juice of sugar cane).

Due to my obsession with kombucha culturing, I could easily understand the chefs notes here. Depending on the time of year, this recipe varies slightly. In the summer only 1 1/2 kilos of jaggery is used since temperatures are much higher so fermentation happens more quickly, about 10-15 days. In the winter, 2 kilograms of jaggery is used and fermentation takes about 20-25 days.

The fixing agent for black dye is tamarind seed powder. Tamarind is a sweet, soft, tasty flower that is oftentimes used for preparing curry sauce and gravy in Indian cuisine. It grows in lush climates, so not the desert areas like Rajasthan. Even though, the powder can be purchased from the local markets at an impressively cheap 30 rupees per kilogram. The flower is the main source of tartaric acid, and the seeds are black due to the hardy black capsule encasing the cream colored interior. The cream seed is then ground to create a powder.

To prepare the fixing agent, 1 kilogram of tamarind seed powder is added to 3 liters of fermented water (water plus jaggery) and then boiled for an hour.

The black dye is then ready for use!

Red:

The red dye is created from alum (aluminum sulfate).

While that’s not entirely interesting, the fixing agent is. The fixing agent uses natural guar gum, which I recall seeing fields and fields of in the Thar Desert. The seeds of the plant are ground into natural gum.

To prepare the fixing agent, 1 kilogram of gum powder is added to 20 liters of fresh water to create a gooey ghostbuster looking paste. For this mixture, 200-800mg of alum is added, more or less depending on the desired shade. If a lighter shade of red is wanted, then less alum is used, alternatively if a deep rich red is wanted them more alum is added.

Brown:

While I wasn’t interested in applying this color to my pieces, I was still interested to learn how it was prepared.

Brown color comes from red kasis, which is a crystal like substance that comes from mines and is dissolved in cold water. To prepare, one liter of water is added to 5 mg of red kassis.
The fixing agent for brown is the same as black. One kilogram of tamarind seed powder is added to 3 liters of fresh water and mixed, then boiled and cooled and ready for printing.

Mixture:

A fourth dye that is used in vegetable printing is a combination of red and black. One liter of black is added to 2 liters of red, and this ratio can increase depending on the desired shade.

An artisan helped me fill a color tray. The color tray is a wooden box, inside is a metal frame with strings winding like an abrca-cadabra playset weaving back and forth. Ink is poured into the tray and the wheely tray would stay glued to my right hip as I printed left to right in a regimented way.

So now that my color trays were filled, I was set free to begin printing!

I was beyond excited to get my hands dyed and let the creative juices unclog.

Unfortunately, the artisan I was under the supervision of decided he would be a bossy dominating “doer” rather than “teacher.” He tried to select blocks, colors and designs for me.

Sucks for him because I was just not having it. Little miss independent is not sporting your stupid floral, cheesy horse or overwhelming acorn stamped pieces.

Not today, not ever.

Lucky for me he was also the most inattentive “teacher” I have ever encountered so while he was eating a snack, taking a nap, joining a conference call and taking catalogue review breaks that lasted hours as a time, I went completely unnoticed in the quiet printing room.

One young flamboyant man that spoke not a word or charade of English quickly picked up on the fact that I passionately disliked the imposing bossy, hurried attitude of his boss who was taking over my pieces, so every time the artisan left the room he would quickly help me rummage through the blocks in search of the perfect stamp.

We got in trouble several times, as the artisan left the room thinking he would re-enter 30 minutes later and I would have a scarf printed with poo brown bucktooth unicorns and pine needles ready for drying and washing. Instead he came back in and saw I was using blocks that were ones he did not select and advised not to because they were too small and took up too much time.

Sorry, home boy, but if it weren’t for you taking 3 hour breaks during a 7 hour workshop, I’m pretty sure we would have more than enough time to do like a 2 year old and play with blocks all day.

In the end, I sneakily created the two pieces that I wanted with very few permanent reminders of the overbearing, controlling artisan that I was supposed to mime.

I finished my pieces while he was once again out of the room and I sealed the final stamp with a high-five to my Indian buddy that helped me disobey his boss.

5. DRYING

My pieces were left to dry in the sunlight while I waited on the curb. Having forgot breakfast and lunch I sat in the sun talking to my cab driver who was bored out of his mind.

Meanwhile, I got to see another form of printing, Dabu mud printing which uses mud in the process.

6. WASHING

The pieces were washed in cool water to remove excess color.

7. BOILING

The two pieces were then boiled in this last and final process. Copper pots were used (otherwise the harda powder in the fabrics react with the iron). Dahura flowers were added to bring out the whiteness of the white cottons and alizarin (from ground up roots of Indian Madder tree) was used to enhance reds.

I waited impatiently for my pieces to boil so I could see the final products.

In what felt like forever my pieces were removed and twisted dry.

I was super happy with my pieces and definitely will be picking up some wooden blocks to do this at home!!!

Golden Temple

away2travel — Tue, 1 Apr 2014 13:09:00 GMT

Golden Temple

Posted on April 5, 2014 by Tarynne Mingione

Friday, March 28, 2014

We left Rishikesh before we were ready.

