#7 Patriachy and the pink city

I was wondering how long it would be before things got so interesting I wouldn't have time to write. I'm guessing you were too friends? It turns out it was up until Jaipur.

As I remember it, I left Ranthambhor on the train at 7pm a soon as I arrived back from the tiger safari.

The train ride from Ranthambhor to Jaipur was only a few hours so it was quite a treat not having to try and sleep.

Near the end of the journey I took the opportunity to ask the very well spoken business man I was seated next to how much a rickshaw should cost to my accomodation so I didn't get the tourist price.

Before I knew it, every man, and it was all men, in the carriage was offering advice and one even called a friend to ask as well. I've said it before and I'll say it again. India never ceases to amaze me.

The kindly businessman and one of the younger fellow passengers told me to follow them and they'd help me get a rickshaw for the local price.

When we reached the station in Jaipur I felt very smug trotting along behind my new friends as they shooed away over eager rickshaw drivers.

As it happened a pick up had already been arranged by Mr Travel Agent and a friendly looking middle aged driver with glasses was waiting with my name on a piece of paper.

The kindness of the two men on the train made me drop my guard a bit and so I made the first bad character judgement of the trip so far.

The rickshaw driver looked like a nice man and I remember thinking he had an honest face and kind eyes.

He appeared to be so very friendly and happy. He smiled and chatted and even sang all the way back to the hotel. He told me how much he loved his job and western culture and had made many foreign friends some who he was still in touch with.

I was feeling so relieved after the nice train ride I was probably a bit more friendly, perhaps talking more than I usually would, smiling unabashedly and the future misunderstandings most probably began there.

I remember talking with him about trust and how important it was when travelling in India. I remember telling him I thought he had an honest face. I really thought he did.

He offered to be my driver the next day and I happily agreed to be picked up at 9 am.

"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift," he happily shouted at me as we weaved through Jaipur traffic.

"I don't like to make plans or dwell on the past," he said. "In India anything is possible."

The next morning he picked me up for sightseeing as promised but he wasn't as bubbly as the night before. After taking me around some of the sights in Jaipur he began to tell me about how unhappy he was in his marriage.

When he was 18 his parents arranged his marriage to an unknown girl of 17.

"One day my father offered his congratulations to me. I asked why are you congratulating me and he said 'on your engagement.' Within the week I was married," he said.

I genuinely felt sorry for him. He went on to tell me too much information about his sex life or lack of with his wife. I ignored how uncomfortable that made me and accepted the comments as coming from a culture that invented karma sutra. Maybe sex was discussed openly here and why shouldn't it be? Maybe he just needed a friend to talk to. As a fellow human I should listen and be a sympathetic ear.

Unfortunately he had some strange ideas about single western women and asked me to 'help him out' with some kind of 'favour.' When I finally clicked to what he was implying any child-like innocence I may have managed to retain over the past 24 years evaporated and I knew it would never return.

Thankfully my words did not fail me this time and I told him how disappointed I was that he would think that was ok. I reminded him about our conversation on trust. I told him he'd broken mine and that I'd like to go straight home now as didn't feel like sightseeing any more.

My face must have given away exactly how dissapointed I was and how terribly he had misread the situation. He was so apologetic. In the end we shook hands and I agreed to continue our tour on the condition that he respected my wishes that I only saw him as my driver.

The rest of the afternoon was awkward. I'm not going to lie. He took me a few more places before dropping me home where I was so dissapointed I couldn't even muster the energy to leave the hotel to find food.

The feminist in me was angry with myself for expecting and accepting something like that was bound to happen and for telling myself it was possibly even partly my fault. I shouldn't have smiled so much.

After a while mulling it over I wasn't angry with him or patriachy and vowed to be much more cautious in the future but that it definitely shouldn't be my fault.

For the first time I gained a tiny insight into how it felt to be objectified. He didn't see me as a fellow human being but as a sexual object. And it felt awful. A combination of his own misconceptions about my culture and a moment of naivety led him to make a very misguided judgement.

So that was Jaipur. In between the mess of human experience there were some nice forts and beautiful palace ruins. It is sometimes called the Pink City as many of the shops in the old part are made of terracotta. But that is sadly not what I'll remember the city for.

In the afternoon he took me to see elephants which were kept in a tiny concrete enclosure chained up and fed on chappatis.

I'm a firm believer that not all pictures speak 1000 words. The background behind that photo of a contented looking Ayla next to the pretty painted elephant just goes to show how photos and social media do not tell the full story. Neither Ayla nor Madonna the elephant were very happy at that moment.

Despite the nice picture neither beings in this photo were having a good day

Fort in Jaipur

It's easier to accept bad living conditions for animals when people's conditions aren't much better. I know not everyone will agree but at the least there is more of a sense of equality somehow. Maybe? Something to ponder anyway.

