Final Reflections, and a bit of catching up.

4 months ago, almost to the day I sat in my room in Harare, with the generator on in the background powering the internet, wondering how the next four months were going to turn out.

Now I sit here in air-conditioned luxury at Louis and Frederique's house in Delhi wondering how four months goes by so fast. It's been an adventure, sometimes it seemed like the four months was never going to end, sometimes the time just slipped away. But it always kept me on my toes, wondering what was going to happen next, leaving me amazed at a view, or amused at the man belching heartily in front of me, or shocked at the lepers sitting in squalor by the side of a road while suited businessmen stroll past on their way to work. If that sounds slightly cliched, its because its India, it just does that.

I've loved it though, learnt from it, seen places and done things that even my parents (near deities in the traveling world) haven't seen or done. I'm now one of those Indiah explorers who can sit down at a bar and chat to other Indiah explorers about their adventures, (club membership card in the post).

I also apologise for the complete lack of posts in the last few weeks. I had a few lined up but unfortunately my computer has given up just before the end and for the moment I can't get any of the posts off it.

We went from Manali to Macleod Ganj, the home of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government in exile. Then on to Amritsar to the Waga border between Pakistan and India where the armed forces parade around zealously each day at 6pm trying to out do their counterparts across the fence. It is fairly comical, especially the soldiers who can fling their legs high enough to kick themselves in the face, but very impressive. Amritsar is also home to the magnificent Golden Temple, a Mecca for Sikhs and a kind of hummingbird feeder for people of all religions from around the world.

We stopped off in Simla to pick up our suitcases, and then, wondering how we'd managed to accumulate so much stuff, lugged them down to Delhi and left them with Louis and Fredie. It was then down to Bombay where I was re-united with Deepak and showed Rory the sights, as well as making a visit to Elephanta Island which I hadn't seen before. Goa was our next stop, five days on the beach to relax after the strenuous year I've had since exams finished. My birthday also happened to coincide with that and a day on the beach, a nice dinner and an evening watching football and sampling Calangute's nightlife amply did it justice.

Rory's sister had joined us in Goa and the three of us left the beach and grabbed the 36 hour Express train up to Agra, arriving at 3 in the morning. Intrepid explorers that we are we ditched our bags, had a shower and caught the Taj Mahal at sunrise. It was worth waiting for, I'll give it that. By far the most beautiful monument we've seen in India, a really incredible sight. The Red Fort must kind of feel like the less talented younger brother (no dig at Xandi) but is still very impressive, built on similar lines to the one in Delhi but better maintained, and without a concrete water tower in the middle.

Efficiency tourism, as we've named our brand of exploration meant us grabbing a bite to eat from a rooftop restaurant with magnificent views of the Taj and then catching the fantastically uncomfortable overnight bus to Udaipur. I ended up sleeping on the floor of the bus as it was comfier than the seats before being told that I hadn't paid for my space on the floor and to get back to my seat.

Udaipur is stunning though, four incredible palaces, two of them on islands in the middle of the lake and a third being the biggest palace in Rajasthan make it a really special place. Our hotel had a rooftop restaurant so omelettes with a view were on the menu each morning. We spent a couple of days seeing the sights before the parting of the fellowship. Rory and I had spent almost every day of the last three months in each other's company but it was now finally time to part ways. He and his sister, Liv were off to Jaipur while I caught my final train back to Delhi.

I've now spent two days here and am off to the airport in a few hours to catch my 4.15 am flight. Fun times!

I apologise for the lack of photos but as soon as my laptop is sorted I'll upload them, there are some absolute crackers.
Cheers
Max

Update

So after 3 months of immersion in Indian boarding school we're out. Into the wide world to do our own thing. It's been cracking fun and a really special experience, something I guess, that not many people have. And hopefully something constructive will come out of it and this new connection between BCS and Marlborough breeds a brand new generation of holistically minded, global students. Bearing in mind Xander is going to Marlborough in September...

Anyway we left the school on Saturday evening, proper backpacker style, rucksacks on back and front and caught the overnight bus to Manali, the so called adventure town of India. Its actually just a massive hippy town, dreadlocks and marijuana the staples. Ill post a picture soon to assure you that I haven't grown dreadlocks.