After an hour bus ride with our heads spending more time glued to the ceiling and James claiming to have received the most dramatic chiropractic adjustment of his life, we arrived at the train station.

We were sharing a six-bunk compartment with 10 other people, so if your addition is as good as mine then you can imagine how the night went. James and I scored the top bunks where we could at least ensure we wouldn’t be sat on for the duration of the 430km trip. We sandwiched both of our two backpacks on either ends of our bunk and settled in for the night.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Despite being called 3AC, there was no AC or fan. But luckily someone in our car shat their pants sometime around midnight. That little smell marinated all night long and when the train came to a rolling stop, we were both so excited to jump out and say hello toAmritsar.

Temple View Hotel accepted our passports in exchange for a key and we dropped our things and went quickly out the door to find coffee.

Without another caffeine option in town, we settled into the loft of Cafe Coffee Day. We sat and watched the whirlwind beneath us and finally felt like we could catch our breath and thoughts on all that we have seen in India.

After coffee we walked around the streets of Amritsar (looking mostly at Punjab shoes) for several hours before heading into the Golden Temple.

The Sri Harmandir Sahib (the Temple of God) is the inspirational and historical center ofSikhism. The Golden Temple is open to all casts, gender and religion. Over 100,000 people go there daily to worship. It was quite the experience.

If you have no idea about Sikhism like I did prior to arriving, I think its good to know that they believe that there is only one God, and that this God is the same for all religions. Sikhism also condemns rituals, and believes that everyone is equal (yes women and men and yes regardless of caste). The religion is new, founded by Guru Nanak in 1469.

It was very interesting to see tons of people walking about and we were fascinated by seeing the five articles of faith adorning everyone: long hair, a turban, comb, dagger, (ceremonial sword), a steel bracelet and certain special undies.

Outside of the Golden Temple the streets looked like a mob scene so we decided not to venture far to get some grub. We found a place with nobody in it, which is always a reassuring sign, but decided to risk it and have a seat.

Within 15 minutes the place was packed. So much so that the obese family that came barging through the door way past their dinner time decided to come up to our table while we were still eating and announce, “this meal is over.” The lady stacked our plates and I think James and I just raised an eyebrow at each other, not at all surprised by this behavior.

India. Sometimes you love it. Sometimes you hate it. Sometimes you just don’t get it at all.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

We retreated for the majority of the day inside the Grand Hotel. It’s not exactly grand, except that it has food, wifi, it’s quiet and there’s plenty of plants to help you forget where you really are.

You know, I take that back. That makes it very grand.

We went to the Golden Temple in the dark, and it was absolutely stunning. The evening was perfect.

Well – almost.

Both James and I weren’t feeling too hot and spent most of the night not being able to sleep.

Monday, March 31, 2014

Our Rishikesh friends Kelly and Erik arrived from the overnight train and we were pumped to hang with familiar faces.

We met up with them and guided them to Cafe Coffee Day before heading back into the Golden Temple. We decided that since it was much less crowded than during the weekend, we would stand in line to go into the temple.

Dumb idea.

I really wasn’t feeling well and standing in line with 100,000 pilgrims in the baking heat was probably one of our worst ideas.

The line moved about one foot every 10 minutes, the bridge was about 202ft long, so I estimated I would make it to the temple by sundown. I think I made it for 20 minutes until I lost my mind. The lady behind me was smooshing me so badly that my own feet were not even on the ground. There was pushing, shoving, yelling, screaming, stepping on people and fighting.

I didn’t understand it at all. Why are we all beating the crap out of one another to be first into a holy temple, where we are supposed to worship love, compassion and selflessness? Seems fairly hypocritical to me. Thankfully for all the pushers, shovers, yellers and screamers, once they step in and out of the temple they are cleansed, and their conscience is good to go for life. I guess that’s why they can get away with being an asshole in line and for the rest of the day/week/year.

Is that how it works?

Anyway, while in line there was sweat dripping down the backs of my legs and it definitely didn’t belong to me. I’m not sure if you’ve been to India, but you may know that deodorant doesn’t exist in this country. Also that a majority of the people are constantly showing off their farting and belching skills at all hours of the day so if you’re planning a trip prepare yourself to be IMPRESSED.

Most of the smells and sounds I’ve heard here I did not previously know where humanly possible.

Ah India – thank you so much for introducing me to the wonders of the human body.

Since lines with women take universally longer than those for men, James waited patiently, amused at the female Rocky Balboas that India breeds while I explored the inside of the temple.

Fortunately, it is pretty stunning.

No – pictures inside were not allowed and wow was that reinforced with enthusiasm .

I Lost My Chapstick in Pakistan

away2travel — Tue, 1 Apr 2014 13:06:00 GMT

I Lost My Chapstick in Pakistan

Posted on April 6, 2014 by Tarynne Mingione

Pakistan Border – 35 kilometers outside Amritsar

The four of us wanted to go to the Wagah Border Closing Ceremony which was 35 km away from Amritsar.

This border closing ceremony has been going on since 1959. The lowering of the flags is a military service performed by India and Pakistan every day just before sunset.

There are grandstands, and they are completely packed. At least on the Indian side.

The crowds on each side of the border shout Hindustan and Pakistan back and forth in the same manner the Cougs and Huskies shout back and forth during Apple Cup.

