Returning to the Deserts of Rajasthan and 3 days by Camel

I left Varanasi with every intention of not returning to Delhi. But my only way of literally crossing from one side of the counrty at it's widest point to the other. Was either stopping in Delhi or Agra. And I definatly had had my fill of both those months back. Although I felt more at ease with India and had finally found a place with in to just accept India back on platform 12 in Calcutta and along the banks of the Ganges in Varanasi. So choosing a lesser of two evils, I chose Delhi after heving spent a week in the piss hole that is known as Parahgange Bazaare. So I set out on a late train and made a 14 hour over night journey back to Delhi where it all began.

Stepping off the train I actually smiled. This same platform those months back, a turban wearing thief with a shoe fetish, had knicked both pairs of michelles flip flops on our way to Bombay. The air was as exhaust ridden and smoggy as I had remembered if not more. But it smelt and looked familiar. Familiar was something I hadn't seen or experienced in some months....It brough a smile to my face. And I walked the streets with more ease and comfort then I had those months ago. I returned to my old hotel for breakfast and a place to drop my bag for the day. And they ripped me off again. There's not a lot of love between me and Hotel Shelton. They had previously become the poster boys of all my problems in India. But with India you do learn to accept or go mad. As soon as I had stepped off the train I walked past all the touts, screaming rickshaw drivers, and scammers with a smile and made my way right back upto the Foriegn ticket office and found a train leaving that very night for Jodphur my next destination. So a few errands in the Bazaare buying departure tickets to Thailand ( with a full night layed over in Dhaka Bangladesh...it was the cheapest I could find) a few more pics burned to CD, and a return to my favorite rooftop restaurant for some cheese bread and Pasta and I was thankfully whisked away on another 13 hour train from Delhi.

Jodphur is known as the blue city in rajasthan. The majority of its buildings every where you look, painted a sky blue. It is a reasonably quiet city for its size. And is dominated by a massive monolith of rock that is the fort above Jodphur. It is an imposing structure that bears the marks (Cannonballs) of many invaders. But the fort never fell. And it offers a stunning panoramic view of the blue city below. I spent a few hours just sitting high up on the walls with my feet dangling (Something you definatly could not do back in the U.S.) and staring far out to the distant horizon and what looked like a picasso's blue cubist period below me. I also upgraded thanks to a letter from my mom that said "Open when you get lonely". Which I did, the words were worth more then the green note to me inside but it did buy me 3 nights at a 250 year old maharaja's palace. Complete with marble everything, ornate stone work, a double bed, original paintings, Beautiful drapped textiles, a arabian cushioned balcony with a stunning view of the fort. A full bathroom with a huge shower head that actually had good water pressure and hot water. Not only that...it had a bath tub. I hadn't seen one of those in almost 4 months. And it had a beautiful rooftop restaurant to boot with views of the city and the whole fort above. So for 3 nights and four days I allowed myself some luxury In India. That costing under 25 dollars a day still. but I usually spend under $5.00 on average for a room.

I left Jodphur by way of Bus on a 6 hour trip to Jalsmier along the border of Pakistan and in the Thar desert. I was sick and the day hadn't started well with an Argument over 10 ruppees (25 cents) "tourist" charge at the bus lot. I know its nothing but it's the whole idea of people just taking money from you. Of course after this argument I had to still hand over the ten rupees and had a crowd of twenty Indian men all standing within breathing distance just staring and pointing and smiling at how I was dressed. So this didn't help the situation at all, not to mention me visiting the bathroom 4 times between 6:30 and 8. Somewhere on the bus ride out I regained my smile watching the desert and snap shots of life passing out side my window. This was the India I had wanted to see. the reason i had crossed all the way back over. And I really smiled when I arrived in Jalsemier to a sea of touts trying to sell they're hotels to me. there were quite leterally thirty guys swarming around me and grabbing at me pulling me this way and that as I was the only tourist to get off the bus. All I could do was laugh. It really was quite funny.