From here we go to Daramsala and Macleod Ganj, the home of the Dalai Lama and the exiled Tibetan government before completing our northern loop with Amritsar and then going back to Shimla to pick up our suits. From there its south, retracing footsteps to Delhi and then onto Mumbai. Ill keep you all up to date and will catch up on all the extravaganzas from Shimla.
Max

Assam

What is Assam? Who is Assam? Where is Assam? All valid questions. And in response to them: It is one of the so called 'north-east states', which funnily enough are in the north-east of India, in the bit that is only faintly connected to the rest of the country by the narrow strip of land (17km at its narrowest) in between Bangladesh and Bhutan. The whole north-east region doesn't have a great rep, its far too close to Burma for that, its always been known as a bit of a terrorist hideout, big on crime, lacking in development. Imagine, if you will, most of Africa.

These days however, according to Mark Tully and others, it is making some progress. It has decent natural resources, mostly minerals and tea gardens, and importantly they are being utilised, unlike nearby Bihar which has enough of the former but is doing very little of the latter.

However I'm not here to do a study on democracy or development, I'm here because of India's other great passion, (the one they are actually quite good at); cricket. Invitational Cricket Tournaments are a big thing among the top schools here and after performing rather abjectly in their own tournament, Bishop Cotton School accepted the tour to Assam as a shot at redemption.

The boys lining up at BCS to say farewells

 It's a bit of a slog to get to the school from anywhere, for us it was 8 hours on a coach down to Delhi, a two hour flight with cracking views of Mt Everest and then a sweaty, bumpy ride in a cramped bus to Assam Valley School.

 The lads at Delhi airport

The campus is beautiful, privately owned, funded by the surrounding expanse of tea gardens, it is twice as big as Marlborough with sports pitches and courts of all varieties sprawled across the 250 acres. The buildings are modern, with differing levels of aesthetic beauty, from Communist era concrete blocks to fancy, arty designs.

Rory and I were housed in the infirmary with the boys in a boarding house and Mr Roach the cricket coach in the guest house, about 15 minutes walk away. Our role on the tour was unspecified, keeping bus banter levels up initially seemed crucial so we got stuck into that but then found a new, absolutely essential daily task once at the school. Now sense of direction has never been my strong point, it took me three years to work out the 5 minute route from home to school, but I was nothing compared to Mr Roach. He took it to a new level. We were called up five or six times a day with: Hey Max, hey Rory, come pick me up!'. We obliged, not quite sure whether he was winding us up but when he demanded I walk him home in the pouring rain while QPR's relegation from the Premier League was at stake on the tele I dug my heels in. I begged and pleaded and offered a map but in the end he won and I got wet.

So feeling it was time to branch out I made myself fitness coach/physio/medical coach. Stretching bowlers backs, applying arnica to bruised hands and taking warm ups were my thing while Rory took fielding practice, which involved him hitting a small piece of leather very hard at boys who don't really like small hard pieces of leather being hit very hard at them but catch it anyway. Because they don't have much of a choice.

Mr Roach

I also became the statistician, drawing up wagon wheels and bowling stats on my computer. Unfortunately their batting figures were very small and their bowling stats were very high; ie they lost. Badly. So we thought bugger this and got a rugby ball out. This proved far more popular, and we found a good range of players. The Biharis, who live off buffalo milk were big on bosh, hand-eye co-ords, not so much. The Punjabis ditto while the Delhi boys are small and nippy, probably due to ancestors who made a living pinching from sahib's pocket, and would make good wingers. However the cream of the crop was the 14 year old Nepali wicket-keeper who was rapid, could actually catch and despite just tipping 5 foot promptly beat one of the Biharis in a wrestling match to show he wasn't a wimp.

Our last cricket match, which the lads had to dominate to have any chance of qualifying for the semi-finals was dire. Morale was sky high after bowling them out for 67 but despite a rapid 31 from afore-mentioned Nepali they wimpered out on 60, having lost all their matches and finishing rock-bottom in the group.

'An absolute disgrace!' assessed Mr Roach. Whether he was talking about my map or the cricket I'm not sure. It meant that we had two days to brush up their rugby and for the boys to chase after the girls. Unfortunately they were even less successful at that than the cricket.

Rory and I on the other hand joined all the other coaches for a bit of a piss-up in the guesthouse. It was hilarious, normally very stiff, lots of 'yes sirs' to men their own age; the coaches dropped the facade and turned into complete jokers. Mr Roach took a lot of abuse for his team being so bad but gave as good as he got and made sure everyone was well refreshed.