The “main event” kicked off at 5 p.m. The Indian side played awesomely loud, good Indian Bollywood hits from some quality loudspeakers. People ran Indian flags back and forth between the Pakistan gate and the safety of the Indian crowd.

Locals were invited to dance unapologetically for the half an hour preceding the gate closing.

Kelly, being the spunky fun chick that she is, insisted we go dance.

So we danced our butts off and it was the most fun I’ve had in awhile.

My chapstick escaped from my skirt pocket and is now lost somewhere in Pakistan.

By 5:30p.m. there were some very large, fully outfitted guards with tall peacock hats throwing out high school cheer squad kicks, shaking fists, waving guns, and just exaggerating everything you think would be inappropriate toward the Pakistani side just a foot away.

It was crazy and pretty accurately sums up the country.

Heh. Why should we take national security seriously? Dude, lets throw some high kicks at the current poverty crisis, flash some fancy outfits around at the waste disposal situation and make a joke of the caste system. Sure, let’s just dance and everything will be okay.

This is the part where you hate and love India. You hate it because they take serious stuff not so seriously, but at the same time you have to ask, what else are they supposed to do? Find themselves in a great depression because they are swimming in sewage, poverty and trash? Good for them for dancing like hell and playing music so loudly you can’t hear your own rationale thoughts even if they could be created here.

It was fun. It worked. A pep rally at the border between opposing countries. Sure, why not?

Sorry if that critique is offensive to anyone, but if this country doesn’t take itself or its issues seriously, why should I take the country seriously in a travel blog. (Writing this while incredibly ill thanks to India’s collective lack of understanding of food, health and safety). Cheers.

Darkness set in and the four of us went to the Grand Hotel to get food and drinks. Yes we passed an elephant on the highway on the drive back…

A good night went really really bad when I became suddenly violently ill while at dinner.

Ahhhhhhh. I thought we won, and James and I would leave still standing when we boarded a plane out of here.

Pretty close, but unfortunately that would not be a dream come true for me.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

I wish I were kidding, but we had a nine hour train journey and I was not really feeling the whole train thing on this particular day. I was feeling like I would rather board a direct flight home, but was at least grateful that there wasn’t much I was missing by sleeping the day away.

We arrived in Delhi at 3 p.m. and it was hot as hell. Maybe it was a fever, but I swear the city was 20C hotter than when we had left it back in February.

Not feeling well, the night in Delhi was pretty short. Having given up faith on Indian cuisine, James opted for Pizza Hut and I had the laziest day on this trip yet.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

My time is Delhi was pretty crap. I spent three days doing absolutely nothing except being sick and cursing my brains out at this country.

James took charge and got our Vietnam visas sorted and we excitedly watched time fly by, preparing for our departure from this country.

Yeah sure, there are a million lessons to be learnt from this place, these people, their systems or lack thereof. But right now, I feel like crap. I want to leave India. I never want to smell decaying bodies, fermenting sewage, body odor, thali, fried dal, see the word ghee, see a head wobble or a holy cow again. Certainly not now. Not in the near future.

Thank you, and peace out India. You’ve been nuts.

Kanha National Park: Tigers

away2travel — Thu, 27 Mar 2014 13:41:00 GMT

Kanha National Park

Posted on March 11, 2014 by James

Jabalpur – Tuesday, Feb. 25, 2014

Our train finally rolled into the Jabalpur Junction train station at 12:30 p.m. It was five and a half hours late and we had already missed the last direct bus from Jabalpur to Kanha National Park.

Not wanting to spent the night in the industrial wasteland of Jabalpur, we decided to make our way to the bus station anyway to see if we could somehow still get to Kanha that day.

After relentlessly interrogating the man behind the bus station ticket counter we eventually determined it was possible to make it to Kanha National Park, but in an indirect manner that required two buses and only a ten minute transfer window.

With tickets in hand, we made our way into the chaos of the bus station. Our bus was a proper Indian affair with a flat rear tire, overstuffed with people and the driver blasting Hindi music through the PA system speakers.

As we left the bus station and weaved though the suburbs of Jabalpur, the bus conductor hung from the door frame, leaning out over the street shouting at every single pedestrian trying to get them aboard.

Thanks to the conductor’s endless attempts to get pedestrians off the side of the road and into the bus just to make a few extra rupees, it took us a good hour just to get out of Jabalpur.

The bus we were on was headed for a town called Mandla, where we had to switch rides and get on a bus bound for Kanha. Of course just to make things interesting our first bus was scheduled to arrive in Mandla at 3:20 p.m. and the bus to Kanha was set to depart Mandla at 3:30 p.m.

This meant any delays to our first bus and we would be stuck in Mandla for the night with no opportunity for a safari the following morning.

Thankfully it was fairly smooth sailing from Jabalpur to Mandla, but we still arrived 20 minutes late and had to sprint across the street to stop the bus to Kanha from leaving without us.

As we ran up an old Indian man who barely spoke English asked where we were going. I told him Kanha National park and he quickly made a phone call on his cell phone and handed me the phone.

A man who spoke perfect English answered and told me we should get off the bus in Mocha, where he would pick us up and take us to the park gate for Rs.150. It sounded alright, so I said we’d see him there.