I found a little hole in the wall inside the fort of Jalsemier. Jalsemier is a place in the western deserts of Rajasthan. It is the India you dream to see. I am still here now, a few days longer then I had anticipated. Though I leave bright and early tommorw on another Bus North to Bikner and the Holy Rat temple. The Jalsemier fort is a huge sandstone fort the color of the desert and every single building within the maze that makes up the forts interior, as well as the whole town surrounding it outside the walls below. It is all, a golden sienna color. One that is especially rich at sunset, when viewed from one of the restaurant rooftops within the fort. And it is a great contrast coming from the blue city that was also in the desert. But much redder in tone.

The Fort is sorrounded by 99 round towers and connected by a winding rampart above the walls. Within are guest houses and craft stores that have been selling they're wares for hundreds of years. The narrow winding streets are filled with beautifully ornate textiles and crafts of camel leather, wood, and brass. Some of these streets are so narrow they get cow jams within. I ran into one the other day and no matter how hard I pushed or slapped it on the rump it would not move. They no they run things here. I had to turn around with a smile and a shake of a head and head back the other way. As well as traditional Jalsemier weavings (which I just bought today), and clothing as well. The men wear turbans with huge curled Mustachios that they take a great amount of pride in. While the women walk the streets in brilliantly colored saris. Wether rich or poor they are all dressed beautifully. The city is filled with great food and stunning views of the sandstone city and the desert beyond.

I was sick upon arriving in Jalsemier but was to dazzled to remember that. I took a step of faith and signed up onto a 2 night 3 day camel Safari leaving the next day with 4 people my age. It was achance to meet a few people and get out into some fresh air. So after some good conversation with a familiar face I had briefly talked to 2 months previous in Goa watching the sun set over the city with the muslims calling to prayer from the towers with a beer and a view that reminds you of why you left home. I woke early to leave by jeep from a bleary eyed indian who looked like he layed on the sauce pretty heavily the night before. And before I knew it we were all dropped off in the desert to a hand full of camels waiting for us. And two dark skinned Indian guides waiting for us. One muslim and the other Hindu. For our part... Me an American, An Irish Girl, a Swedish girl and a german couple.

We were sorted out and handed our camels. My camel was Sonya ( though it was a he not a she) Sonya was a bit lazy at times, a bit of a grazer, and stubborn at times with bad breath.... But really........................ what can you expect from a camel. I had learned to board an elephant in Nepal and now learned how to board a camel. pulling on they're reins that are connected to a nose peg that is pierced into they're upper nostrils, saying (chuutttt chut chut chut chut chut) till they neel all the way down onto the ground. Then looping the reins over the head. You approach the saddle lifting one leg high with the help of lifting your pant leg with one hand grabbing it up highe still and then spring onto the camels back in one jump. If you get on to slow they might get up with you only half way on and stretch you into the splits before dumping you uncermoniously into the dirt on your butt. This might or might not have happened to me. My pride forbids me to tell you any more.

When a camel stands it first throws you forward into the saddle. As the back legs stand first, then your thrown back in the opposite direction as the front legs straighten all the way up and finally the back legs stand fully upright and your straight right where you ought to be...really high off the ground on the back of a camel. When you stop to sit you go through the opposite process. Camels have a loping gate, that moves your whole body in a backward and forward motion. And there are no stir ups, so your legs just bounce around like jelly. And by day 2 your thighs are very very sore. I had to quite literally grab my leg and pull it over the saddle to get out. Day 3 though was very good. So you definatly adjust.

