Namaste Primary School

It's been almost six months on the road. So far it's been exciting, exploring new places, meeting a variety of cool, interesting and/or odd people, and having shed responsibilities of work and earning enjoying the freedom of travelling. However, as much as I'd like to tell myself it's just a hangover from previous experience there is also a sense of being un-employed, lacking purpose other maybe being a passive observer. Perhaps it's time to do something but what?...

By chance, asking Shekhar about possible volunteer opportunities in Pokhara I find out that he is a trustee/governor of Namaste Primary School and he can arrange for me to do volunteer teaching there. The school was founded by two women from Delft, Holland who had worked with children at a nearby state school and decided there was a need for more provision. They managed to raise funding for land and building and opened in April 2007.

It's 45 minutes walk from lakeside, passing through the main road junctions, dodging buses transporting schoolkids wearing pristine white shirts, following a rough-road alongside canal trenches and two-storey breeze-block houses built amidst saturated fields, skipping puddles and climbing the embankment to get out of the way of enthusiastic motorcyclists, finally reaching a colourful and friendly looking building with a crowd of kids mingling awaiting morning assembly.

First Day

I'm introduced to Anne Bosch the current Dutch volunteer teacher trainer who will show me around. Lessons start at 10am and at 9.45am every morning there is a whole school assembly in the playground. Students from each class form a line for the morning exercises. This involves clapping, standing to attention, raising hands above your head, and although at first it seems a little militaristic the kids smiles suggest it's a lot of fun.

This is followed by morning prayers. Three students are 'volunteered' to stand in front and lead the assembly in reciting the morning prayer by saying a line which is repeated by the rest of the students. With great enthusiasm the kids shout out the lines attempting to set a rapid pace for everyone to try and keep up. It reminds me how at primary school some hymns became more like football chants... "WALK in the light, WA-AW-AWK in the light, WALK in the lie-ight, walk in-the light of-the lord!"

Anna shows me to the staff room where I meet all the teachers - from left to right, [top row] Priya, Nirmila, Savitri, [bottom row] Arjun, Hari, and Dhana (school principal).

It's decided perhaps the best way I could help out is to work with teachers and students on English grammar and pronunciation. Anna sets about devising a schedule for me to rotate between the teachers and I join Dhana for my first lesson with Class Two.

Initially Dhana suggests I can just observe and get a feel for how the lessons go. Standing infront of 18 wide-eyed kids staring at me is a bit daunting not least as they afford me the same status as a teacher and wait for a signal "you can sit down" (which Dhana has to prompt me to give).

Getting to sit at the back of class with the cool kids eases the butterflies. However, having settled down to watch for a while Dhana obviously decides a plunge is the best policy and starts quizzing me on grammar points of conjugating the verb "to be" and suggesting I read a dialogue from the textbook so the kids can hear how I pronounce "croak" (ah the irony!). From this point on I'm classroom support and reference on most English language things.

I follow Dhana to her next lesson with Class One. They are just beginning to learn basic sentences and grammar. However this does not deter conversation and questions. Practically every kid in the class crowds round and wants to know my name, where I come from, do I have brothers and sisters, what are their names, do I like Nepal. It's fun being the centre of attention in such an enthusiastic bunch although not much lesson teaching gets done in this first meeting.

Anna pops her head round the door and asks if I would like my picture taken with the kids - cue mad scramble so everyone can get in on the photo (this could be my favourite travel picture, not least for the Kes impersonator in the front-row!)

Organisation of School Day

There are six classes at the school into which the kids are placed depending on their age and previous school experience, so there's a mix in classes 2-4 ranging from kids aged around 9 years old to 14 years old. The school-day is 10am to 4pm divided into 45 minute periods with a Tiffin (lunch) break at 1pm which means 7 lessons throughout the day. The daily schedule is fixed so everyday the kids will get lessons in English, Nepali, Maths, Science, Health/General Knowledge, Social Studies, and Games.

For fairly obvious reasons we decide there's not much point me attending Nepali or Maths lessons (which is just as well really as seeing quadratic equations on the blackboard sends a cold shiver down my spine!) I'll end up spending most time in Classes 2-4 and working with Arjun and Hari.