The bus to Kanha was another three hours and we didn’t arrive until 6:30 in the evening. We met the man from the other end of the phone in Mocha and he drove us toward the park gate.

At this point we didn’t have a place to stay or safari passes for the following morning, so we had some scout work to do. Our first stop was Machan Complex, budget accommodation that was listed in the Lonely Planet book.

I hopped out of the car to take a look at a room, but on first inspection the place was way too basic and quite honestly creepy. There also wasn’t anyone else staying there, and we needed to meet people to spilt the cost of the jeep safari with.

At Kanha National Park safaris are charged per jeep load, not per person, so if you can find people to split the cost of the jeep with you save some serious rupees.

I went back to the car and told Tarynne that while the price of the Machan Complex was ideal, the place itself was a dump.

We then carried on to the second accommodation we can researched, Motel Chandan. It turned out our driver, Amit, worked for Motel Chandan and we were immediately impressed with the fact that even though he worked for the place he hadn’t tried to push it on us.

We took a quick tour of the grounds and were far more impressed with the place than Machan Complex. Of course the nicer digs came with a dramatically increased price tag, but since there were other people staying there and we could save massively on the safari price, it was the logical place to stay. Not to mention, the two managers Dinesh and Amit were some of the nicest and most helpful hoteliers we have stayed with in India.

We hadn’t even moved our bags into our room when we met the American couple we would be sharing the jeep with the following day. As chance would have it, we had already met them briefly one day earlier in Agra.

It was nice to see some familiar faces out in the middle of nowhere and we were extremely excited to share our safari experience with Tanveer and Kelly.

After settling into our room we headed to the hotel restaurant for some dinner and to get the lowdown on how the safaris at Kanha National Park work.

Kanha National Park – Wednesday Feb. 26, 2014

NOTE TO TRAVELERS: Basically, if you are an indian national or a foreigner with an Indian credit card you can book your safari in Kanha National Park in advance using the official state government website.

If you are a foreigner and don’t have an Indian credit card, things get a little bit more complicated as only 137 jeeps are allowed into the park at one time and the online spots always sellout weeks in advance.

Fortunately for us foreigners without an Indian credit card, 20 percent of the tickets are reserved for sale on the day of the safari on a first come first serve basis. Of course these tickets sellout fast, so it means you have to be awake and first in line at the ticket office.

For us this meant waking up at 4:45 in the morning and making the 100 meter walk down the road to the ticket office so we were first in line at 5 a.m. Thankfully we had a four person team with Tanveer and Kelly so we could take turns eating breakfast and waiting in line.

Since we were first in line, when the ticket office opened at 6 a.m. we were able to get passes for the premium “Kanha Zone,” which is deepest in the jungle and is supposed to produce the most tiger sightings.

While we opted for a morning Safari because there is a better chance of seeing a tiger, there are also afternoon safaris as well.

Unfortunately for us it had rained the night before, which usually means tigers stay back in the jungle and are difficult to see. Just our luck.

On the plus side, while we were waiting in line we found one more person to join us in our jeep so we could now split the cost five ways.

The gates to the park open at 6:30 a.m. and after chugging two cups of coffee each we climbed into the jeep with our fellow safariers and set out into the jungle.

The first three hours of the safari were fairly uneventful. We didn’t see any tigers, but we did see a lot of interesting birds and we were able to enjoy the beautiful landscape in the early morning light.

About half way through the safari we stopped at the visitors center in the middle of the park to go to the bathroom, eat some snacks and drink some more coffee before heading back out into the wilderness.

As luck would have it at 11 a.m. we returned to the gate of the park not having seen a tiger. We were extremely bummed out, but everyone said the chances were low because it had rained the night before.

Since we had all managed to find people to share a jeep with and save significant money, we all decided we would try one more time and go on another safari the following morning. We just had to hope it wouldn’t rain again.

Of course, just as we were heading to bed that night we saw massive bolts of lighting in the distance and twenty minutes later the heavens open.

The rain poured down in drenching sheets and the thunder cracked so loud overhead the roof of our bedroom shook. The storm lasted for about 45 minutes, leaving jungle around us soaked.

We eventually drifted off to sleep to the sound of wet leaves outside the window dripping on to one another.

Round Two – Feb. 27, 2014

Despite the fact a massive thunder storm had rolled through the region the night before we decided to try our chances at seeing a tiger one more time.

Once again we were up at 4:45 a.m. and in line at the ticket office promptly at 5 a.m. This time we were second in line, but still able to secure a premium “Kanha Zone” pass when the ticket office opened at 6 a.m.

With renewed spirit and a new, more enthusiastic guide, we climbed once again into our jeep and set out into the jungle.

This time we knew the odds were against us. It had rained again and during our conversations at dinner the night before we had learned the odds for seeing a tiger work out to about two sightings in every seven safaris.

We were only doing two safaris due to both budget and time constraints, so if we were going to see a tiger, this had to be it.

Somehow, only about 20 minutes into the safari our prayers were answered.

Our jeep rumbled around a corner and burst out of the thick jungle foliage into a clearing. Up ahead, just to the left hand side we saw a tiger sitting majestically under a tree.