#6 "Slowly, slowly"

The most important things to bring with you to India are; a chunk of patience, a handful of confidence and, above all, a sense of humour.

My second day in Agra began before dawn when I met a rickshaw driver at six in the morning to watch the sun rise over the Taj.

I'm not usually much of a morning person but even I didn't have a problem getting up for this.

It was stunning. The morning sun rays cast a beautiful pink light over the stone which changed as the sun got higher.

I'm always fascinated by the people at places like this. So as much as I enjoyed feasting my eyes on the Taj I was equally entertained by the human activity.

They came from all over the world. Many specifically to see this sight. They came armed with phone's, cameras and selfie sticks in all shapes and sizes. There were old people on guided tours, huge families, couples and friends with the occasional fellow solo traveller like me thrown into the mix.

Work on the Taj was commisioned in1632 by Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan, to house the body of his, how's this, favourite wife Mumtaz Mahal who died during the birth of her 14th child. I wondered what kind of woman she was to get that sort of treatment and how the rest of his wives felt.

Little did I know that India was about to test my patience for the next 12 hours.

It really started when my tuktuk driver didn't turn up to take me to the train station as we had arranged. That was fine. I got another one easily.

I was then told the train to Ranthambhor was running two hours late. That was again fine. I could people watch to my heart's content at the train station. Although I suspected a woman sitting at a train station for an extended period of time was just asking for some creepy conversations. I plugged in my iPod, kept my nose in my book and tried to make myself look as unfriendly as possible.

It worked. After two hours I went back to the ticket office to check the status of the train.

"Oh only another 45 minutes," the ticket man said.

No problem. Chalega. I was really getting into my book. An hour later still no train had arrived. No worries. This is India. It's famous for the trains never being on time. This is all part of the experience I told myself.

Another hour passed. The monkeys I had been watching had gone to bed. A large friendly rat had crept out of a hole next to me and was pretty intent on running behind me and my bag. I threatened it with Bear Grylls' biography. I was reading about Bears' endurance tests in the SAS so I took a leaf out of his book, for lack of a better phrase, and pretended this too was an endurance test. A large Indian family set up camp next to me. They had come prepared with blankets and food. My heart sank a little when I saw this. It looked like they were in for the long haul.

By this stage I'd been waiting for five hours. No worries I told myself. It will all be worth it when the train arrives and I get to Ranthambhor -tiger land!

I began to write some notes for this blog to pass the time.

'Luckily I'm not in a hurry anywhere,' I scribbled.

'I will be late to my hotel but that's ok. I should be able to get a rickshaw fairly easily. I've been reading Bear Grylls and listening to my iPod. When I get sick of that I have a little watch of the monkeys and shoo the friendly rat away. Ahhh India you beautiful, filthy, crazy country.'

Four hours into my wait I was less chilled.

'This is it. I live here now,' I wrote.
'I'm starting a new life at Agra Fort train station. I'm convinced this train isn't coming. I asked the man at the counter four hours ago and he said the train was two hours late. Now a freight train has stopped on our platform. A large family have set up camp next to me and the monkeys have gone to bed. Even they have got tired of waiting. I have one pack of masala triangles and some weird looking fruit I picked up at the market to eat. I think it should last maybe one week. Then I can live off the monkeys and Mr Rat. Thinking about hitching a ride on a freight train just for a change of scenery.

'Update. The freight train is slowly moving. It reminds me of the hotel manager in Varanasi. Every breakfast he would tell me "eat, eat, slowly, slowly. Just relaaaax." '

A young Indian doctor struck up conversation with me. He was waiting for a train on the same line and helped me download an app which gives you the status of the trains. Life changing stuff. I was so grateful.

We were sitting there chatting for maybe another hour when a voice came over the intercom to announce the train I had been waiting for all afternoon had now been cancelled. What...

The next 30 minutes were pretty confusing and I still don't understand what happened but the doctor and a lovely but slightly grumpy rickshaw driver spoke to various station managers and ticket collectors and before I knew it, I was on another train which would stop especially to let me off at Ranthambhor.

I still don't know how they managed it but I am eternally grateful. That evening made me realise how useful it would be to have a much firmer grasp of Hindi. The staff on the train didn't speak English and I had a hard time trying to ask them to let me know when I was to get off because I had no clue and it was dark outside.

It was the first time I'd been in this situation where no English was spoken so I got out my guide book and hastily learnt how to say:
"Please let me know when we get to..." and pointed to my ticket.

Success. With that sorted I promptly fell asleep listening to a Mitchell and Webb podcast.

Next thing I knew someone was tugging at my blankets and gesturing for me to get my things.

We had arrived! Luckily I had an Indian sim card and had been able to call the accomodation place and explain the situation.

