Allahabad to Bodh Gaya via Varanasi

Last night I had no earplugs and the fan, which was on to block out the other noises, made a stupid noise as it turned. I filled my ears with cottonwool which did vey little. So, thanks to the new app on my phone, I turned on some 'white noise' and put my earphone in over the makeshift cottonwool earplug. Needless to say it was a restless sleep.

We rose with the intention of merely riding the last 130km to Varanasi and staying there for the night. We figured that, considering we had somehow found ourselves in Allahabad during Kumbh Mela, the largest religious congregation on the planet which only happens in Allahabad every 12 years, we should probably check it out. As we rode out of town we found a bridge which led over the sacred Ganges River and caught a glimpse of what Allahabad had become. Thanks to the 70 million or so people the festival attracts, the banks of the Ganges had been turned into a city of canvas tents and palm fron huts. We were happy to be getting out of town once we saw just how polluted and loud the area was.

We stopped in a village to get some brekky. I found a place that packaged up some fried potato balls and some potato curry for us. As I went to leave though they offered me a taste test. They must have known what a sucker for sweets I am. I tried the coconutty, sugary treat and couldn't resist. It would go down well after eating only half a mandarin each since breakfast yesterday.

We found a closed petrol station and used their gutter as a breakfast bar before continuing on. We battled oncoming traffic for some time and were thankful to finally reach the National Highway where we were separated from the oncoming traffic by a central barrier. Mind you, that doesn't stop people driving the wrong way down the highway...especially the tractors.

We rode into Varanasi though the paved backstreets. And when I say paved I mean the road was once paved but is now a ripped up mess of gravel, pavers and mud. There was surprisingly little traffic as we rode in and we thought that maybe everybody was in Allahabad for Kumbh Mela and that Varanasi would be more peaceful than usual. We couldn't have been more wrong.

As we approached the ghats of the Ganges some hippy Westerners quickly informed us that Varanasi's hotels were mostly full. This was confirmed when every place we asked as was indeed full or overpriced or lacking a Western toilet. Varanasi was full of Indian tourists who were here awaiting the 10th of March, which is a particularly auspicious date for bathing in the holy river. In the meantime they were clogging the already crowded roads in cycle rickshaws, Tuk Tuks and on foot. The traffic was probably the worst we have encountered in terms of congestion. We headed into the suburbs in an attempt to escape the masses but they were everywhere. Eventually we couldn't take it anymore. We pulled over to consider our options and found ourselves outside Tandoor Villa, an expensive restaurant which sold meat. Sold. We unhooked our bags and traipsed into the air conditioned restaurant to sit, cool down and plan our next move.

As we discussed our plan we enjoyed a tender mutton rogan josh, a perfectly cooked veg biriyani served with raita (yoghurt) and some chapatti with an iced coffee to wash it down. We were refreshed but still not ready to tackle Varanasi's crazy traffic, especially at the risk of finding yet more accommodation that was booked out. We needed to get out. We checked a map, found a temple about 200km away and hoped there would be accommodation there. Lonely Planet confirmed this fact for us and we were convinced...Bodh Gaya it was!

We loaded up Big Red once again before riding around the city and out of town. Like this morning we crossed a bridge and caught glimpses of the Ganges. Water buffalo bathed happily and people went about their business on the endless steps leading down to the water. This was our version of sightseeing in Varanasi and gosh it was nicer than the alternatve. The road leading back to the National Highway was long and potholed but, with full bellies and the knowledge that we were leaving town, we were content.

It turns out that Bodh Gaya is further from Varanasi than we thought and, although the highway is a nice sealed road, when hundreds of trucks get stuck in a traffic jam, progress is slowed. The first jam we came to was made up of about twenty trucks taking up both lanes. Nobody was going anywhere. When the traffic moved ever so slightly and a gap big enough for us to squeeze through was created we hoped we would get to know what the problem had been. Instead, we passed a stopped truck leaking oil, two trucks so close they were touching, a truck with a flat tire and numerous trucks facing the wrong way on our side of the road. I guess we'll never know what the actual problem was.

Not much further down the road we came to yet another traffic jam. And if we thought the last one was bad...we hadn't seen anything yet. Literally hundreds of trucks were at a stand still across four lanes of traffic. We slowed to a snail's pace as we squeezed between the parked trucks with our bags brushing past their dirty tires.