The overnight train followed by six hours of sitting on a bus had actually been worth it. We had defied the odds and seen an elusive tiger in only two safaris.

After sitting under the tree the tiger finally stood up walked around for a few minutes before walking right toward us and crossing the road only a few meters away.

It was the encounter we had hoped for and made spending the extra money on a second safari completely worth it.

We didn’t see another tiger during the rest of the safari, but having already seen the star attraction, we were able to much better enjoy the gorgeous landscape and dramatically colored birds.

Due to the tiger sighting our safari arrived back at the gate about thirty minutes later than the day before. It was 11:30 a.m. by the time we made it back to Motel Chandan and we only had an hour and 15 minutes before we had to get on the bus back to Jabalpur to catch our night train to Varanasi.

Although we had already managed to see a tiger, the suspense for the day was not over. Our 2AC train tickets to Varanasi were currently wait listed at three and four, which meant we didn’t have confirmed tickets. Our tickets would only be confirmed if four people canceled their tickets and we moved up the list to fill their spots.

Despite the uncertainty we had to get on the six hour bus back to Jabalpur and hope that when we arrived at the train station our tickets would be confirmed.

Tanveer and Kelly also had wait listed tickets for the same train, but in 3AC class, so they were essentially in the same boat.

Once again the bus was packed and Hindi music blared through the speakers overhead. About 45 minutes outside Jabalpur we hit another thunderstorm and as the rain poured down it leaked through the window and all over Tarynne’s lap.

Thankfully when the bus arrived in Jabalpur the rain had stopped and we were able to walk to the train station without our backpacks getting wet.

When we arrived the four of us were greeted with mixed news. Tarynne’s ticket had moved up to confirmed, but mine was still wait listed. To make matters worse, Tanveer and Kelly were both still wait listed.

After a quick chat with the lady behind the ticket counter we learned that we were both allowed to board the train even though only Tarynne’s ticket had been confirmed. Worst case scenario we would have to share a bed on the train and best case scenario, the conductor would find me an empty bed.

Unfortunately, Tanveer and Kelly weren’t so lucky. They didn’t get seats and had to buy last minute general tickets that landed them in the sleeper class car for the night. Needless to say, they didn’t sleep for a second.

Meanwhile back up in 2AC I had gotten extremely lucky and within five minutes of boarding the train the conductor had found me a bed only a few berths down from Tarynne.

Exhausted from the early morning safaris, with our bags securely locked underneath our beds and our electronic devices cradled in our arms we quickly fell asleep to the rhythmic rocking of the train.

Varanasi

away2travel — Sat, 15 Mar 2014 13:36:00 GMT

Varanasi

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Tarynne Mingione

Varanasi Warning: We saw some pretty intense stuff here. I write about it because this is our experience, but the detail included might be too much for some. Of course I was respectful when taking photos so all are appropriate; some may prefer to look rather than read!

Friday, Feb. 28, 2014

We arrived in Varanasi via our overnight train at about 9:30 a.m. The weather reminded us of Seattle; wet, dark and only promises of more of the same to come the next 24 hours. My vision of a brightly colored pastel wonderland amplified by a brilliant amber sun igniting the holy Ganges River quickly evaporated.

The four of us went to the pre-paid autorickshaw stand to attempt to salvage some of our backpacking dignity and not get completely ripped off. For less than 100 rupees we got two rickshaws to take us the 2 km distance towards the Vishawanath Temple.

The rickshaw dumped us on the side of the sewage muddy road. Knowing we would be completely lost in the feces maze of the Old Town, we trustingly followed the first young lad that offered to escort us to Teerth Guesthouse.

We had previously booked a hostel, but decided realistically if we could score our own room for the same price it would be a better deal, so we tagged along with Kelly and Tanveer to try to get a room at Teerth.

We found Teerth and it was an absolute chaotic nuthouse so we all quickly dropped our bags and went to a recommended place to eat. We ended up at Ganga Fuji. The food was spicy, piping hot and disappeared within seconds.

After lunch Kelly and Tanveer were rightfully pooped and James and I were ready to stretch our legs and explore. We reentered the courtyard of Teerth and it still looked like a natural disaster shelter. There were 150 Indian people with mattresses and newspapers strewn across every used-to-be-white tile. Buckets of fried dal were being passed out and people were digging in with their hands. Since the spiderweb-like streets of Varanasi are also frequented by more cows than the 1.2 million people that call the heart of Hindu city home, there are massive cow pies dotting every other meter of the streets. Of course, with over one hundred barefoot Teerth guests walking up and down these streets going to and from the many ghats, that also meant they were tracking a ton of crap back into the courtyard of Teerth.

Yummy.

James and I walked in and were shown our room. There were 20 people that we had to step over in order to get to the door and for 800 rupees we both silently agreed to move on.

Later, poop palace.

We blindly headed into the wet poopey alleys and jumped into the stream of shuffling people to search for a new home. A colorful painted sign for Ganpathi Guesthousedecorated a clean slab of bricks so we showed up and asked for a room.