So I arrived in Rathambhor at 12.30am and found an honest looking driver who took me to my hotel. Thank god India never sleeps.

Someone showed me to my room, which was huge with a bathroom the size of an Auckland inner city apartment, and I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.

The next morning I checked in and text the lovely Indian doctor who I had luckily exchanged contact details with to let him know that all was well. People are so caring here and he was really concerned for my well-being. Things like that make travelling alone not only bareable but enjoyable.

I was ushered into the dining room and had the biggest breakfast I've ever seen in my life set out before me. I was the only one in the room and a friendly staff member brought out more and more food, smiling and cheerfully ignoring my gestures that there was plenty.

First came toast, jam and butter cut into neat squares. Then a bowl of cornflakes arrived followed by a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. Next came baked beans, paratti, yoghurt, coffee and lastly a bowl of fench fries appeared! I couldn't believe it and set about doing my very best to stuff it all in so I wouldn't need lunch. It worked. Breakfast and lunch all in one. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. What a terrible task. The best part was that it was all included in the room price.

I had a few hours to kill before my safari into the Ranthambhor National Park so I strolled up the road and spied a sign with the words 'Women's Handicrafts. Home for Independance' painted on it. It occurred to me it was International Women's Day and I thought it would be appropriate to support some fellow independant sisters.

Walking in India for pleasure just isn't done. Only the poorest of the poor walk and even they avoid it as much as they can. So a western woman walking alone was quite the talking point it seemed. I had to turn down several offers of lifts, shoo away various small children and some not so small children asking for money and dodge the piles of cow poo along the way. Not unlike walking in Dargaville really... 😉

Eventually I found the women's home and bought a blue hand stitched Salwar Kameez (long cotton tunic) to wear in the hope I'd blend in better.

Later that afternoon I found myself bumping along a very dusty road in an open top jeep next to a nice lady from London on safari.

As if India was apologising for the train debarkle, luck was on our side. We spotted two tigers in the distance, and a leopard right next to the road. Amazing! Our guide had warned us that our chances were slim and it was very rare to spot anything on your first jeep ride. Yet there we were. About 200 metres from a real live wild tiger.

My stay in Ranthambhor was over far too quickly and as soon as we got back from the safari I was due on another train to Jaipur. This one was, thankfully, right on time.

 Whilst they were watching the tiger, I was watching them. Ranthambhor National Park - March 8, 2017

#5 Trains, thali and the Taj

The next morning I was woken by the sound of people singing.

It was like some kind of Bollywood movie except without the dancing.

I was on another overnight train. This time to Agra. Home of the Taj Mahal.

The lovely old aunties I was sitting with must have noticed I didn't have any food with me as the train was running six hours late so they bought me chai and offered me some kind of strange savoury spicy cake and lemon muffins. I was so touched. A little boy even offered me one of his chocolate wafer bars.

Everywhere I've been people have gone out of their way to be incredibly kind. Except when it comes to money. If money is involved then they are ruthless. I guess that's the same in all countries.

So I arrived midday in Agra and took a rickshaw to my accomodation, had a quick wash and took a rickshaw, or tuktuk as they call them in the north, back into the main part of town to a cafe I had read about in the Lonely Planet that promised good, cheap Thali (a combination of vege curry, rice, a lentil dish and naan) and a nice atmosphere.

I was just about to walk up the stairs when a large Indian man with crooked teeth approached me and wanted to know where I got my earrings and ring from. I was a bit suspicious because that to me sounded a bit like the beginning of a mugging.

I told him they were just cheap from New Zealand and then he wanted to take a photo of them. I was still a bit suspicious but I told myself there was no harm in that unless he had some cunning plan that I wasn't clever enough to forsee. He told me he was a jewellery designer from Goa and was just interested in new designs from around the world. I don't know whether to believe half these stories but let him go ahead and take the photo.

He shook my hand and followed me upstairs to the cafe asking all sorts of other questions. He told me his name was Ali and that I had good energy. He and Mr Travel Agent both said that. I think it's the beginning of a typical sales pitch. Or perhaps I'm too cynical.

I wonder how many other tourists let their guards down with that flattery? I wasn't falling for it. Any way Ali went on to tell me he had spent a lot of time in the Himalayas with his grandfather disconnected from modern life so had developed a sort of sixth sense.

"You have an honest heart," he said.
"But your brain is too busy. You should do yoga and meditation."

He then asked how long ago I'd broken up with my boyfriend because he could see some kind of romantic hurt in me. I told him fortunately he had missed the mark on that one. I wasn't one of those a heart broken solo female travellers on a journey of self discovery this time thank you very much.

He also had a friend who could take me to the gardens across the river from the Taj Mahal that afternoon for a good price. I was still guarded but my instinct told me he was honest and to stop being so paranoid.