Our bus back to Guwhati airport was shared with the tournament winners and their massive trophy which didn't do much to cheer up the boys. Once in Delhi we loitered until it was time to catch the bus home to Simla. Unfortunately the bus didn't realise that it was time and we waited on a Delhi pavement for 3 and a half hours while Roachy tried to find out where his bus had gone! No biggie for experienced India travellers such as myself of course but I have had comfier three hour waits.

Manners and Mangers in Guwhati

It did finally arrive, to the chagrin of two members of the cricket team who suffer terribly from motion sickness and had to make emergency sick bags to contend with an uprising of Kentucky Fried Chicken on the windy mountain roads of Himachal Pradesh. Our arrival back at school wasn't glorious but it was nice to be back at a school with proper views and where you don't sweat away more weight than you put on while eating.

We've now left BCS, and I will fill all the massive gaps when I can but for now a slightly different blog with fairly dire pictures is all.

Max

Jaipur

Although Jaipur is part of the the Golden Triangle and one of the most visited parts of India we were fairly underwhelmed by it. It doesn't have the big city magic of Varanasi or Mumbai but is not as idyllic as Jodphur or Jaisalmer.

It did have two redeeming features though, the Amber Fort which was spectacular, and a very nice hotel, courtesy of Mr and Mrs Manley. They had meant to come out and meet us but unfortunately a small visa issue prevented that.

After checking in to our Sheraton we took full advantage of the luxury before hitting the town. It was filthy hot, really muggy but a thin cotton shirt and a bottle of water are brilliant in conditions like that so we manned up and went sight-seeing. Palaces and museums, camels and donkeys, it was all fairly fairytalesque but just didn't tickle our fancy for some reason. It was also far more touristy and we had people hassling us everywhere we went. It's all good fun and banter for a while but after 6 hours of 'Hey, were you from?' it loses a bit of its appeal.

The first afternoon was spent by the pool as we took a break from the rigours of a Gap Year, the evening spent at a lovely restaurant that served an excellent, if very spicy tikka masala. The meal had the added advantage of giving me some exercise as I dashed back to the hotel to use the loo.

Amber Fort (silent b) is the highlight of Jaipur and we finally succumbed to an exceptionally persistent tuk-tuk driver who offered to do the whole 3 hour, 40km round trip for 250 rupees (about 3 quid), on the condition that we 'look' at some shops on the back. So we took him up on it. He was a real keen bean who claimed that customer satisfaction was his primary aim. He even pulled out a book of comments from all his previous customers which varied from the Germans: 'he should trim his moustache more' to the Italians: 'very safe but must drive faster'. He showed us a beautiful palace surrounded by a lake before dropping us at the entrance to the Amber Fort. As big and as magnificent as the one at Jodphur, it was perched on a hill, with huge walls surrounding it and gorgeous gardens in the valley below.

The elephants weren't available so we tackled the climb on foot, fighting off murderous hat sellers and chaps who offered to give us a guided tour in Taiwanese. Finally at the summit we disappeared in the throng of tourists, wound up some stairs and emerged on a parapet with fantastic views of the rest of the fort and the surrounding countryside. We wandered amongst the massive stone walls, towers and temples built inside the wall before flagging slightly and stopping at the cafe to have a coke with a view.

We managed to not buy anything in the shops on the way home and unfortunately I think this meant that our tuk-tuk bloke didn't get his commission as he tried to double the price once we got back to the hotel. Cheeky bugger.

We then had another quick swim, grabbed our bags, grabbed some chicken nuggets at Maccy D's and then headed to the bus station where we hopped on our ride home.

Jaisalmer

Sorry for taking so long in all this, I've been fairly useless on the whole writing front but will fill everyone in on the shenanigans of the last few weeks soonish.

When dad went to Jaisalmer 25 years ago it was a two day jeep ride from the nearest town. Luckily Indian infrastructure is 8 times better now so it only takes 6 hours by bus from Jodphur through Rajasthani scrub desert, we were picked up by our camel operator and taken to the hotel that he ran. He then sorted us a bus ticket to Jaipur for the next day, ushered us up to the restaurant and then gave us internet. Bit of a legend.

After munching an epic curry we jumped in a little Mahindra and headed for the desert. Our guy stopped at a little village which was the closest thing to Disneyland I've seen in India. It looked almost exactly as a Rajasthani village would've done 100 years ago, it was just a shame about the busy main road and three telephone masts right next to it. There were the usual spattering of Japanese tourists with camera lenses bigger than their... forearms, and a gaggle of children asking for money for photos.