The only room they had was about 400 rupees beyond budget, but once we were shown the room I think we both silently argued the root of the word budget was budge, meaning we should freaking give in and indulge in the luxurious place. Knowing we should be realistic, we politely declined and decided to at least check out the dorm at the hostel near Munshi Ghat we originally booked.

Thanks only to the direct access staircase from Ganpathi, we found the Ganga River and I felt like I could breathe. Something about just seeing water makes me so happy these days.

We walked 30 minutes before realizing we walked about 15 minutes too far south. Thunder cracked overhead and immediately we knew we were doomed. Rain drops came down without much more warning and we quickly sprinted back toward Ganpathi.

With passports, cameras, computers, iPhones and iPads all in our small backpacks that were quickly getting drenched, we had to pull over into any cover we could find. This was unfortunate for the poor man trying to bathe in the four foot patio thing he called home, because a soaking wet pissed off white couple showed up uninvited. He didn’t really seem to mind and within 30 minutes the rain allowed us to move on.

It was getting late and we were sick of searching and being homeless, soggy and hungry. We ended up unenthusiastically deciding to settle at the poop palace. We walked back in and it was before James even had his second foot in the door when I heard him probably too loudly call it Hotel Rwanda.

Okay, that’s it. Back to Ganpathi we go.

Ganpathi reception laughed when they saw us for the 3rd time at 4:30 p.m. and we finally forked over the cash and passports in exchange for a Ganesh key and lock. It was the cleanest, sweetest room we have had in India and dang was it worth every $3.50 I have.

We settled into our room and then headed out to explore Varanasi. We decided we had seen enough of the poopey streets and instead went straight to the river. We walked into Meer Ghat and then further down to Man Mandir Ghat.

It only took 10 minutes to reach the liveliest main ghat, Dasaswamedh Ghat. This was the spot with supposedly the most action so we stuck around and watched the many boats come and go, people selling flowers, babas meditating and praying, people smoking, doing some form of yoga, kids pooping, monkeys playing, cows pretending to graze, dogs scratching and women begging.

It was getting dark, but this was the safest place in India so we freely decided to roam further down (up) the river.

We passed the red and yellow alternating steps of the colorful Munshi Ghat before we saw the most culturally shocking scene we have witnessed so far on this trip.

We arrived at Harishchandra Ghat. This ghat is a smaller burning ghat, secondary to the main burning ghat of Manikarnika. I’m completely naïve and thought since it was rumored as the “smaller” burning ghat that perhaps we would passby and not see anything.

Wrong.

We were forced to walk through the drifting black smoke from a nearby fire and my breath was taken away in a manner I have been fortunate to never experience. The smell of burning skin and hair made my heart sink to my stomach, or the other way around; I’m not exactly sure how to explain it.

You know when you are viewing a scary movie and you want to watch but really don’t? It was exactly that. I looked at the fire and saw a young mans head and feet extending out from the flames.

I’ve never seen a human body cremated before. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I guess I never thought about the actual process, just the yielding product.

We carried on walking up the river down to Jain Ghat before turning around and heading back as it was already completely dark. We re-approached the Harishchandra Ghat and walked once again through the intense smoke to get to the clear air on the opposite side.

We hadn’t asked the locals many questions, including what was appropriate for a tourist to watch or not watch and felt uncomfortable stepping onto the concrete viewpoint that overlooked the burning tiers.

A man that has worked at the burning ghat for years came up and offered us valuable information in exchange for a couple hundred rupees. I felt completely relieved to be able to unembarrasingly ask questions and get answers that would help me stay respectful at such a place as this.

He informed us that it was okay to watch, but that a woman was never allowed in the center where the burning occurs. Obviously no pictures can be taken, but otherwise foreigners are allowed to respectfully and quietly watch.

Like I said, this information might be a bit too much for some. James and I saw about four fires happening.

Kids that were probably seven and eight years old had large bamboo sticks and they continued to poke fires. James and I wondered if those fires were about to receive or had already burned bodies. We got our answer when I asked what the charred block of something was that was picked out of the amber flames by the small boy.

That, said Roj (the man that was sticking by our side offering information), is the sternum of the man that was just burned in that fire. Half in disbelief we watched the boy go to the river bank and throw the burned bones into the river; coming so close to a passing tourist boat that everyone in the boat got soaked with splashing water from the Ganga River.

Moments later we watched a body being carried down from the steps on a bamboo stretcher dressed in a white cloth. Roj informed us it was a young man that had died. Red cloth is used for a young woman, and gold is used for older men and women. Brightly colored dressings and strands of flowers are laid upon the corpses. The bodies are then laid on bamboo stretchers and friends and family carry the stretchers down to the river.

The body is laid in the river while the wood is weighed, purchased and the fire is constructed. Only disease and natural cause deaths are allowed to be cremated. If it is suicide, an accident, or a pregnant woman, the body is strapped to a stone slab and taken to the middle of the river and thrown into the Ganga.

We watched the boy’s body hastily placed halfway in the river and left to sit while young men stacked logs in a ladder-like fashion just two meters from the river.

There are three locations for fires that are congruent with the caste system. The bottom (closest to the water) supposedly was about 5,000 rupees, middle tier was 10,000 and very important and rich people were cremated in an elevated circular stone slab for about 15,000 rupees.