So I agreed for his friend to drive me in his rickshaw to the Taj gardens. And he kept to his word. His friend took me there and back and helped me find some fresh papaya I had been craving on the way home. All is well that ends well!

The Taj Mahal was beautiful. It's such a strange feeling seeing something in the flesh, or should I say marble, after seeing so many pictures as a child and thinking it seemed so exotic and far away.

I was wandering around the gardens and began to feel a that little niggling loneliness that you get sometimes when travelling solo. 

It usually hits me at all the big sights and I began to think how nice it would be to share these experiences with someone even if they are someone you've just met and only spend the day with. But it's not an unfamiliar feeling and I knew it would pass so I focussed on the Taj and it's astounding beauty.

I sat down in the shade of a tree for a bit to have a drink and to take it all in.

A friendly local girl gestured for me to sit next to her. She only spoke Hindi and I only English and a few words in Hindi so neither of us had a clue what each other was saying but I gathered she was asking if I was sad because I was on my own. Indian people are incredibly intuitive. 

We sat for a while in the shade looking at the Taj Mahal chatting in our own language and laughing because it was a pointless exercise. I should have, on reflection, read out some Hindi words from the language chapter of the Lonely Planet but I didn't think of it at the time. As I was leaving a little boy ran up to me.

"Photo?" he said.

"Money?"

"Sweets?"

"Pens?"

Sadly I had absolutely nothing to give him except money and I have a strong stance against giving money to children. Giving to a charity that can make a lasting difference is a better option in my opinion. Instead of getting upset he gave me a flower and ran off. 

This country breaks my heart.

View of the ol Taj itself from Taj Bagh (gardens) across the river. March 6, 2017

#4 Gurus, body parts and Bob Marley

On my last day in Varanasi I went with Rajesh back to the city. He took me to get some henna and then sent me off on a walking tour of the oldest part of town.

Getting Henna in Varanasi
March 6, 2017

It was like a maze and there was no way I could have navigated it without a guide. The alley ways were very narrow and at times we had to squeeze past cows who have the right of way of course.

The walking guide was quite a character and unfortunately a bit creepy. He asked me if I was single pretty early on. Never a good sign. Then he really really wanted to take me to the karma sutra temple even though I said no many times. Something about him made me uncomfortable.

He kept on about it but I was determined not to endure that level of awkwardness with him. He went on to ask me a whole bunch of rather inappropriate and personal questions. Is it too much to ask to go on a walking tour without one's intimate history being examined I wondered?

It turned out when he wasn't trying to pry into tourists personal lives he was also a part time Bob Marley fan. He decided this was a good time to play some tinny reggae from his phone. So now not only was I getting the usual white tourist stares I was now also a tourist following a short Indian man in Ray Bans blasting Bob Marley. Fan-bloody-tactic.

The tour led us down to the ghats again and to the crematorium which I was morbidly fascinated by. I wasnt dissapointed! There were dead feet sticking out of the piles of wood and bits of bubbling roasting flesh.

The priest told me that the families are ok with tourists coming to look because they were so proud their loved ones had made it to the Ganges.

At some point during the day Mr Ray Bans and I got talking about gurus and palm reading as I was still thinking about what Mr Travel Agent had said in Delhi.

Varanasi seemed like a good a place as any to go to a guru especially because it is meant to be a very spiritual city. And of course Mr Ray Bans knew just the place. Mr Guru wanted to charge me an arm and leg to read my palm which was ironic because there were plenty of free arms and legs going at the crematotium. I bargained him down to 500 rupees from 1500.

He sat me down and took my left palm in his hand and began to tell me about my past.

He told me I was very independant and didn't like relying on anyone. It's a pretty safe bet when someone is travelling alone.

"You are like coconut. You put up hard outer shell but inside you are soft," he said in his gentle Indian accent.

He then told me I had some kind of intellectual/social job rather than manual labour. Again anyone can see that. My arms are tiny and my hands are callous free. I wasn't impressed.

Then he moved on to the present and said I'd had my heart broken three times and would have always problems with romantic relationships. But that I had a good relationship with my family.

According to him I wouldn't get any bad diseases but I would have issues with my lower back later in life and that I should do yoga. Given my height, that's another good guess. I'd also live until I was 85. Yippee!!

He finished by telling me I would have two children and would marry a younger foreign man in four years time. Hilarious. Mr Guru then tried to convince me to buy some stones that would help me with my unluckiness in love. I declined.

With that I left Mr Ray Bans, Mr Guru and lovely driver Rajesh behind in their crazy, hazy city of cows, cremations, palmistry and lassi and headed for Agra on an overnight train.

#3 A politically incorrect guide to the Ganges

When I woke up that morning on the train I had a quick panic that I was meant to get off at an earlier stop. Visions of  the little boy in the movie Lion flashed through my mind.