After some prompting by the locals (none of which seemed bothered that they were stopped in the middle of the highway, on a bridge, with no hope of going anywhere anytime soon) we jumped the gutter and joined the pedestrians and other motorbikes on the footpath. It was a tight squeeze as we fought our way through.

Once off the bridge we followed some other motorbikes who looked like they knew something we didn't. We were wrong. They led us through a village and its market before we had to fight to get back onto the clogged main road again. The intersection at which we re entered the congestion hinted at what the problem may have been...there were about fifty trucks on the wrong side of the road, all trying to turn and, in the meantime, blocking the oncoming traffic. And, because everybody is so impatient here, nobody was letting anybody else go so it looked as though the traffic would be stuck there indefinitely.

We made it through the jam and were rewarded with clear roads free of traffic. Sadly though, our hold up meant dusk was quickly approaching and we were still a long way from our destination. We switched visors again, rugged up in our jackets and powered on into the night.

We rode into Bodh Gaya at about 7:30pm and checked out a hotel on the main road. As we did so a bus load of bald lady monks turned up and it was clear that this town was something different. We headed for the backstreet accommodation featured in the Lonely Planet and in doing so stumbled upon Laxmi International Hotel at the end of a quiet, dead-end road. After checking the fan didn't make stupid noises we agreed to stay for 1000 rupees. As we checked in the owners of the hotel hinted at perhaps purchasing Big Red. Could it be? We had found this place for a reason and would actually sell the bike with little hassle? While we went to grab some dinner we left the keys with the hotel manager so he could take Big Red for a test drive.

At Buddha Restaurant we enjoyed a very cheap, and delicious, meal of veg chowmein (loving the Tibetan influence in Bodh Gaya), a paneer butter masala and some chapatti.

Of course, when we returned, the hot water still wasn't hot as we had been told it would be. We waited and waited and waited before having luke warm showers and climbing into bed after yet another very long day.

 

Taj Mahal and Agra to Allahabad

We rose early in an attempt to beat the crowds and capture the sunrise at the Taj Mahal. The night before we had worked out that we needed to buy tickets from a separate office 1km from the East gate that we were planning on entering through. We arrived at the ticket office at around 6:00am to find only a couple of people ahead of us. We sat down and waited. And waited and waited. As we waited, more and more tour bus drivers/guides turned up and thought they were entitled to skip the queue and wait by the ticket window. They were wrong and Chris pushing past them told them so.

Eventually the workers wandered into the ticket booth to think about starting work. They were the same guys that had been sitting around opposite us for about 15 minutes. Apparently the large queue of people waiting to buy tickets had not been enough of a prompt for them to start work.

When they did finally start selling tickets we were annoyed to find that, because they have separate queues for Indians and foreigners, they could choose to serve the Indian guides first. Never mind the fact that they were at the Indian window buying tickets for their Western customers and had arrived after us. We waited and waited and, with a French family, grew more and more annoyed. When Chris did finally reach the window they had no change to give him. They had literally started the day with not a scrap of small money and were relying on the fact that people would have exact amounts. After we got through that battle and collected our free water and shoe covers we set about making our way to the East gate. Accosted by rickshaws drivers we fought our way down the road only to reach the gate and line up yet again, this time in a gigantic line of tourists all waiting for the gates to open. Apparently opening at sunset is just a theory and in practice, little is done before 7am.

Before we could enter the grounds we all had to go through security, in our separate queues for men and women. I made it through relatively quickly but Chris was stuck in the masses. He made it through the security screen and pat down only to get stopped at the bag search. Why they have metal detectors when they search everybody anyway is beyond us. In total we queued four times: for tickets, to have our tickets checked, to walk through a metal detector and finally to have our bag searched.

In Chris' bag was a tripod that, for some unknown reason, they did not want to allow in. We pointed out another man with a tripod that had been let through and were told that he must have a permit from Delhi. Security tried to make Chris walk the kilometre back to the ticket office to leave his tripod and then told him he would need to queue all over again. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. Despite having an audience of fellow tourists we both yelled and swore at the security until they finally accepted that we were not walking the 2km kilometre round trip to drop the tripod off when it was not even on the list of banned items to begin with. As these people do though, they lied to our faces telling us that there was a sign back at the ticket office saying that tripods were in fact not allowed.