Class Four

After a couple of days I've got a schedule of my own to follow devised by Anna. The first lesson of the day is English with Class Four taught by Arjun. I'm sitting on the back row next to Pradeep and Bishal.

Infront, Pooja, Anu and Renuka are exchanging whispers looking over their shoulders and giggling. I wonder what's so amusing. Then Bishal says "Matthew" with and huge cheeky grin (yellow/green t-shirt) "you like half pants?!" I dawns that wearing shorts as an adult and a teacher is not conventional and worthy of a few laughs. "Of course, in England everyone wears half-pants to school", an eruption a laughter from others who've been listening in.

Surviving Nursery

Anna explains that she is due to spend some time observing Hari's teaching in the afternoon and suggests that rather than us both be in the same classroom why don't I join another class instead. By this point I've sat in on most classes except nursery and kindergarten so why not give them a try.

Anna had warned me on my first day that the younger kids could be a little boisterous. I'm greeted very courteously by a class of wide-eyed little people what I mistake for shy smiles "good afternoon". I wave and good afternoon back and as a girl in the front row leans forward and wants to shake my hand, very polite! I smile and say 'hello' and shake hands and all of a sudden I'm surrounded by the entire class all wanting to join in. This could've gone on for quite a while but fortunately Nirmila calms them down and they settle back into their seats for lesson.

At the back of the classroom is a drawn curtain that hides the play room. After an English lesson it will be time for Games. The curtain acts as fortress gate, impenetrable to the kids, but as it is drawn back a whoop of delight rings around the class, the defences have been breached! I blink as a stampede rushes past. At my feet are are pile of shoes expertly removed on the move and looking inside the quiet colourful room that was unoccupied two seconds ago is a full swing party with kids waving games and toys in the air, jumping around manically and waving their hands in the air to imaginary music!

Over the next hour I show them how to play dominoes, help out with a dozen or more jigsaws, and get dragged all round the room to be shown each and every toy by very enthusiastic coterie of connoisseurs. The younger kids finish one period earlier so by 3.30pm I'm sat in Dhana's office that doubles as a small staff room. Anna walks in, takes one look at my obviously exhausted and shocked state and laughs, "you've been in nursery!!"

Quiz-time

On my last day Arjun decides to liven things up with a quiz on general knowledge. Class Two is divided into Team A and Team B. There's an odd number of kids so I make up the extra person on Team A which they (prematurely) celebrate as a guarantee of winning. The General Knowledge questions are taken from their coursebook that includes a wide range of things from geography, animals, Nepali history and Culture and some particularly random literature facts and references. For example, what was the name of the very first children's printed periodical? Deepak on Team B is scoring heavily and knows this one. It's from the 18th Century.... no? why the 'Lilliputian' of course! Afterwards I ask if he likes Gulliver's Travels, (I saw a couple of kids versions in the library) he shrugs, he's not read it.

In the afternoon Hari suggests I do a quiz for Class Three, which ends up being an extended session of 'hangman' (without the hanging man cartoon) by popular demand. Durga's (front row centre blue t-shirt) team lead by a considerable way and even granting a bonus 20 points for the final puzzle isn't enough for the other team to catch up.

Fond farewells

Once the kids have left for the day the other teachers gather to present me with an unexpected gift, a book on Nepali Culture with farewell messages from each person. It's a very thoughtful gesture and although I've only been at the school three weeks it's left a big impression on me, not least that teaching is very rewarding and very tiring! I joke with Arjun that I might be able to answer some of the quiz question next time. It's a bright afternoon as I walk back towards Giri Guesthouse... what's next?

Trekking the Annapurna Himalayas

Day One - Pokhara to Jomsom to Ranipauwa (Muktinath)

Washed, packed and ready to go, feeling just a little bit dazed at 5.30am. Shekhar, the manager of Giri Guesthouse where I'm staying, gives me a life on the back of his motorbike to Pokhara airport, east of the Baidam lakeside area.

The Gorkha Airlines flight is due to take off at 6.30am but due to cloudy and rainy weather conditions we don't depart until 7.30am and I almost miss it by dozing in the cafe whilst waiting. The plane bounces of the clouds shuddering with the winds, which causes a mild panic for a couple of fellow passengers, whereas it's rocking me to sleep. We land just over half an hour later in Jomsom, 2700m. From here it's a 1,000m hike up to Ranipauwa village just below the Muktinath monastery.