3 days out in the desert was exactly what I needed. to leave the craziness of all the cities. The screaming horns, the exhaust, the sellers, the touts, and the constant noise. I was reminded of it the first time we stopped for lunch. The sound of birds singing above us under the shade of a tree. Strangely I forgot that some times there are other sounds other than just rickshaws beeping. (They have a language all there own...that is rickshaws beeping..a conversation for another day) Although that quiet stillness during the day or especially during the night can be shattered by a mind boggling camel fart thats usually long enough to set your watch to. But Days were simple and beautiful. I forgot how much I loved the desert. A place that time doesn't seem to effect with all its old shrubs and villages that go back generations long turned to dust. Perhaps the shifting dunes. And every time of day in the desert wether it'e morning. high noon, evening, dusk, and night seem so much more pronounced then in any other landscape .... with the acception of mid winter back home. But it was three days out in the desert that I felt like I saw the real India. One untouched by the fingers of the west.

Our food was all cooked in old soot blackened pots and cooked over wood gathered fires. Hand made chapatis and old potatoe sacks filled with fruit and vegetables. The indian food was delicious and we had chai (tea) cooked up before every meal. The chai was especially good at dawn waiting for the sun to rise in that cool desert air. Morning in the desert just before and after dawn is an experience unlike anywhere in the world. My camel guide Ismael decided that the American Boy should go to camel college since I kept pestered him with so many questions. So for three days I helped with as much as I could. Every day going out and herding in all the hobbled camels. Walking far out into the desert in search of them with a small stick to send them running if they didn't want to. I had no idea how big camels were till I worked a little with them. When your leding them by rope out of the desert and back to camp. it's like pulling in 4 dogs by leash with all they're heads three feet above yours. By the third day I was saddeling all of them and tending to all the gear alone. When I left ismael asked me to come back out to camel college for awhile longer with just the two of us. I wished I had the time. I had desert dreams of being a cowboy by camel for two weeks. Reaching further out into the desert and learning more about camels.

We slept out on the sand dunes at night under camel smelling cotton blankets and huge beetles scurrying about over the dunes everywhere. The stars are of the desert are something to behold. Especially in that immense quiet. I would wake late sometimes to turn over but would be so caught up in staring at the heavans above that I found little sleep my few nights out there. We watched the sun rise and fall for a few mornings and nights out there and shared our fires with old wrinkled sheep herders. Who sang us songs old and beautifull along with the camel guides. I sang a few Johnny Cash and some Big rock candy monutain which they loved. everyone chipped in where they could.

The desert itself as viewed from up on high riding Sonya was somehing to see and alot I will not soon forget. Herds of Gazelles running through the valleys in the early morning dawn. Massive peacocks seeking shade under trees and shrubs at high noon. An occasional fox spooked up out of the brush. Small groups of camels eating from trees, peeking around bigger shrubs or seen at a distance. Seeing a camel in itself out in the wild was a rare treat fro me. one that always brought a smile to my face. Herds of desert cows. Old Orange turban wearing Shepherds with brown wrinkled faces and bristled white mustaches, herding flocks of white sheep with black faces or young muslim boys wearing brown with herds of black goats. There were old sun bleached bones of gazelle and cows lying about on the desert floor. They're bones stripped bare and white. Wild desert colored dogs that would follow us all day or show up at camp in the night looking for food. Women viewed at a distance carrying water, wood, or food in pots and bowls on they're heads. Wearing those brilliantly colored saris and how they stood out on the desert landscape. They walked about so elegantly in bare feet across the hot desert floor of sand, stone, and burrs. Village children that would show up at the wells while we watered the camels. Ragged cloths with the biggest smiles. We shared lunches and laughs and games with them. It felt good to get off the map for awhile.

It is night now and I have to return to pack and move again. But I have come to love India in the last few weeks. I head from here to the Holy rat Temple in Bikner. Then North to the Golden Palace and onward to mcloud gange. Where many tibetans and the Dali Lama live in exhile. One last visit to my beloved Himalaya and then onwards to S.E. Asia to begin the next stage of the trip. Reunite with the sisters as well as one more, plus mom and dad. Well time to walk the sandstone maze back home. I love you all and wish you all well. -Jeremy.