Chris found a helpful shop owner across the road who was happy enough to hold onto the tripod and our bag (why carry it around when we don't have to?) but accepted no responsibility for our belongings.

After six weeks of fighting India on a daily basis it had all become too much. We were sick of their systems trying to ruin every last tourist destination that the country had to offer. It was after 7am when we got through the gates and we couldn't help but wonder what the point of opening at sunrise was if it meant you were still queueing outside as the sun rose.

We walked through the Taj complex and, to an extent, our troubles were washed away. It truly was a stunning sight.

There's a part of the Taj which requires you to wear shoe covers while inside. We had another 'could anything else go wrong?' moment when Chris thought he'd left his shoe covers in the bag back at the shop. Luckily, this being India and all, there were some dodgy guys giving them out for a fee. We slipped them on before realising that Chris' were actually in his pocket. We tossed them to the dodgy man as payment and continued into the mausoleum. Chris snapped some sneaky photos inside as to get his full 750 rupees worth. As we wandered around the complex Chris noted all of the other people with tripods and was frustrated that he'd been singled out.

As Kyle said, there's only so long you can stare at a building for. We wandered around for a while then headed out. The crowds by this stage were huge but, there was no queue to get in anymore. Considering we missed the sunrise thanks to crowds anyway, if we had our time over we'd probably just go later in the morning and save lining up.

We collected our belongings from the shop keeper and then battled cycle rickshaws, horse and carts and souvenir touts all the way back to our guesthouse. Thankfully there was a buffet breakfast in a revolving restaurant waiting for us.

We loaded up our plates with homemade baked beans, boiled eggs, toast, Indian breads and curries and waited for the restaurant to revolve. Two more guests arrived and they must have figured it was then worth switching the thing on. What a bore! We barely moved 20cm and the smooth revolution we were hoping for was instead a jolting one that meant we rocked back and forth as we tried to eat.

After breakfast, thinking we wouldn't be riding too far, we lazed about and took full advantage of the dreamy cloud like pillows and wifi before checking out and getting on the road.

While the first road we took was average the second was nice enough and we made it to Kanpur, our intended destination, relatively easily. Finding a hotel though would prove impossible. As we came over the freeway we had spotted a couple of hotels and, after finally finding an off ramp, tried our best to locate them again. Instead we got lost in the bumpy, muddy backstreets of Kanpur, got cut off by a railway line and battled the traffic of a very major intersection more times than any person ever should. We finally found our way to the road on which we had seen, or as it would turn out...thought we had seen, the hotels. The first didn't have a sign but looked enough like a hotel for us to ask. Chris was shown a box of a room with nothing but a piece of foam on the floor. Ah...thanks but not thanks. The next was a construction site (we've noticed that across the country signs go up before the building itself). Finally we came to a huge sign advertising what looked to be a very decent hotel. Unfortunately it was just a sign and was for a hotel in the centre of the city. And, after the traffic we'd encountered already, we weren't about to try and get in there. Instead we found a guesthouse on the main road and thought it might do as a last resort. When Chris was offered a dirty, stinky room with a squat toilet for 1500 rupees his response was "I would rather ride through the tonight to Varanasi than sleep here."

And that was that...we decided to leave Kanpur and hope for the best. Unfortunately there did not appear to be an on ramp to the freeway so we were forced to go the wrong way up the down ramp and hope the trucks moved. They did and the sea of traffic parted with perfect timing allowing us to slip right back onto the highway. And gosh it felt good to be getting away from Kanpur.

As dusk approached there rose an angelic guesthouse from a green field in the distance. An orange sun set behind it and gave it a glow that made it ever so appealing. But, as we do, we rode straight past it and figured we'd just stop at the next one. Darkness fell and we rugged up and put my clear visor in my helmet so Chris could wear it and see where we were going. I, on the other hand, had his tinted visor and therefore everything looked horribly ominous. I gripped Chris tighter than ever.