 The expression of the kid on the left really cracks

me up!

So we laughed at them and gave them 10 rupees before jumping back into the car, acknowledging the cold beers that had been bought for us and going desertwards.

Our next stop was at an actual ancient village that was being excavated. It was apparently inhabited by the Brahmin caste before a dispute involving one of their young ladies and the maharaja ended badly for the village.

 

Then it was taken over by the desert. I persuaded the guy to let me drive the car from there (it was designed for Indians and even if I was 5' 2” I doubt it would have been comfortable to drive). Even so it was good fun and felt proper chiller to cruise through the desert, sporting the Wayfarers and a linen shirt of course.

The excitement didn't stop there, half an hour later we pulled up next to a couple of camels and their blokes, grabbed the beers, mounted our camels and the desert safari began.

 

Camel back riding is really good fun for the first 10 minutes. Then you begin to realise that camels are very bony, have a similar gait to a fourteen year old boy and make the same noises and smells as the average foreigner after an Indian curry. Nevertheless they are quite endearing and the experience after dismounting was magical. We watched the sun go down behind the dunes while our guides cooked us authentic Rajasthani food, then we shared notes with them about life, future plans and opinions on politics and philosophy. About as Gap Yah as it gets! 

 

Then just before we fell asleep under the stars a little desert fox appeared and routed around the camp a bit, picking up the scraps of food we'd left behind, then disappeared into the dunes.

The next morning we rode back, I'd worked out the seating position this time so it was less uncomfortable but we were still glad to see the jeep that took us back to Jaisalmer. There we looked around the fort, amazed by how easily the town had grown up inside the fort and now was living and breathing inside the walls.

Then we had another epic curry and made our way to the bus station. I got chatting to a fruit vendor while we waited for our bus, he was very proud of his little moped and seemed happy to let me have a little potter around town on it, good practice if we end up biking over the Rotang Pass as I'm very keen to do.

The bus arrived soon after that and we hopped on, found some space and bedded down for the night.

Jodphur

One question that we kept asking ourselves was why? Why did they expend so much energy and money building enormous forts in middle of a vast, barren scrub desert. Who else would've wanted it?

Jodhpur was amazing though, our first impression was the crowded railway ticket office but it was all uphill from there. Our accommodation was in a beautiful 500 year old haveli with air-con, excellent food and cracking views of the fort. 

 

We headed out into the old city at about 10 and after a couple of hours of serious heat, sight-seeing and attention deflection we were knackered and found an air-conned shop that had cold Coke. The revival continued with some chocolate eclairs and we felt strong enough to tackle the monstrous fort. After picking out the English audio guide we spent a couple of hours marvelling at the miracle of masonry.

It really was one of those forts that nerdy little kids spent hours ogling at in books, before they move onto FHM. Towering towers, mountainous walls and spikes on the gate to stop elephants bashing them down. It also had delicate aspects, with ornate windows carved into the stone, a marble dais where coronations took place, beautifully decorated living rooms and a museum displaying weapons, embroidery and those box things that maharajas used to travel around in. It felt just like a family outing except without the arguments and with someone who appreciated jokes about Japanese tourists. 

 

The next morning I did have an argument, with a man with a disarming smile who managed to take 100 rupees off me and managed not to give me 100 rupees of credit on my phone. Rory dragged me away from my hopeless efforts and off to Umaid Palace. In the '20s the maharaja decided that a fort just wouldn't look good enough in Tatler India and decided to build a palace a few kilometres down the road.

It is now part museum, part hotel as well as being the official residence of the maharaja's ancestors. The museum was fairly well done but we were amused at how well appreciated the maharaja was, it was almost as though he'd funded the whole thing.

His memorial to his dead wife was very impressive though. Made from marble so fine that you can nearly see through it, it doesn't actually need windows because the walls let so much light through. It had beautiful gardens and great views of the fort, so he clearly loved his wife very much. 

 

Manners and I perfected our haggling routine for the tuk-tuks, caught one into the middle of town and bought some rahlly 'traveller' shirts, the thin cotton ones that look ridiculous but are actually really comfy. Then it was back to the havelli for supper and an early night.

Rajasthan Overview

We left BCS in a slight panic on Monday evening last week and caught the overnight bus to Delhi. Then we spent the day wandering around the city, saw Parliament and the Presidential Palace where the recent BRICS talks were carried out.

