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[roodiaries]

The Return to Asia: Singapore Stories, Big India & A Nepali Christmas

Embarking on my first trip outside of Australia since arriving on the island-continent in February 2016 was something I'd looked forward to and planned for months while farming in South Australia (scroll down to previous blog for more info). A voyage into the unknown Indian subcontinent was an exciting and unexpected opportunity to see places I'd wanted to visit for a long time. On the one hand, it seemed a little absurd to be travelling 10,000km away (more than halfway home in fact) when I could easily see great places closer to Oz. But on the other hand, my ex-colleagues and friends from Loja, Rene and Soledad, were doing a tour of Southeast & South Asia, and the most interesting part of their trip took them through India and Nepal. So why not? I'd saved enough money and hadn't seen them for ages, so 6 flights over 17 days were soon booked and I was ready for the adventures with the Ecuadorians to begin!

I drove down to Adelaide with Renmark chums, Sam, Eisen & Yumena, for a rather formal - but nonetheless interesting - tour of the Cooper's Brewery: I was impressed that the current owners of South Australia's most famous beer are the descendants of the original 19th century brewer, Thomas Cooper (also a Yorkshireman!) I finally fled South Australia by night-flight to Sydney and spent a few days there sorting myself out while staying with Mark in his trendy Rozelle neighbourhood. Though his controlling housemate Vanessa took me for a stranger and demanded I leave when she found me laptopping downstairs one morning!

The first part of the trip was a long-awaited stopover return to Singapore, five years after I was there studying on exchange at the National University of Singapore. That was my first time living abroad and the source of a great many adventures in SG and eight other countries in Southeast Asia in 2011-12 – it's a shame I wasn't writing a blog then: it would have documented the ups and downs of several hapless bumblers traipsing around the region, full of legendary shaggy dog stories concerning daylight (wallet) robberies, Full Moon hospitalisations, back-room blackjack scams, rabid dog chases, giant bee attacks, volcanic dust storms, monkey madness, the ping pong mafiosas, asthmatic scuba and much worse. It was the quintessential Year Abroad and can never be topped. Singapore was the hub of this action, where I lived for 9 months and made many friends who I now consider some of my best pals. It's certainly one of my favourite cities and I was buzzing to be back!

I met up with one of the few Singaporeans I still keep in touch with, JD, who picked me up from the airport. The overwhelming humidity left me feeling suffocated and exhilarated in equal measure, and for the next four days it would be back to the body-punishing air-con-too-cold/outside-too-hot routine. I hung out with JD (who bought me lunch every single day: legend!) and another friend, Caryn, and I was able to experience once again the exquisite rooftop bars and incredible food. Seriously, I'd missed the hawkers! And I rarely give such high priority to food during a travelling experience: Singapore is a special case because it has it all. There's no getting bored with their array of cuisines, both local and from around Asia. I spent my time catching up with a couple of people over dinner and checking out a few sights that hadn't been around when I'd last been here (they build things incredibly quickly in SG: mostly because the mainly-Indian/Bangladeshi workers are made to labour relentlessly, part of the darker underbelly of a city that glimmers innocently on the surface). These sites included the Gardens by the Bay complex, which is a set of greenhouse domes, pathways, ponds and canopy walks, cementing Singapore's moniker as the 'Garden City'. I soaked in the views and gazed up at the ostentatiously luxurious Marina Bay Sands Hotel (the one that looks like a giant boat balanced on three towers), recalling the time when Kev, Mark, Scottish Kev and I sneaked up there somehow and chugged numerous tins in a state of embarrassingly British-hooligan rowdiness to disturb the genteel revelry of the upper echelons of international society. Much of the rest of the trip was a nostalgia tour of sites I used to hang out at: Clementi Mall where we'd sink large cheap Tiger beers on week nights till late; 'The Bridge' at Clarke Quay where students, locals, tourists, businessmen and everything in between mixed together in a cacophony of merriment; the utterly fake but still-enjoyable Sentosa Island with its cargo ships and oily sea; and of course, the university itself where I revisited classic food stalls, took the free shuttle bus round the tropical campus and felt like an old soul (I wanted to say to someone “you should have seen how it was in my day...”). It was genuinely emotional to be back here, but also a bit sad without the characters who made the experience what it was.