Making the pilgrimage to Varanasi

Varanasi. For months now I had heard Horror stories and love stories of Varanasi. It seemed like the melting pot of India and I had to see it for myself. They say you either fall in love with India or you run screaming vowing never to return. India for me has definatly been a working holiday. And it has been a realatioship that changes ten times a day of wether I love it or will vow never to return. So it seemed that Varanasi might be the bridging point of India for me. I really didn't know what expect, other then hearing so much on both sides of the table. It seemed a testing ground to what side of the table I sat on with India, or weather we would sit the table at all ever again.

Varanasi is the holiest city in all of India. It also resides on the holiest river in all of the world. The Ganges (pronounced Gonga) a broad and wide river that is sought out by Hindus from all over India. Which is a few hundred million. Some say it is the oldest city in the world. And others that it is visited by more Indian pilgrims then any other place in India year round. Hindus come to the river to wash they're sins away. They call the river they're "mother". On average 60,000 Hindus are down at the river every day at the bathing Ghats washing they're sins away. It is a sight to see. And one you will never forget.

The far side or opposite shore of the Ganges is a vast flood plain and beyond is all country rolling out for kilometers to the horizon, till it disappears into the heat and the haze of India. The city side of the Ganges is ringed with buttressed and fluted towered buildings and temples up and down the shore for over 3 kilometers. the buildings are old, stained and in some disrepair. Below them are the hundred or so bathing ghats and burning ghats. The bathing Ghats are usually an upper concrete platform with umbrellas to sip chai under, eat, talk, and pray. Leading down from them are more stone stairs that either end in the river, depending on the current height. Or they stop on a wider stoop to undress on and enter the river to bath. Now hindus and indians are a colorfully dressed lot as it is. But hindus always bring orange carnations (flowers) for offerings. Either in looped ropes, wreaths, or just hand fulls of the petals themselves. The river and shore line is covered in streams of orange flower petals. they also set afloat banana leaf bowls filled with the petals and small prayer candels in the middle. So through out the day and night you see these little lite prayers making they're way down the Ganges.

On the river itself are dozens of rowboats ferrying about a few tourists but mainly hindus chanting, playing drums and feeding the masses of seagulls flying above the bigger boats. the ghats up and down are lined also with small herds of wild "holy" cows, sheperded Water buffalo and the lovelt pies they leave behind "Which one fella pointed at as a buffalo let loose and said 'is good luck my friend" alongside the cows and black water buffalo are many nibblin goats and terretorial ribbey dogs. you share the walks and the streets with all these guysas well or you make way for them occasionally. WE had a few buffalo go on a stampede right through the ghats when we were there. fortunatly no one was hurt miraculously.

There are also hundreds of people out washing and beating theyre cloths on the rocks out in the river. the shore lines and the ghats are lined with thousands of pairs of trousers, saris, white shirts, and everything and anything that needs to be washed. So though the color might be washed out of the older buildings. the Ghats are awash in color everywhere you turn. But it is a very holy place, so cameras can be a touchy issue and drawing as I would find out. But the color that sticks out the most is orange. And not because of the flower carnations everywhere. Sadus (holy men that have given up all possesion including family for a life of worship and begging) flock to varanasi in mass.

Sadu are a alike yet all different as well. they all wear orange and all have long hair more often then not in long dreadlocks that hang to they're waist. They also have long beards. Some well kept and groomed and others not so much so. The majority of them have painted faces of white, yellow, or orange with big colorful tikas marking they're Hindu denomination and even the caste they were born to. A lot can be read from the tika marked fore head. And I would say a quarter of the Sadu of the hundreds that were there. Walked around completly naked. Though they're bodies were were covered in ash top to bottom, that they would rub all over themselves. So they had a ghostly white appearance, naked, with long dread locks and a matching beard with painted faces. They were a sight to see. I actually sat in a tent with a few sadus and shared tea and biscuits with them for a morning breakfast. And they just sat there stark naked with not a care in the wold about it. To be honest I was pefectly comfortable with it as well. Sadus are also all peaceful, happy, and generaly very nice. Though they also all smoke out of a chillum all day. A really big pipe that they fill with opium and hash to reach spiritual enlightment. So you walk by these many, many colorful tents to see stoned naked sadus (laughing) as well as more then quite a few tavellers dressed and living the life of a stoned Sadu searhing for inner peace....Not my calling I guess.