Then jumped on the overnight train to Jodphur, caught a tuk-tuk to our havelli and explored the city. Over the two days we checked out the old city, the fort, Umaid palace and a maharaja's memorial to his late wife, a kind of mini Taj Mahal.

Then there was a five hour bus ride to Jaisalmer, a beautiful, remote city built around a fort whose claim to fame these days is running camel safaris. So we sourced a bloke who had some blokes who could pay some blokes who would take us out into the Thar Desert on a couple of camels. It was a brilliant thing to do, it sounds really cliched and touristy but I'd forgotten how amazing it is sleeping out under the stars in the desert. Then we checked out Jaisalmer fort, which is still in full use, with people living, working, eating and doing everything else inside the walls. Not quite as big walls, massive towers, full on cool fort as Jodphur but just as interesting.

After pottering around for a bit longer we jumped on a bus and slept the night away to Jaipur. Despite it being part of the Golden Triangle our first impressions were slightly underwhelming but after a bit of time by a pool and a visit to Amber Fort we left the city with warmer feelings.

A 18 hour bus brought us back up to Shimla, it would have been a fair amount longer but our bus driver got high and then sped up the Himalayas with tyres squealing centimetres from the edge of 100 foot precipices. All good fun and at least we got there quickly.

I'll write up each city properly soon but for those who have proper jobs or loads of kids and then here's the bulletin.

Cheers

Max

The Daily Routine

Alarms aren't a particularly nice way to wake up, doorbells are slightly less persistent but still aren't conducive to a gentle rousing (being woken up at 4 o'clock by Rory generously donating last nights supper to the toilet bowl is probably third on the list though).

Each morning at 7.15 we're woken up by Suresh, or sweet, sweet Suresh as Rory has nicknamed him, at our door. He is there to pick up our empty food pot. 

15 minutes later he returns with a full food pot and the day begins. By this point we have made our beds, filled our bucket (providing there's water) and started heating it, I cannot tell you how good and virtuous this makes me feel.

We then shower, dress and head down for chapel at 8.15. There we sing two hymns (we're trying to get Jerusalem into the hymn book), say a prayer, listen to a reading and then head back to our room. Then depending on how enthusiastic we'll head out to period 1. As often happens we're still waking up and period 1 slips by but then we head out and carpe diem (not sure if that works in a sentence).

Lessons include sitting in (just watching the teacher teach), actively learning which we do as little as possible, (except in politics) and teaching. Teaching varies widely, our standard job is 35 minutes with the junior school boys teaching a mixture of French, Spanish (I learn the 6 phrases I'm going to teach them from Rory on the way down to the lesson) and whatever the teacher has planned. Its amazing how receptive the boys are to something new. I'm sure I was never that excited about lessons, they've even begged us for extra French lessons. However this excitement isn't all constructive and I have become exceptionally adept at propelling small pieces of chalk at the back of small Indian boys' heads as they turn around to talk to their mate. As 1950s as it sounds it works, and as yet I haven't gone as far as throwing the board duster, a tactic employed by one of dad's teachers in prep school.

Rory and I also had the pleasure of teaching elocution to a class of 15 year olds preparing for a reading competition. My mother will be shocked as she claims I'm utterly incoherent at the best of times but I do at least pronounce 'v' as a 'v' and not a 'w' as is the done thing here. After finally getting them to accept this, the word 'Wagnerian' then caused significant confusion. The piece was from 'My Fair Lady' and Rory does a pompous Prof Higgins voice very well while I've attempted to explain the irony and set the scene of gender discrimination in Britain at the time. Being a boys school the latter was far easier than the former.

I also taught maths to Year 6 in the last period of the week when attention spans weren't at their best and have a weekly slot teaching Huygens principle to the Upper 6. All good fun.

Lessons continue until 3 o'clock, then there is tea and then games. Cricket being the main one but wall-climbing is also big at the moment and there is a small gym where we can shift large amounts of iron about, and box (I haven't actually boxed since being well beaten by a boy two years younger than me, a foot shorter than me and two thirds my weight, but I'll try again as soon as the ego has recovered).

After games there is first prep, in which we normally learn Hindi but is also a useful internet time. Then at 7.45 we have supper in the dining hall with the boys. Supper and lunch are good, but fairly repetitive. Rice and dal, occasionally with chicken or lamb and various veggie dishes such as alu gobi, all mopped up with countless chappattis. Its no longer the beer that's contributing to the small bulge above my belt, it's now officially a chappatti belly. After supper we normally hang out with the boys for a but and then retire to our room for a movie or bed.