After a few hours' transit in Kuala Lumpur (the Airport King of Transfers), I glided 4000km north-west to the much cooler climes of Delhi, at the heart of the Indian subcontinent. It was with Malaysian airline, Malindo Air, certainly the best of the airlines I flew on during this trip, though my mind was preoccupied by thoughts of how to find my hostel in Delhi, and whether I would be overwhelmed by pushy taxi drivers upon arrival and give in to the pressures of culture shock when swapping the relative calmness of the developed world for the more haphazard ambience of the developing. In fact, it was a gentle introduction to a city with a metro population of about 22 million as I passed unnoticed in the dark through rows and rows of stationary three-wheeled tuk-tuks (or ‘auto rickshaws’ as they’re supposed to be called in India) and along the brightly lit and incredibly busy Qutab Road in Paharganj district. Something I already knew in theory but which became apparent in reality was the sheer diversity of stuff going on to bombard the senses, especially the eyes. Animals wandered willy-nilly along alleys and main roads: not just dogs and cats, but goats, rats, chicken, pigs and cows (which are of course holy to Hindus so unfortunately nobody shoves them out of the way). Countless ramshackle stalls sold spices, curries, chai tea and a million other exotic fares I had absolutely no comprehension of. People just wandered the street, some sitting around chatting, others lying under a bridge ready for another night on the street. Rickshaws and motorbikes weaved and squeezed in and out of the crowds, beeping their horns constantly as a customary announcement for people to shift their arse: I've never been anywhere with so much beeping; it's unbelievable.

I found my hostel – Zostel on Arakashan Road – without too much trouble, due to good signage. One thing that makes India more accessible than many countries is its use of English as a widespread second-language: most people in the cities speak it to a decent level, and others to a basic level, while road and shop signs are usually in both Hindi (the national language) and English too. It's clearly a positive effect of British involvement for 200 years: first via the East India Company's more stand-offish economic rule, and from 1858-1947 as full-on Empire rule. Though you would certainly have to mention some of the brutal things the British did here as well (e.g. the Amritsar Massacre in 1919; response to the Bengal Famine in 1943). I remember one Indian girl in a university class I did about her country's history ask me: “how does it feel to know what your ancestors have done?” I really didn't know what to say to that.

I only had one full day in Delhi, and made the most of it with a taxi tour to see some of the main sites here and in the British-built Indian capital of New Delhi, in practice a mini-city within the city of Delhi. Here, the traffic was less and the tree-lined boulevards spoke to a distinctly colonial era, adorned with pretty fountains and majestic buildings. One of these was the museum and former home of PM Indira Gandhi, India's first and only female leader (and no relation to Mahatma Gandhi), with a great collection of photos and artifacts on display. Outside was a boardwalk with a piece missing and a placard that stated it was the place where Indira was gunned down by her own guards in 1984, as a victim of the very religious communalism she had tried to fight her whole career. The exact same thing happened in 1991 to her son Rajiv, who was also PM. Three notable Gandhis assassinated in modern Indian history!

We saw the hugely impressive Qutb Minar, a treasure bestowed upon the city by the first Muslim ruler to conquer northern India in the 12th century (Qutab-ud-din Aibak from central Asia). Also there is the millennia-old Iron Pillar of Delhi, which my guide explained has non-rust qualities unfathomable even to modern-day scientists. I took a peek inside the Lotus Temple at dusk, a strangely captivating Baha'ist place of worship, open to all faiths as a site of reflection and peace. The Baha'is believe in respect for nature and the unity of all people under one God, irrespective of religion, race and nationality. It's hugely idealistic but logical and forward-thinking, and from my experience a very tolerant group, numbering some 5 million followers worldwide.