Not speaking Hindi has me in a constant state of uncertainty. I'm never sure if I've understood what's going on completely.

Any way it turned out I hadn't missed my stop and a lovely driver named Rajesh met me at the train station and took me into town. On the way he told me he was taking two other ladies around that day who were also from New Zealand.

He then tried to up sell a more expensive hotel to me but I declined and explained I was on a budget. He obliged but there was some problem with the checking in so he took me to the very upmarket hotel where the other New Zealanders were staying. I told him I was not paying any more as I had booked and paid for budget. He assured me this was fine.

The room was blinking amazing. King size bed, beautiful gold curtains with a blue sash, flat screen TV and a proper shower. After a good sleep, a hot shower and a solid breakfast of toast and omelet I was in a brilliant mood and thanked my lucky stars once again.

As soon as I hopped in the taxi with the two New Zealand women the one I will call Sheila #1 exclaimed, "You came to India in your own?! Are you fucking mad?"

The only people I've had tell me that travelling in India alone is a bad idea have been New Zealanders. We are a timid bunch it seems. Everyone else hasn't blinked an eye with one Indian man even congratulating me for travelling without a partner.

The women were classic middle aged, upper working class, white women. They smoked like chimneys, swore, gossiped and cackled like hyenas. Luckily the driver took all their very politically incorrect comments about his people and his country with a grain of salt.

They were finding the rubbish and noise a bit confronting which was understandable. I hardly noticed it any more and for some reason it never bothered me.

I kind of wish it did shock me. It should shock everyone. We share this planet and we need to look after it.

However there is a sense of hopelessness when you realise that your tiny country of four million people vigilantly washing out their two peanut butter jars a year is doing very little when millions of people in India are too busy struggling to survive to worry about anything else. It's not their fault. Change has to come from the top.

So the two cackling Sheila's and I were taken on a tour of Varanasi. It is a very religious city and has more of a rural vibe than Delhi. There is a slower pace of life and you can actually see the blue sky.

Our driver told us that his brother spent three months in prison for accidentally hitting a person with his car. Rajesh had to pay a large fine for him to get out or he would have been in there for up to five years.

That afternoon we visited the Mother of India temple where I spied a snake charmer outside. I was almost beside myself with excitement. Dad had asked for a snake charmer picture last time but I never saw any in the South.

My conscience completely desserted me and I happily took photos of these poor snakes and the monkeys on chains. The gentleman had put make-up on the monkeys faces and they looked incredibly strange. The snakes must have had a horrible time stuck in a bag all day and then provoked by their owner for tourists amusement.

I fell a little in love with the female monkey. I gave her some pats and she climbed up on my knee and didn't want to get off.

I told her she was beautiful and that eveything would be ok.

"Is she happy?" I asked the man.

He didn't answer me. I think he was insulted by my question.

Despite this I still gave him 100 rupee for letting me take photos. After all everyone is just trying to survive.

He told me he had been bitten many times by his snakes but he didn't die because he tied off the bites quickly before they entered his blood stream.

That evening Sheila #1, Sheila #2 and I went down to the Ganges for the evening 'festival' which happens every night.

Evening time on the Ganges. March 2, 2017

We hopped in a boat and I dropped a candle into the river as a blessing so the God of the Ganges would protect Mum during her operation back home.

Sheila #1 suggested I ask the gods to break up her son and his girlfriend. Charming.

The Ganges and surrounds were beautiful in a dirty, ugly, messy way. But that is life and in its entirety life is beautiful. I couldn't quite believe I was really there. I'd seen it on TV and read about it and now I could actually touch it and smell it. It was a surreal feeling.

By this stage I was getting a little tired of the Sheila's complaining. Sheila #1 was hungry and bored and didn't want to stay for the festival.

It was embarrasing the way she spoke about Indian people and their culture and frustrating that she was not willing to see any beauty at all. The fact she was a New Zealander made it even worse. We have a reputation to uphold!

When the festival was over we had dinner together and they cackled and smoked away until the resturant closed and I could escape to my room.

The next morning I met Rajesh at 5.30 am to go on another boat ride along the Ganges to see the sunrise. It was stunning and this time I was alone so could appreciate it better.

Sunrise on the Ganges, Varanasi. March 3, 2017

It was so peaceful watching people and animals on the ghats and not understanding most of what was happening. There were people chanting and washing laundry as well as people bathing in the river. Dogs ran around in packs and I even saw a dead cow floating down the river at one stage.

We had a brief look at the cremation area of the ghats where the bodies are burnt. We didn't get up close and although I was dying (pun unintended) to see the bodies it seemed quite disrespectful to go any closer.

I opted not to do any more sight seeing whilst in Varanasi and just soak up everyday life instead. Despite things being comparatively cheap EVERYTHING costs money, even using a public rest room, so you soon get through it.