The next guesthouse we looked at was for truckies and was lit only when a diesel generator was blaring next door. Oh, and there was a giant German Shepherd locked up down the corridor. We kept going. Chris would later inform me that, as we rode in the darkness breaking the one important rule we had made for ourselves, he had the song 'Dumb Ways to Die' in his head. Simultaneously I had been thinking about how they would identify us if something went horribly wrong. Not appropriate!

As we rode I spotted a sign for Allahabad and thought I recognised it as the town that had held the giant Kumbh Mela festival that we had heard so much about. The key word here would be held. There was no past tense about it. We sought refuge behind a truck that led us into town but even it didn't know where the unmarked speed bumps were. We slammed on the brakes behind him. We fought our way through the town of Allahabad and saw zero accommodation options. Eventually we pulled out the Lonely Planet and got ourselves heading in the right direction. Everywhere we asked was either full or ridiculously overpriced.

10:30pm rolled around and we settled on a place that Chris talked down from 12000 to 3000 rupees. Kumbh Mela was still happening and, as such, Allahabad was taking full advantage of the millions of pilgrims that were in town. While we were unhappy about it, the other option was to continue to Varanasi and our tired eyes were telling us that wasn't such a great idea. We settled in, ate half a mandarin each (the only food since breakfast) and tried to sleep.

What a day!

 

Jaipur to Agra

Dinner Views of the Taj Mahal

Before drifting off to sleep last night we spent a good half hour convincing ourselves to fly back to Australia as soon as possible. We talked ourselves out of Nepal, out of India and into Melbourne. But, overnight, India did what India does best and convinced us otherwise. We slept well in a comfortable bed with comfortable pillows and woke to a surprisingly piping hot shower.

With a fairly relaxed start to the morning and some WiFi we hit the road around 9:00am. We happily avoided the crazy Pink City of Jaipur and detoured through the 'burbs onto National Highway 11.

We stopped for lunch at a roadside restaurant and giggled when the English menu, unlike the Hindi menu, mysteriously lacked prices. The food was delicious though...veg pilau, paneer butter masala and a few chapati. We also grabbed a bottle of water from next door, making sure to pay only the maximum retail price, despite the store owner's attempts to charge more. We might actually be getting good at travelling India. Is it possible? Just as we near the end of our trip?

The roads were consistently four lanes and sealed, until we approached Agra, which made for a nice change. And there was a distinct lack of idiots on the road by India's standards. Again...India was doing her thing and convincing us to stay just a little longer.

As we approached Agra the road dropped back to two lanes and the idiots made a small appearance but it was nothing that we couldn't handle. After trusting Tripadvisor's always terrible directions, getting stuck in horrendous traffic and still not finding the homestay we were looking for it was on to plan B...ride to the Taj Mahal and then try to find a hotel as far from the craziness as possible. We went a bit too far away from the craziness though and instead of hotels we saw buffaloes being forced to mate. Returning to town we found Pushp Villa and checked out the room but, as usual, we thought we could do better. As usual though, we returned. We treated ourselves to a 3200 rupee per night room with a showerhead reminiscent of that from this morning. He could we refuse? And when they served us glasses of fanta in the lobby, we were sold.

We checked in, waited for the water to heat up (yes, this was the problem last night only last night they were unable to communicate the fact that each room had its own hot water cylinder and hence needed time to warm up) and showered. Next stop...foot massage. As part of our 3200 rupee deal we had scored an Indian foot massage. Sadly it was just for one person and we didn't think they would take kindly to us asking to have one foot massaged each so, I won out, thanks to generous Chris. While I enjoyed my foot massage, which actually turned into a delightful whole leg massage, Chris bathed and did laundry so when I returned, we were ready to hit the streets of Agra.

Dinner and beers, Agra

We caught glimpses of the Taj from the streets before finding Shanti Lodge's rooftop restaurant where we could enjoy dinner and beers with views of one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. And they even had meat! Mutton rogan josh went down a treat as we crossed our fingers that it would help with the constant tiredness we have both been battling. We were served a flat Kingfisher beer that the seemingly stoned waiter happily replaced for us upon request. Team that with another veg pilau and yet more chapati and we were very happy to be in Agra. We were even happy to sit and listen as countless mosques blared the call to prayer because, as the sun set, we knew we were staying out of town where it would be relatively quiet.