I met up with Ecuador chums Rene and Soledad at last and we spoke in Spanish almost the whole time, as I wanted to practice: it was strange speaking it in India, because I would often distractedly turn to a local and address them in this continentally inaccurate tongue - “disculpe señor, don- oops!” Not that I was very good – I fumbled through subjunctives and reflexive pronouns like a true amateur. ¡Qué bestia! I was also at the wrong end of most of the trip banter, accused of being 'cold and complaining too much,' like a proper Englishman and the antithesis of the passionate Latino personality. And for only saying “hello” in a casual manner when I saw them for the first time, rather than exploding with enthusiasm and darting over to adorn them with plentiful hugs and kisses. So I had to tone down the negative comments for the sake of the group morale: “Wow, isn't this wonderful, I just love the fact that this great big greedy fat pig is rolling around in shit so much, it's amazing!” It was all in good fun though, and sarcasm/complaining is a way of adding spice and good craic sometimes: things are boring if they're always rosy and dandy (I think this is more of a British/Irish thing?)

We travelled by train southwest to Rajasthan state, a name evoking romantic images of a distant desert land where the Maharajas live in fairytale palaces. Our destination was Jaipur, the famed 'Pink City' and state capital. We stayed in the lovely Vinayak Guesthouse with helpful staff and a rooftop restaurant playing Indian melodies to set the mood. In and around town, there was plenty to see, including the vast sandstone/marble Amber Fort where the local Maharajas ruled before Jaipur itself was founded in the 18th century by Jai Singh II. The dastardly monkeys were also a factor here, scaring us when they tried to grab our stuff! The Hawa Mahal is another strange archictectural marvel in the centre of town: an eye-catching facade built simply so the women of the court could watch events through secret windows unseen by the men of society. 

Jaipur is a major market haven, and the stalls selling clothes at very cheap prices abounded on every street and alley. Rene certainly got his money's worth, bartering frantically with one old guy for about 20 minutes to get a dozen scarves while the whole street came to watch! I particularly enjoyed the salesmen chat given in one shop: “do you exercise? You look like a Maharaja with that beard. You're a good size, not too tall.” All my insecurities put to bed in one very charm-ridden compliment session when perusing the shop, though unfortunately this was a much pricier one and smooth talking wasn't enough. In a more modest stall, I bought a single Indian-looking shirt, and the seller insisted on showing me a picture he said he'd had taken with 'Wolverine' in his other shop; I went with him and there was indeed a picture of Hugh Jackman... looking stressed and trying to escape the public attention, surrounded by bodyguards (I bet he wished he really did have claws)!

I'd had a great deal of trouble trying to book trains around India: simply signing up for the IRCTC website is a mission in itself involving mind-bogglingly complicated levels of email codes, proof of identity and fake Indian mobile numbers, and had had to book two of the three train journeys with a travel agent for an extra charge (feeling exasperated after weeks of trying online). For the one from Jaipur to Agra, however, I hadn't been able to book, so we ended up in the second-worst class. We were also a bit nervous because we'd been told by an Aussie couple in the guesthouse that their train had been delayed... by 17 hours! Our train was thankfully on time, but seeing hordes of people pile into the carriages nearby was a dread-inducing sight, and I imagined we'd probably end up having to stand in the toilet for 4 hours. Actually, we found seats and had a fun experience with the locals, drinking plenty of sweet chai tea (for 10 rupees each – equivalent of 20 cents), which all of us came to love. There was even space for Niña Soledad's enormous suitcase too!

So the third and final point on the Golden Triangle was Agra, another Mughal-built city. But whereas Delhi and Jaipur's interesting monuments and atmosphere went a long way to overcome the cumbersome cluster-fuckery of street life, Agra was a total shit-hole redeemed only by the Taj Mahal (which is a pretty decent redeeming feature to have in your city to be fair). We actually stayed at the place Karl Pilkington stayed at on An Idiot Abroad (he storms out because of the smell and the 'ensuite shed'), but they'd clearly improved it since then. We saw this amazing Wonder of the World from across the Yamuna River at sunset, before arriving at the South Gate at 5am the next day. We queued with our new friends from the hostel for over an hour waiting for them to open the bloody gates, and pretty much missed the sunrise, shivering in the early morning fog, hungry and tired. The bucket-loads of tourists almost ruined it for me: the ridiculous rituals of needing to have every possible picture of every possible pose with every possible family member left me seething: I wanted to slap them repeatedly across the face and run off with their camera. See with your eyes, not with your lenses! Not that my friends were much better to be honest... I never used to be this intolerant of tourist habits: I think it was the tiredness and me getting older and more cynical, plus I'm being a bit of a hypocrite because I took some pics too. Anyway, after the photos were all taken and ready to become people's next Facebook Profile Picture, we spent hours exploring the Taj itself and admire its pure white marmoreal exterior and impressively detailed austere interior (it is a tomb after all, built by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan for his favourite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, in the 17th century). A classic Indian site, and a worldwide icon deserving of its revered status.