Rajesh took me home and I spent the rest of the day happily writing about everything that had happened so far and cheekily hand-washing all my clothes in the bathroom. The amount of grime that came out of them was impressive! The inside of my nostrils were coated in Delhi grime as well and you don't want to know what the bottom of my feet looked like.

What are we doing to our beautiful planet? How do we stop it?

Trevor from Australia and I agreed on one thing. There needs to be a major shift in how we organise society. We can't keep this up forever.

Unfortunately he didn't have any answers and neither do I although he believed he should be in charge.

As leader of our singular global authoritarian government Trevor from Australia can fix all our problems. If only we'd take him seriously...

#2 'Money Temple'

After such an eventful first day in Delhi I was less enthusiastic about life the next morning.

Nodi knocked on my door and gently urged me out of my room by 10 am. He dropped me back at the booking office on his scooter where Trevor had spent the night smoking pot and watching the men gamble.

I waited for my itinerary to be printed which took ages. Whilst I was waiting I chatted to Trevor who told me he was going to be the world leader one day.

After having recently watched a lot of Louis Theroux documentaries I kept an open mind and probed a bit deeper despite my crazy alarm bells ringing. He explained he was studying politics and economics at university in Australia.

He'd had a vision when he was 17 of a symbol similar to yin and yang but different which he worked on until he had a visual depiction of the 'natural order of things,' with positives and negatives.

He showed me how it happened to look like a person with a head and a body and told me this was no coincidence. It was very complicated but it did make sense in a way. I was fascinated and asked him what he wanted to do with this knowledge and what his ideal outcome was. It may have come out a bit patronising but I was having difficulty keeping a straight face. He could tell I wasn't convinced.

He told me that it was a loaded question. People love to say that when they know you're a journalist especially when it's a perfectly valid question that makes them uncomfortable.

He said he wanted world peace and that he was going to be an advocate for this belief system. Brilliant.

Mr Travel Agent then suggested we go on another tour of old Delhi which I agreed to as I wanted to see the Red Fort.

After sitting in the Travel Agents for hours waiting for something to happen finally another man from Ireland came in and was convinced to go on a tour with us. I was relieved because I couldn't face spending any more one on one time with Mr 'Trevor from Australia.' I think the Irish guy also sensed Trevor was a bit crazy but he was new and fresh and enthusiastic about India as I had been the day before.

I let the two of them sit in the back of the taxi. I just couldn't figure Trevor out. He kept giving money to beggars yet said he had lost all his money. He seemed to think he was some kind of prophet and gushed over Gandhi when we visited a Gandhi memorial.

At the Red Fort in old Delhi we discovered Cannabis plants growing wild like weeds (ha ha) in the dried up moat. Brilliant line of defense I thought. Get your enemies so stoned they don't want to attack any more!

That day we also visited the spice markets by bicycle rickshaw. It was the Irishman's first day in India ever. Our rickshaw driver took us into oncoming traffic and Mr Irishman was finding it all spectacular which was quite hilarious.

The rickshaw driver was pointing out all the temples on the way and at one stage he pointed at a bank and said "money temple" with a big toothless grin. I caught the giggles after that. The joke took me by surprise and he was very pleased he had made me laugh so much.

That evening I was put on a train to Varanasi which is famous for being on the banks of the Ganges. I say 'put on the train' because amidst the chaos you are forced to pay a porter to help you find your train carriage. It takes a bit of getting used to relying on other people and then tipping as well when you are used to doing everything yourself.

I was quite exhausted by this stage so fell asleep on the train very early before food was even served.

I woke up a little while later to a boy presenting me a tray. In my sleepiness I presumed, embarrasingly, he was selling me something so shook my head and said no thank you. Then as my eyes adjusted I realised it was food, apologised and gratefully accepted it. The boy just stared at me like I was a complete moron. And rightly so.

After dinner I fell asleep again to the soothing motion of the train, hurtling towards the unknown, and the second day in India came to an end.

View from the spice markets into the streets below. March 1, 2017 - Old Delhi 

 Looking towards New Delhi. March 1, 2017 - Old Delhi

Spices for sale 

#1 The first 48 hours

The first guest house in New Delhi

Feb 28, 2017

 Sufi Shrine

Feb 28, 2017

In a way it seems silly to be using words to describe India. There just aren't enough to give any reader who has not already travelled there an idea of what it is like.

It is a country for the senses. India needs to be smelt, tasted, seen, heard and felt.

It is also a country where time dissolves.

Last time I was in India I came believing all the usual things about westerners coming to find themselves. I hoped I would maybe find myself, whatever that means, or at least find some kind of clarity, but of course I didn't. Finding yourself probably requires a bit more effort than just showing up. There wasn't even much of a culture shock. This time I came not wanting or expecting anything as it was just a stopover on the way to Nepal but soon enough I was under India's spell again.