We're off to Rajasthan tonight for a week, Jodphur, Udaipur and Jaipur our targeted spots so I'll have plenty to write about, and plenty of photos to upload when I get back. I'll also try and get some photos of the school and the classes to put up.

Cheers

An Indian Wedding

If you ever want to feel like an B-list celeb*, go to Bojubeel, a small village on the outskirts of Varanasi. If, however you are brave enough to want to feel like an A-list celeb then go to a wedding in Bojubeel.

*small assumption that my readership is non-Indian.

The wedding was incredible, the pictures I took nowhere near capture the intensity and energy that ran through everyone from well in advance of the ceremony to late on Monday night when it ended.

My part started when my hand was hennad by Deepak's sister on Sunday as apparently it was 'traditional', (I later found out only traditional for the bride and bridegroom so at least I was being well included). The next afternoon I then had mascara applied, also for traditional purposes, apparently so traditional that Indians have now moved on and I was the only one wearing it. Then I had a quick haircut (the barber could only do mullets and it was a huge effort to get him to partially remove the clump of hair trailing down my neck). Then accepting that I was committed to a completely knob-ish appearance I donned the bright orange satin shirt I was offered and my Himachali Pradesh topi, although left the blue wayfarers behind.

Things were kicking off with the bridegroom's feet being beautifully henna'd by a tiny old lady who looked like she'd been doing that job for almost all of her 80+ years. Then 10 rupee notes were passed around the bridegroom's head and then dropped in a collection bag to bring good luck to the marriage. Then a set of drummers arrived and got a rhythm going, the women hitting the dance floor first, somewhat reluctantly followed by the men.

At this point I was offered a 'real drink' by one of numerous relatives. There's no way I can really describe him apart from supremely chilled. I think this picture shows all. 

I was slightly suspicious but jumped on the back of his Royal Enfield Bullet and we sped off to a seedy off-licence filled with all his mates who spoke varying amounts of English. They were all teachers or government officials but were all exceptionally cool and spent their evenings drinking, smoking and riding motorbikes, I was once again the centre of attention and was bombarded with questions about my life, not all fit to be published here. Then realising that I was probably missing out on the ceremony I persuaded them to take me back.

Here's me with my ridiculous look and one of the lads

The venue had been being prepared all day and a previously drab courtyard was now sparkling with white and orange drapings, buffet tables heaving under enormous quantities of food and the ornately flowered platform where the actual marriage was to happen. My entrance was one of those moments you normally only ever see in movies. Think the scene when the bad guy walks into the crowded bar and within a few seconds everyone has nudged their mate, the noise has died and a path opens up in front of you. I was like a rabbit in the headlights. Food hadn't been served yet, the ceremony hadn't started, there was nothing to distract them from the gora. I was then accosted from all sides asking for pictures, handshakes, my name, where I was from, the lot! One guy ran up to me, gave me a massive hug and then told me that I was the first foreigner he'd ever touched. It was fun for about 3 minutes and 23 seconds and then got too much. I escaped up to the balcony and watched the throng from above.

Because of all the attention I missed much of the ceremony but from what I could tell it involved the exchange of garlands of flowers, loads of photos and just general excitement.

 Then food was served, it was truly fantastic. There was so much of it, and it was delicious. Unfortunately everyone agreed with me so while there was enough to go around there was a huge crush to get to the buffet and goras got no special treatment this time. So I waited a bit and then sampled everything, especially enjoying the sweetened yoghurt that was liberally applied over everything. There were also mini chappattis, some meat dishes and then the usual rice, dal and beans. It seemed as though the whole town had been invited, even the local madman got an invite and a good meal.

  

After supper the dancing started and I was pushed into the middle of the circle and forced to dance for a good 5 minutes before deciding that the moves weren't flowing naturally and heading out into the street to drink whiskey with the Royal Enfield man. I chilled there for an hour before calling it a night at about half 12 (poor form I know) and hitting the sack. From what I could tell the dancing carried on until the early hours but was never as hectic as when I was in the middle of it. (You can call me 'life and soul of').

It was a bizarre experience, absolutely amazing but I'm not sure I got to see the traditional Indian wedding. I think my presence changed it too much for that. Despite this I loved it and would jump at the chance to go back to another, the energy, colour and pure excitement just made it all worth it.