Next stop was Nepal, the 'Roof of the World' and a wonderful travel destination as it turned out. Flying in with the snow-capped Himalayan skyline to the north was an awe-inspiring site. We spent a few days in bustling capital Kathmandu and nearby historic city of Bhaktapur (richly decorated UNESCO World Heritage Site and former capital of the region), and two days in chilled second-city Pokhara to the west. I found Nepal to be much more relaxing and less pressured than India: locals didn't seem to stare as much; they didn't push you to buy things; less bartering; there was much less traffic too. A hike we did along a ridge above Pokhara at sunrise was the main highlight for me: the sun revealing the mighty peaks of Machapuchare (6997m), Annapurna I (8091m) and Dhaulagiri (8167m), some of the world’s tallest mountains. We walked about 10km between the villages of Sarangkot and Naudanda, past quiet farmsteads and small sloping allotments, taking in the ridiculous views both above and below us. It would have been cool to do a proper Himalayan trek, but due to money, time and (above all) general fitness, it wasn't possible this time around.

It was pretty bizarre being in Nepal for Christmas, but the locals celebrated with New Year-style parties and the cool temperature and tasty roast turkey dinner helped make it feel a bit more Christmassy! I was in great company but still felt a longing to be in Durham with my family, only able to speak with them over a WhatsApp call for about 5 minutes because of the dodgy connection. Rene and Sole left for Burma, and I spent the evening of Christmas Day in a hippie hostel called Fireflies. It wouldn't be somewhere I'd normally choose, but I felt a need to connect with people seeing as it was Christmas Day. I bumped into Georgia, the California girl I'd met at Delhi Airport when we were both late for our flight, and met a lot of other friendly international people for another meal, good conversation and some beers. On my last day in Nepal, I ventured to the hilltop Monkey Temple (Swayambhunath), an ancient and holy Buddhist site centred around a golden stupa with the eyes of Buddha gazing down at you from each side. As with a lot of structures in Kathmandu and elsewhere, it was severely damaged by the 2015 earthquake: the city is still punctuated by piles of rubble and wooden beams propping up historic buildings. But the Nepalese people have made tremendous efforts of rebuilding and maintaining their incredible architectural treasures.

My last stop was almost 24 hours in Kuala Lumpur, again in transit. I spent the fourth night of my life at this airport (mad considering I've never lived here), curled up on some carpet somewhere, too tired to care and using my trusted Osprey bag as a pillow. Then I went to explore the malls of KL (and saw the new Star Wars, which was bloody fantastic), and took the opportunity to nip to Putrajaya, located between KL proper and the airport. Putrajaya is its own Federal Territory (like KL), was only built in 1995 and contains most of the government offices, despite KL still being the Malaysian capital. I told the taxi driver to take me “somewhere good” because I didn't have a clue about the layout of the city or what it contained; laying this responsibility of my entertainment upon a stranger was almost too much for the poor man, but he dropped me off in the sweaty heat at Putra Square beside the PM's house and the pretty pink Putra Mosque, overlooking Putra Lake (they're not very inventive with the names of stuff here!) It was a pleasant day's excursion but I was ready for a long uncomfortable Air Asia flight back to Sydney to celebrate New Year and continue my life in Australia. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I'd missed my new 'home' country. But it had been one hell of a trip.

Thanks for reading, I’ll post soon about the new life in Sydney (sticking to Australia next time),

Oliver

(see below for photos!)