Yes. Varanasi a colorful place where you are hip deep in the most intimate acts of Hinduism. There are two last acts of hindus in passing. The last they will make or they're family will make for them in this life.....Well if your Hindu, you'll go through this act many times I guess. As they are reincarnated from life to another better or pooer depending on the actions of this life. Any how, That last act takes place down at the burning ghats or out in the river itself. All hindus are cremated and along the Ganges in Varanasi. They follow tradition the same they have for hundreds of years back. Which is cremating those who have passed on alter like pyres of wood right out in the open next to the holy river Gonga. All day every day you watch as they chant while carrying down bamboo stretchers of the dead to the river. It is said to be cremated along the Ganges brings better luck in the next life and wipes away the sins of your past life. So many come here to be cremated. In fact the city can be over run with the sick and those on they're final legs of life. On average between the two main ghats there are 300 cremations each day.

The bodies are carried by family down to the river. (Just Men you hardly see any women at the burning ghats) they then wash the body(which is drapped in a orange Sari and ropes of orange carnations)The blanket is folded back to expose the face and the bamboo stretcher and body are prayed over as they lay out in the river and under water. There they sit till the pyre is ready. One street in from the Ghats and the river are companys that sell and split wood for the pyres. There are stacks of wood two stories tall everywhere, narrow corridors that are a maze of stacked wood. Sandal wood is the most prized and most expensive. But they weigh it all out exactly to be as economical as possible about it.

Once the pyre is ready they place the body on top. The orange Sari is removed and all the flower carnations are nibbled on by goats that are constantly shooed away by family, though all to no avail. The body itself underneath is wrapped in white linen (kind of like a mummy). It is then placed on top of the pyre with more wood stacked on top, only the feet and and head stick out on each end of the rectangular shaped pyre, From there a holy man prays a certain hindu prayer and does it with a burning brand of grass, circling the body seven times with the four to five pall bearers closely in tow chanting the same prayer. And finally the pyre is set alight.

The pyres burn for a good three to four hours. With family and many hindus standing or sitting closely watching. Strangely there is really no sorrow, sadness, or crying. In fact I never saw any one cry except for a few women in town sitting and waiting in a jeep. But that was different. They stand right in the smoke...well actually it's in escapable. you walk through it all day and even eat lunch to the smells of it. It didn't smell any different to me. Just another fire except the smoke is a bit denser and blacker. And every pyre has a professional fire tender. A man dressed in creamy white robes and a white turban usually. I never knew there was a profession as a professional fire tenderer. But if there was ever a call for one, this was surely it. They have a long bamboo stick that they use to tend the fire with, and shift the body around to. Always above the hottest point of the fire. they occasionally throw on a few more pieces of wood when needed. The last act of the burning pyre is to puncture in the skull with the bamboo pole to release the soul into nirvava.

I have always had a fear or burnt or burning bodies. So it took some time for me to get used to. Especially seeing hundreds of them each day. But for the hindus it is a part of life and the last act in this life. On my last night I sat and watched one up close for about an hour. A father and his two sons came and sat with me and shared companionable conversation for awhile. It was a moment of bittersweet calm. I don't know how. But there was a sense of peace to be found in it all.

The next day though over breakfast me and Eric watched as a row boat rowed a smaller orange Sari clad body out into the river with what looked like a father and son. When they reached the middle of the river, they pushed the body over the edge of the boat. One moment it was they're and the next it was gone. Weighted down with rocks it went to the bottom of the holy Ganges. If you die under the age of eighteen you are just put into the river. So this was some one who died young. Thus the jeep of weeping women. It was a hard thing to see. You watch with horror and fascination at the same time. And after you really don't know what to make of it. it just leaves you wih an empty feeling.