Rory

He'll hate me for giving him a special entry but just so you all know who the 'Rory' who will be mentioned in future posts is I thought I'd give a little introduction. He was at Marlborough all the way through and I first knew him as the boy 'who wants to be Prime Minister' when I joined in Lower 6. He hasn't lost his political ambitions but he became a good friend at Marlborough, he captained me through my first season of rugby, I captained him through a season of hockey, we debated together, did CCF together, were prefects together and generally spent a fair amount of time together despite not taking any of the same classes. He was into his politics and economics and is now off to either KCL, Yale or Georgetown depending on who rejects him. He spent the beginning of his Gap Year working for an MP in Parliament and then travelling in South America.

Heres us at a 'civilised' black tie party.

Max

Varanasi Trip

So after my night on the platform I hung around Delhi for a bit and then jumped on my train to Varanasi. It was a fairly uncomfortable ride with my stomach giving me a bit of trouble for the first time but luckily it was just cramps, nothing messier.

Standard train meal

It was the one train I was hoping would be delayed but arrived precisely on time, at half 4 the next morning. So I sat on a bench (I am now well acquainted with Indian benches) until a more respectable hour, then hired a Tuk-tuk and went to go and watch sunrise over the Ganges. The tourist boats were already out in force and the funeral cremations had clearly been going on all night. Varanasi is famous mainly for religious reasons, it's a centre for Buddhism as well as for Hindis, they revere the Ganges and use it as a final resting place for the hundreds of bodies that are cremated each dayon its banks.

 

Then the tuk-tuk tuk me 20 minutes down the road to Deepak's village. It still being only half 6 I waited a bit and then tried to call him. When, two hours later I still hadn't got hold of him I started to realise how much of a leap of faith I'd taken. I was in a small village/town outside a completely unknown city in which I now had zero contacts. Some annoyance and a little anxiety began to creep in. No doubt Mummy and Daddy would have helped me organise the trip properly to avoid things like this. Luckily Deepak finally called at 9 and arranged to meet at the station. So back I went, met him on the platform, jumped on his bike and we headed home.

Deepak's family's house was buzzing when I arrived from a combination of three things. Firstly there were approximately 30 people staying in a house the size of Oaklands, then there was the upcoming marriage of Pawan, Deepak's elder brother, and thirdly there was some foreigner who had just rocked up on their doorstep and was planning to stay.

I dropped my bags and then was introduced to the mass of people who invaded the house. I very quickly began to feel like those bizarre circus acts from the 1930s that the owners of would show off to all their friends. Luckily Deepak must've realised this and whisked me off to Sarnath, a collection of Buddhist monuments about 10km away. They were clearly ancient but as I'd left my guide book behind and Deepak struggled to impart any info I wasn't too clued up about them but I'll be back to Varanasi with Rory at some point and will write properly then.

Back at the house I was offered a sleep which involved lying on a bed while numerous friends and relatives came in and asked me my name, age and where I was from. Although I felt bad for not being more active and sociable I was dead tired and it did get fairly repetitive, especially when some of them forgot and came in for round two. Finally I managed to get a bit of kip, but then woke to a bizarre scene in the main room. All 30 inhabitants plus some, were in the room, mostly elderly women, but despite it being lunchtime only seven or eight people were eating, all men, while the others watched. It was slightly awkward having to squeeze through them all to get to the loo, it was occupied so I was offered the shower. Making a mental note to wear flip-flops in the shower and aiming very carefully I passed that trial, then headed back to the throng and was promptly became the spectacle when a huge plate (the plate was cleverly constructed from over-laid leaves) of dal chaval (dal and rice) was put in front of me. The food was delicious but I couldn't help feeling slightly self-conscious.

 

That whole paragraph may seem irrelevant but it fairly accurately illustrates how I lived for those few days and how uncomfortable I often felt despite their generosity and friendliness. It was just all a bit weird for a lot of the time.

After lunch Deepak taught me how to ride a bike (so Dad you better keep an eye on yours). Unfortunately it doesn't look as cool in the pictures as it felt at the time, I considered donning the Wayferers to improve the look but didn't have time.

 

Then through my own incompetence and Indian queueing (or lack thereof) I spent two hours failing to get a return train ticket at the station before heading home for supper and sleep. About an hour after jumping into bed half a dozen people burst into the room with henna and drew a beautiful pattern on my hand (I didn't realise then but this is normally reserved only for the bride).

I then fell asleep alone and woke with three Indian men next to me, as one does. While very graceful when awake, grace is not an adjective best suited to describing Indian men asleep, as scratching armpits, talking and snoring exceptionally loudly are all favoured activities.