Sandalwood is the most expensive wood as it produces the sweetest smell. It costs about 300 rupees for just one kilo of wood. The fire was built and lit. Dressings and flowers were carelessly removed and thrown on the ground. The seven year old boy in barefeet came over and picked through the discarded items and clutched them close to his chest as he made his way back up to the busy street. What he does with them from there I am not sure.

The body was thrown onto the stack of logs. (I’m not being careless with my word choice, rather using the correct verb to explain how things were handled.) Logs were forcefully placed on top of the body. Minutes later thick horrific smoke was released from the body. Three hours later the only thing remaining would be the charred thoracic cavity that would then be thrown into the river.

James and I watched and I can’t say how lucky I was to have my best friend at my side to watch something like this. It’s interesting to hear your own words released from your mouth as you watch something as real as this. It’s intense. As you watch fire after fire and body after body being carried by the people that played a role in the life of the now lifeless person, it is just incredible to really think about life, death, spirituality, religion, humanity and reality.

Varanasi sums it up: I love India because it openly accepts reality. India also scares the hell out of me because it does it so unapologetically and indiscreetly, rapidly exposing you to all of those things you so often chose not to think about.

One thing that surprised me was how emotionless and unattached the whole process appeared. I can’t say I even can begin to understand their culture or what it would be like to have a life any other than my own, all I am saying is my impression from a viewers perspective is it was shocking at how dry the whole thing was. I couldn’t imagine being in the mens’ shoes and knowing the person that once owned the physical body they were carrying and then burning.

Death is crazy. Varanasi doesn’t give you an option but to think about it in a way I never have before.

Standing there with it all happening was intense, to say the least.

We were told about the holy fire that is 600 years old and burns constantly. It is just near the entrance to the crazy busy streets up the stairs from the ghat. We decided to take a peek up there.

As we walked in from the small jetty I stopped to watch one of the fires. I turned around probably a minute too late. James had already stepped to the side and I quickly followed.

Two frail men were carrying a stretcher down the steps. Unable to carry the weight of the body in the stretcher the two men dropped the body about 6 inches from my feet. I think we just froze because we weren’t sure if retreating quickly was insensitive and rude so instead we just stood there absolutely freaked out and unsure how to act.

Eventually they regripped the bamboo sticks and picked the body back up. At this point they were still arms distance from us so we didn’t really have the option but to look at the body they were struggling with. A young lifeless man stared back at me. He was still bleeding and likely had died just a few hours ago. I wanted to keep walking but couldn’t. It felt disrespectful to just turn on my toes and walk away and forget he ever existed, even though two minutes earlier to me he hadn’t. The two men carrying the stretcher were doing it so wrecklessly and nobody else was around I wondered where this young man came from. Where were his family and friends? James guessed he died in the streets and they needed to just get rid of his body. For some reason I felt it was right to stand there and pay some form of respect for him, even if just being present for a second. The two men flipped the stretcher and literally chucked the body on top of a pile of wood. At this point I became overwhelmingly frustrated and began to question why things were done the way they were. Logs were quickly thrown on top of the body and I decided I could no longer watch. I was confused, upset, and for somewhat of an atheist, passionately trying to figure out what to believe.

To say the place is intense is an understatement.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

By early afternoon we walked down to explore the ghats.

We walked down to Assi Ghat, supposedly the main ghat outside of the Old City. It was pretty lifeless except for some cute kiddos so we made a loop and headed back.

By 4:30 p.m. we met Tanveer and Kelly at Dashaswamedh Ghat and jumped in a row boat for sunset.

We went from Munshi Ghat down to the main burning ghat. While we were loitering on the Ganga parallel to the burning ghat we had a canoe pass us with a body tethered to a stone slab. The men pushed the body off the boat and retreated back to land. Again, it was such a dry process that I couldn’t help but think about the whole cycle of life long after the body was lost in the Ganga forever.

It was still cloudy so there wasn’t much of a sunset. About 45 minutes into our hour ride the cracking thunder and black clouds in the near distance hinted we should quickly get back to shore. We stuck around Dashaswamedh Ghat for the ganga aarti ceremony which included puja and fire rituals.

Afterward we headed back to Ganpathi to get a soda and water. Tanveer and Kelly headed out to dinner somewhere else and James and I decided to go on a beer run.

I know I shouldn’t even be revealing this information in this blog, but we just wanted to go grab one beer. We headed to the grittiest shops we could to discreetly ask. We kept getting specific directions and straight faces so we decided to go with it and see where we ended up.

The task to grab a single beer to save 70 rupees ended up taking a good hour and a half. I finally get the sappy quote that says something about “it’s the journey rather than the destination that matters.”

We didn’t give a rip if we ever saw a Kingfisher or not, the whole process was absolutely fun and entertaining. We walked down the craziest streets and eventually ended up at a tiny little cage in the wall. A man was sitting on a box in a window that was about level with our knees from the street. A tiny little hole allowed people to hand off rupees in exchange for liquor.

We asked for beer and the man kindly gave us (again) specific directions for a different place we were unsure actually existed. We were then led down a dark alley and turned a corner into an absolutely pitch black meter wide alleyway.