Travel always makes me aware of luck more so than when at home and it seemed to start immediately when I was seated next to a very interesting Belgium guy on the flight from Auckand to the Gold Coast who had just finished a one year working holiday in New Zealand. He had loved his time in NZ and his positivity was contagious. It wasn't long before my fears of the unknown slowly evaporated and
I felt very lucky to have such good company right from the start of my trip.

Travel also exposes you to the best and worst of humanity. The best started before I even got to India in Australia when a fellow passenger had his water bottle taken off him in customs. He was asking the cafe worker if the bottle of water he had picked up was the cheapest around and the lovely man behind the counter paused for a second and then said, "Just take it. Welcome to Australia." Such a tiny gesture yet so big at the same time. The fellow passenger, who was obviously on a pretty tight budget, walked away with such a big smile.

The worst of humanity I can see in myself. I walk past beggars and feel very little emotion. I think putting up an emotional wall in these situations is my default survival tactic.

The Belgium guy and I had a long stop over in Kuala Lumpur airport. We discovered a movie room and spent the time eating, looking around the airport, using the free WiFi and me trying to get him to teach me some phrases in French. He also told me this past year in New Zealand was the happiest he's ever been and wants to keep travelling for as long as he can.

After he left for the Philippines I still had eight hours to go so I attempted to read my book. I felt very old fashioned as everyone was on some kind of device. In classic Malaysian style there were designated charging stations for devices but none of them worked. I've learnt it's best to embrace this kind of thing as there is nothing you can do. I found it kind of hilarious and entertaining watching everyone test out the power points and then retreat defeated just as I had done hours before hand.

Finally it was my turn to board the plane. The nerves were back and I began to feel uncertain about travelling alone again.

With a few deep breaths and a quick mental pep talk I was on my way to New Delhi, India.

I managed to sleep most of the way and woke up in time to catch a glimpse out the window of a mass of orange light and haze that is Delhi from the sky.

It looked quite beautiful. Tiny clusters of lights were sprinkled amongst the darkness. A hint of the organised chaos we were about to enter.

As soon as I arrived, time did that dissolving thing again. There is never any rush, yet everything seems effortless, and runs like clockwork.

Customs was quick, my bag arrived and a driver from my guest house was there to meet me. 

As I trotted along side him on the way to car I felt a huge sense of relief. Delhi wasn't scary. I'd done this before. The warm, hazy air and traffic noise made me so happy to be back.

In the van I revelled in the feeling of being a passenger in a vehicle in India and surrendering your fate to the powers that be.

The guest house was down a tiny lane in New Delhi with no name and through some large iron gates. Scooters, dogs, rubbish and people were everywhere even at 11.30 at night.

As soon as I arrived the owner of the guest house, Nodi, was out the front to meet me and took me to my room. I was so happy to see a bed but I was not to sleep just yet as Nodi had other ideas. Before I really knew what was happening I was on the back of his scooter and we were heading to a place to get maps. I'd never been on a scooter before and this seemed a strange time for firsts after such a long day but it was fun anyway.

Experience warned me this was probably some kind of deal he had with a friend to make money but I agreed to go as I hardly had the energy to argue.

 A man with a beard and wearing one of those mafia type hats greeted me at shop with 'Tourist Office' on the window. He really did look like some kind of gangster and had a vaguely Italian appearance with a gently curved nose and olive skin but I trusted my gut and didn't feel I was in any danger.

He ushered me into his office and asked me all the usual questions. 

Then he asked me about my plans for India and I told him I had none. In no time at all he had mapped out a train intinerary and I was to meet him at 9.30 for a tour of the city the next morning.

I asked if I could sleep on the itinerary part first as I knew my brain wasn't up to making good decisions and he was very obliging. Later he would tell me this was all part of his sales technique. "You have to make them feel comfortable," he confided. Clever. I am still unsure if taking tourists straight there after they have been travelling all day is part of their sales technique or just that Delhi is a city that never sleeps and everyone is just trying to make a living.

The next morning I woke up very early and was rearing to go. I wandered around the guest house which had an outdoor courtyard and roof top terrace. As I waited for my ride I struck up conversation with a nice Japanese man who was in Delhi for a yoga course. After a short conversation he lit up a ciggarette and the sweet and not unpleasant smell of 'ganja' clouded the courtyard. 

A small part of my brain was surprised, a bigger part found it hilarious and the rest was concentrating on keeping a polite expression on my face.

Nodi took me back to the booking office and again I was ushered into a room and supplied with piping hot chai and some kind of delicious lentil and naan combination for breakfast.