After finally buying a train ticket the next morning I was picked up by Deepak and one of his gangster friend, who most of the village was terrified of, and we rode off to the Ganges. There he 'borrowed' a mates boat for 60 rupees (about a tenth of the normal price) and with the gangster rowing we headed down the river. It soon became clear why he was a gangster and not a boat operator, his rowing was fairly shoddy. So I gave it a go, much to the amusement of the passing boats and found that it wasn't actually that easy. And I can imagine that with a load of fat tourists its nearly impossible to manage.

Anyway we finally pulled in next to a funeral ghat and I watched, with huge interest as a body was roasted on a pyre of sandalwood. Luckily the body was covered so it wasn't too gory but an arm did slip out mid-burn. All that remained after five minutes were a pair of dis-embodied legs that hadn't yet been caught by the flames and after another five it was all finished, just a pile of ashes. As the process came to an end a nearby cow tried to mount a passing buffalo despite being half its size. As well as being highly amused I didn't miss the metaphor of the circle of life and re-incarnation, especially in such a strongly Buddhist area.

That afternoon the party started! I'll write a separate entry about the wedding as otherwise you'll all get RSI from staring at the screen so long and I'll crash the BCS internet server.

The next morning I woke feeling slightly ropey after a whiskey too many and a night on the floor of a room shared with my three Indian bed buddies. Not sure why the bed became unavailable but floor it was.

I then spent a couple of hours in the house and a couple more being introduced to friends. After lunch I amused the family, for once earning the attention, by throwing grapes up and catching them in my mouth. They loved it.

Then said my salaams and walked off to the train station, relieved to have some time to myself. Then I parked up in a waiting room, chatted to the police chief next to me, said hi to the murderer he'd just arrested and then jumped on my train to Delhi.

Having only been able to book an unreserved place on the train I had steeled myself for a night like a sardine. So when a railway official offered me and the Japanese guy squashed next to me 'a seat' I didn't immediately take him up, however he insisted and I'm very glad he did as I was led to the disabled carriage at no extra cost, where I had a bit of floor to sleep on and space to move my hand from bag to mouth. I felt slightly guilty as there were no disabled people in the carriage, clearly only those who'd paid a bit or had connections were classified as 'disabled'. So it was in relative comfort that I pulled into Delhi the next morning where I had a fantastic 24 hours with Frederique and the kids and then caught the train up to Shimla.

Reflecting on the end of an amazing trip, it was completely mental, always interesting, mostly enjoyable and all in all a cracking adventure. I'll upload a separate piece about the wedding tomorrow as well as more photos.

Max

Quickly

Does anyone know how to remove mascara? I will share the story behind it soon don't worry.
Thanks

Holi

If one had been travelling around in India today then one would have been in grave danger of flying eggs, water balloons and red, green and pink dye. This is because today was Holi, the festival of colour was being held. It is held to celebrate the victory of Prahlada over his father, the king of demons. His father reckoned that Prahlada should worship him but the son had other ideas. He prayed to Lord Vishnu to save him from his fathers murder attempts and the world was shown that the king of demons could be overcome. Or so the story goes. Anyway it is held on the full moon in the Hindi month that coincides with February and March and also welcomes the coming of spring.

Not my pictures, but this is what they do!

At Bishop Cotton School it has for decades been celebrated by all of the above, as well as with no lessons, a cricket match, tearing clothes and general mischievousness. Today however the celebrations were very much muted. Last Diwhali a boy was hit in the eye by a firecracker and his parents asked if it were possible could the school not permit any celebrations that may endanger little Jonny, (or Yudveer in this case). As well as this there had been reports of eyes being stung due to the rubbing of toothpaste on the face as well as boys having to scrub their faces red to get rid of shoe polish that had been generously applied by seniors. Even so the boys writing their final exams (who completed Upper 6 last year) took a break from revision to wake all the boarding houses up with buckets of water at 1 o'clock in the morning and wish them Happy Holi. And then there was as much pasting, polishing and painting as possible before the teachers spoiled their fun. Luckily I was safely tucked up in bed in my own room but was amused by the state of many of the boys this morning.

It also snowed very briefly today which prompted a jam session in the main court with music blasting out the windows, all part of the traditional Indian Holi experience. 

While not of the best quality this photo kind of shows

how BCS boys celebrate Holi.

Cheers and Happy Holi.