It sounds ridiculous, but for some reason I felt safe in Varanasi, even while searching for the frowned upon booze in the holy city. I decided to hang back in the little light there was while James disappeared down the alleyway. Three men came out of the alley and asked what I was doing. I wasn’t sure if I should come clean so I managed to carry on conversation with them fibbing my way through until James reappeared proudly chirping about his two beers. I got called out for lying and we all had a good laugh before carrying on toward home, proud of our successful search.

We forgot we were hungry and needed to get food somewhere before going back to the hotel. I know that everyone everywhere says stay far far away from street food in India and for good reason, but we were so sick of Lonely Planet recommendations. They have been wrong more than once and all of the places worth a recommendation have only western tourists consuming food prepared by Kiwi hippies.

Not exactly the cultural and culinary immersion we were hoping for…

James is programmed to my speed-walking pace, so he lost track of me for a minute or two as I became completely mesmerized with the chapatti making in some tiny little street side room.

The room was once painted royal blue. There was a little circular coal fire, tiny stone slab and some massive aluminum bowls filled with all you need for real Indian thali.

I begged for one chappati and for just 5 rupees got the best chapatti ever in India. We were invited to sit and because they thought the excitement over the one chapatti was pretty funny, gave us another just to watch me do it again.

We ended up ordering thali and I think a half a dozen more chapatti. Once James was finished scraping his plate, the man came over and refilled everything for us. With too much of a language barrier we couldn’t ask if we would be charged double or what just happened so we decided to wait and be surprised for the check at the end.

We walked away paying just 60 rupees for the entire meal.

Ummmm, that is $1. With our Kingfishers stuffed in our pants we laughed and thanked them in absolute disbelief for the incredible meal.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

We had to check out of our luxurious home by 10:00 a.m.

We headed back to the poopey palace, which no longer looked with a refugee camp, and dumped our things before heading back over to setup shop at Ganpathi rooftop restaurant. We did what we do and ordered up a pot of coffee and enjoyed the rooftop for hours.

Eventually we made it down to the ghats and took a walk around before jumping on a boat for over an hour to view the ghats from the Ganga. We had two funny kind hearted guys on the boat and we asked them a hundred questions and they answered them all.

It was peaceful, informative and perfect.

After the boat ride, James went to find a pharmacy because he picked up a nasty cold and I went to run around the rat maze and shoot pics of the madness.

With my head in my camera I didn’t realize at one point the stream of people walking toward me. I didn’t think much of it because the alleys were always packed and oftentimes lines for temples poured into streets and you would have to tango with dozens of people in order to pass around them.

Well, this one came as a surprise. A stretcher with a body was headed right to where I was standing. I had a temporary freakout when I realized there was nowhere for me to go but hug the wall as closely as I could. Even then I couldn’t avoid having the stretcher brush my shoulder as it passed and was quickly was out of sight.

I met back up with James and we walked down to the main burning ghat. I had the most comical conversation with some local boys about cows and poop while we stood off to the side of the fires.

We wandered through the alleyways before realizing it was 5 p.m. and hadn’t eaten anything all day. We found the rooftop of the Brown Bread Bakery and decided to try something new. Well since there was a heavy German influence I couldn’t get a thing that wasn’t drowning in a slab of butter, cream or ghee. James got a pizza and I got hungry.

We saw the end of the action happening at Dasaswamedh Ghat before heading back to sleep in our caccoons in the former refugee camp.

Monday, March 3, 2014

I was up at 6 a.m. and packed my camera gear for a romantic sunrise date with myself. Ha, I’m in India. Who am I kidding? You can’t take a crap without a dozen people joining you.

I walked down to Munshi Ghat and found some friendly babas to hang with. An hour passed and I watched the glowing ball of fire rise on the opposite side of the Ganga. Uncommitted to my sunrise river boat plans, I happily sat on the steps with three babas who’s lives I can never understand, but am curious to. I shared my morning with them until one man invited me to go on a boat ride.

I committed to an hour and enjoyed the peaceful flow of the Ganga as we made our way from the Jain ghat to the main burning ghat.

The rest of the morning was spent working on taxes and travel bookings before we headed back to the Ganpathi rooftop for two 40 rupee pots of coffee. We enjoyed the views, potato curry, naan, paneer masala, rice and veggie pakora one last time.

By 3 p.m. we were making the reverse trek through the maze from the river to the main street where we would once again barter for a rickshaw. One hundred rupees later we were dropped at the train station. Our train was at 17:15 and we would make the 24 hour journey to Jodhpur.

We completely lucked out and scored two lower bunks together for the first time! It was 2AC meaning there were bunks above us and at our feet, but it was the sweetest setup we have had on a train so far, and for the Varanasi to Jaipur portion that’s where we camped.

The evening was spent working on photos. We were woken up in the middle of the night by our new bunk mates. The man in the bunk above James stared at me the whole night and I became so uncomfortable that I forfeited the idea of sleep and instead continued to write this blog with a sheet over my head.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

At noon we jumped off the train and downgraded to general class for the remainder of the journey. It’s not so bad during the day. The windows open so no longer are you forced to smell the urinal scented linens. We we enjoyed the rest of the journey to Jodhpur, the blue city settled smack in the middle of Rajasthan.