Which brings up one last view on Varanasi and the Holy Ganges river. All the ashes from the cremated bodies are swept and carried into the river. (Where in the morning you can see men sifting through the muddy waters looking for gold or jewelry) As well, many bodies are put into the river. Many of which resurface on the banks or can just be seen floating down river. Cows (which are holy) are also put in the river. So you see handfuls of them floating down the river every day. Also all the citys sewage is put right into the river untreated as well as most of the trash of the city. So here is a staggering statistic for you. Bathing water, not drinking water. needs to be under 500 parts bacteria per 100 ml of water (which is like one gulp). The Ganges has 1.5 million parts of Fecal Bacteria per 100 ml of water. But there they are out there. bathing in it, Swimming in it, brushing they're teeth with it.... I don't know what to tell you. I guess it's a step in faith. Make what you will of Varanasi. For me, ...... I loved it.

From the bottom to the top with some islands inbetween

Time to recap in a quick and fashionable way, of the last weeks from South India, to the Andamans, and into the chaos of Calcutta. We left Varcala to go to the southern most point of India on a packed 3 hour comuter train to Kanyukamari. A city at the tip of southern India. the southern most point on the Indian continent where three bodies of water meet. (the Bay of Bengal, The Arabian Sea, and the Indian Ocean) It is also a place where you can watch the sun rise and fall on the oceans and if you time it right. Watch the sun setting on the ocean with a full moon rising at the same time, also on the ocean. It is also a pilgrimmage point of many Hindus for worship. All this sounds very romantic and fairytale like. We arrived and ran right back out as soon as we could the next morning on the first bus we could book. Kanyukamri was.....well it seemed to be bursting at the seams with everything that you shake your Head at india about. So tucking our tails between our legs, plugging our noses, and clutching our purses close. We caught a bus north to Madurai.

Madurai, is a city well known for its gated temple gates. The city is an easy one to pass on. But one photo briefly glanced in any book of the Temple. Is enough to draw you there in Wonder. I didn't actually think I would make it there to see the Temples. So it was anice little suprise thrown into the bag. The temples themselves are 10 story gates in the shape of Mayan pyramids. But are covered top to bottom in thousands and thousands of life size figures, gods, and Hindu dieties. All very colorful and sculpted in good historical fashion. There are four of these gates and four more half the size in the Interior. The temple complex within is also a great opportunity to watch thousands of hindus in the acts of worship and offerings. This part of Madurai was a great inside look to the Hindu Culture as well as the masterful craft of the eight temple gates. the part of Madurai that didn't go over so well was the three of us having to cancel our bus tickets out. Ten minutes before we were supposed to leave. For reasons of the three of us fighting over one bathroom for the next two days. All night and all day. We dropped like flys one by one. Though we did upgrade right before to a better hotel with a nice bathroom and HBO. Where we all layed and recooperated fror an extra 3 days before buying a ticket to pondicherry.

Pondicherry is a formal french Colony on the East coast of India. It is a clean town that actually had street sweepers and garbage cans. Most of the houses in the french quarter are all in A french colonial style. With colorful streets and flowers hanging everywhere. the french Cuisine was particularly great. Especially the desserts. But we soon bought a taxi for a three hour road trip to Chennai (Formally Madras) India's fifth largest city. But nothing worth really seeing other then some american fast food and a movie. the next morning we caught a two hour flight to the Andaman islands.

the Aandaman islands are a few hundred nautical miles off the coast of eastern India. And are closer in relation to the coast of Burma then to India. They are a series of a few hundred islands stretching north and south for about five hundred kilometers. We flew into Port blair on big Andaman and the home of one of my favorite travelling songs by Jack Johnson called "Holes to heavan." I had always wanted to know where in the world that song took place. It had inspired me on many days out painting in the hot summer. And served as a reminder of why I loved travelling the third world. So It was a nice little suprise to know we had found it. It then served as a reminder that I was indeed on the right road in life. The right place where God intends you to be and the fates find ways to pull you there inevitably. It is always a great feeling to know your exactly right where you are supposed to be. Evfen if that is on a tiny island on the other side of the world.