After looking at the itinerary, and making sure Mr Travel Agent knew I was on a budget, he booked a string of trains that would take me around the golden triangle of North India. I decided its best to just let things unfold in this country and accepted his itinerary and price. 

Soon I was in a taxi with two lovely German guys and a kindly looking driver with an unusual looking growth on his left ear that I couldn't stop looking at, honking and swerving our way through New Delhi traffic to the parliament buildings. I won't bore you with all the details about the things we looked at. It was all very touristy and you can easily Google it yourself if you want to know all the main sights of New Delhi.

The most interesting thing was getting to know the German guys and talking to our driver.

He told us the elections are coming up soon. I asked him if people like the current politicians. He laughed and said, "In every country politicians are not good." Classic.

We also visited the Lotus Temple which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a Bahai Faith temple and shaped like a lotus flower. Quite an impressive feat of engineering and design. What was even more impressive was that it was someones job to shush people inside . Hilariously one very studious looking woman took her job so seriously she even shushed a crying baby. Meanwhile a very chirpy sounding bird sang its heart out in the roof and got away with it.

That evening the two German guys left to catch a train to Varanasi and I waited in the office with Mr Travel Agent. He told me I should come experience 'indian nightlife' with him. 

I was already tired but didn't know the way back to my hostel and didn't want to miss out on anything so I agreed. Whilst I was waiting in the office I saw a grey haired western man with a beard looking as bewildered as I imagine I did when I first arrived at the office.

I gave him a polite smile which he took as an invitation for conversation and next thing he was introducing himself as Trevor from Australia and telling me he had found this amazing book. He showed me a coffee table type picture book about India that really wasn't that amazing. Mr Travel Agent informed me that I would be going with him and Trevor to listen to some music tonight.

I told myself that was fine. After all I am here for new experiences and to meet new kinds of people. Well...Trevor certainly was a new kind of person I was to discover later.

After some consideration I have decided to include the next part in the blog because I feel it is important to have authentic truthful accounts of experiences and leaving this part out would be dishonest. Just keep and open mind and remember this is India as you read on. Also...don't worry Mum and Dad. Have faith that you raised me to be sensible.

Once Mr Travel Agent had finished work he invited Trevor and myself upstairs and proceeded to roll a very fat joint.

I had already made it clear I wasn't going to be participating in this particular activity and that was fine with him.

I was very aware of keeping my wits about me and had made a promise to myself I wouldn't do anything that could make me more vulnerable than I already was when travelling alone.

I asked him a little incredulously if people get in trouble for having weed in India as it is still very much illegal.

He replied, "No. Just don't smoke it in public and no one worries."

After a while chatting upstairs and watching card tricks by one of his employees we took a taxi somewhere. I have no idea where we went and could not find it again if my life depended on it.

Mr Travel Agent led Trevor and I down some long winding alley ways lined with stalls selling religious merchandise and arrived at a Sufi* shrine.

*Sufism is a religion. Google it to know more. I had to as well.

Before we left the office, the employee who was showing us card tricks told me he knew things weren't ok for me at home. I can only imagine he meant Mum being sick and told me to listen to the Sufi music and I would feel cold inside and then I would feel better.

I asked him how he knew things weren't ok at home and he just smiled and said he sensed these things and to go enjoy the music.

So I did. Well I tried. I was feeling so exhausted by this stage I couldn't appreciate it properly and Trevor was beginning to get on my nerves. He kept saying how 'devotional' he felt and how spiritual he was. I had really had enough of it all by then and couldn't wait to get home. Something about Trevors story didn't add up but I couldn't figure out what was the truth and I still can't. 

Previously he told me he lost all his money when he first arrived in India in a hotel scam and had only booked his ticket to India one week ago. He had done no preparation at all and didn't understand the money so handed over a large chunk of it in the first hour.

I asked how he had come to see Mr Travel Agent and all he would tell me was that they had a spiritual connection and he was his 'brother.'

Mr Travel Agent then took us back to the office where we had dinner with his staff and he kindly walked me home.

There 'Mama,' Nodi's mother, was waiting for me and she was angry because I was back so late. By this time it was 12am. Mr Travel Agent said some angry words back to her in Hindi and left. It was then that I realised Mr Travel Agent was very short and not as tough as he appeared sat at his desk. Also he was going bald which was why he wore the hat all the time. It appeared to me he had shrunk as the day went on and I saw him in a completely new and vulnerable light. Poor Mr Travel Agent. He also had had a long day and now he was getting yelled at by a scary old Indian woman.

Earlier in the night he had asked to see my right palm. He looked at it and murmered "oh no. I don't want to tell you."

I looked at him in horror.

"What is it?" I asked. "Is it something bad? Please tell me?"

He had wandered out of the room and said over his shoulder, "It's not bad. Just something you need to change. I'll tell you when I'm high." But he never did.