The Andamans were a real respite from the crowds, the horns, the exhaust, the yelling touts, the smell of urine and cow manure, and all our stomah and butt problems. We caught a four hour cock roach infested ferry out of Port Blair to Havelock island. Where we spent the next two weeks living a very simple life. The island is ringed in long quiet white sand beaches, simple bungalows, local food (grown and caught), falling coconuts, beer shortages, great swimming and snorkelling, and a great place to meet people from all over the world. Beth got her open water diving certification. Sadly me and Shell never went out diving (It was alittle outside our budget). But we definatly took advantage of time on the beach with reading, drawing, painting, and great snorkelling. The interior of the island was all small bamboo walled homes with palm thatched roofs and chickens running from children and water buffalo mozying ever so slowly through all the rice patties. We spent one week in a hut and the next week set up the tent and camped right on the tides. One of those nights, bribing a landowner at sun down to keep our tent from being thrown off the beach. But the power of a few rupees to grease the wheels always goes far. He left with a smile as did we. Setting off down the beach to find dinner. our last night on the island we closed down the bar with a Departure party and a few floor tables full of friends to see us off. Which they did...... at four in the morning. we caught a ferry back to Port Blair the next day and a flight out to Calcutta the following day.

In calcutta me and the sistes said our goodbyes. The two of them were picked up at the airport by the organization they are now volunteering for called "crawl". And from what I have heard since then some two weeks and more ago. Things are going great for them. And they are bringing a lot of love and care to India. And I think India has given them something back. They each have found there calling to be true. Michelle is teaching kids in the mornings and Beth is going out doing nursing work along the railways for the homeless. They each return to finish the little school they have left after this. I think it has refueled they're spirit and reason to continue with the occupations they have chosen. ....Well with our back packs on, we awkwardly hugged good bye and walked off through the crowds. Each in pursuit of different dreams. Mine to finally travel alone for the first time. Something I have sought for ten years. And time is running short. So day one began without a hitch. Strangely day one of travelling alone also marked one day past the longest I had ever travelled abroad or been away from home before. So a day to be marked, happy, and thank full for for multiple reasons.

Calcutta was..........definatly poor but not as bad as I imagined, though I was sheltered in Sutter street the whole time. I met new friends and stayed at the Salvation Army Hostel. It looked more like a turkish prison then a hostel, but it was cheap and right in the middle of things. It definatly scored the award of the worst bathroom I have ever had to use for multiple days....A real winner! There isn't to much to report about Calcutta other then I got some good books, resupplied on pens and a few other items. Burned some cds of photos and uploaded them all. Ate lots of Indian cuisine, found a great street stall that sold chapati roll ups, and ended up at Calcuttas railway station to catch a train with to Varanasi.

Exodus is the only word that comes to mind. that and Chaos. The train station lived upto what you imagine a train station to be like in Calcutta or Just India for that matter. me and this Swedish Guy Eric pushed our way through the tens of thousands of frantic milling masses out to the train platform. The train was two hours late. So for two hours we watched the chaos of the daily commute unfold. There was a constant cloud of dust in the air from all the thousands and thousands of shuffeling feet. It was a nightmare but it was a facisinating nightmare to watch. All I could do was stand tall above it all and watch with a smile as indians jumped to and from moving trians and pushed and shoved and screamed and spit and stared and fought to go from one place to another. Staring is a common thing in india but when you are stared at by thousands and thousands of passing indians, it falls into a category all its own. Add on the egg sized cockroaches scurrying in and about it all as well as all the rats slinking in and out of shadows.....It sounds terrible and it was but I loved it for being what it was. I think I finally gave in and accepted India for all it is and can be on platform 12 that night.