Leaving the built up surrounds of Jomsom's guesthouses and restaurant strip, the first stage is a long walk across a wide riverbed of pebbles and branching streamlets. It takes 2 hours to arrive at Kagbeni where I stop for breakfast. There are number of guesthouses and homely cafes in the village but I'm swayed by Mustang Gateway which has 'borrowed' the golden arches logo and named it's restaurant 'Yac Donald's'. The thukpa soup is a bit bland but the homebrewed cider is potent and warming!

Well breakfasted I set off again on what proves to be a lactic acid inducing, calf-busting climb. The environment is windswept and fairly barren on the exposed roads with greener valleys below. It's mid-afternoon when I reach the village settlement of Ranipauwa. Reading a book by it's cover again I choose the Bob Marley Guesthouse to stay the night. It's quiet and peaceful with colourful rooms, but the boiler doesn't want to work so the hot showers are a bracing experience!

Day Two - VIP Lama visit

The temple at Muktinath is just beyond the village and a short steep climb. On the roadside infront of houses and shops tables have been laid out with bowls of food including rice and fruits, flowers, and incense. There is a gathering of monks and local people on a plateau halfway up the path and a troop of mules and horses descending the mountainside following the outer-wall of the temple compound.

A VIP lama is visiting the Mustang region and it is coincidence that today he is here to inaugurate a new monastery building which has been recently built in the village. A parade is held from the temple to the new building. Villagers congregate at the archway to greet the Lama accompanied by a musicians, flower-bearers, people dressed in elaborate and colourful attires and an entourage of horse-riders. The gathering moves to the monastery and following a short ceremony inside the temple hall the throng of spectators and villagers enter a large assembly room. Along with a handful of other trekkers, we're invited to join a communal dinner with 300+ people seated on plastic chairs, sharing Dal baht meals (rice, curried vegetables, lentil soup) with locals and monks wearing orange and crimson robes, some sporting Nike trainers, and gold wrist watches.

Afterwards outside the neighbourhood gathers to watch young guys and a few older ones race horses up and down the main muddy road. Not racing in the sense of a joint start, the competition seems to be who can ride quickest whilst performing equestrian-handling skills including leaning back as far as possible in the saddle or reaching down either side to touch the ground in mid-gallop.

The guidebook entry says of Muktinath temple 'the Mahabharat mentions Muktinath as the source of mystic shaligrams... a Newar-style temple '. The temple itself is relatively small. The square courtyard surrounding has 108 shoulder high waterspouts that channel the streams into a trough on 3 sides. The mid-afternoon skies are bright clouds which provide a kind of hazy light. This accompanied with the wispy white spores of popular trees floating gently around the grounds like snowflakes (or for the more imaginative flight of fancy, faeries,) gives the temple compound a detached, other-worldly feel.

Day Three - Muktinath to Marpha

Fuelled by mountain water and trekker granola bars, I arrive at Jomsom just after midday and after lunch head further on down the track to Marpha. Before the village is a mhane prayer wall meeting travellers. It's a interesting village with an uneven paved road turning between rows of differently shaped buildings leaning above you, which reminds me a little of Czeky Krumlov.

I stop for a breather and something to drink. However, having tasted the apple juice and cider at the small restaurant/guesthouse I decide to rest here. My host is a very-friendly woman who offers me to try some of the apricots that are being drying, both on the balcony and inside the simple bedroom where I'm staying. This small guesthouse is possibly the most rustic living I've experienced so far, complete with an outdoors shower - a brick-walled hut with wooden roof at the back of a rear farmyard, to get to which you walk across the straw-strewn ground past a bemused looking goat loosely tethered in an adjacent overlooking shed.

Day Four - Marpha to Ghasa

On the outer edge of the village I meet Tiffany and Lamore, two fellow trekkers from the US who were also in Ranipauwa. We set out together to reach Ghasa. The landscape is becoming greener now with hillsides rising either side and waterfalls as we wind our way following the contours of the descending river-valley. Landslides render parts of the route tricky and at times nerve-racking, particularly when occasional gangs of workmen point to what proves to be a precariously narrow temporary walkway circling round a mound of rubble and earth with a sheer drop of a few hundred feet below.

Day Five - Ghasa to Tatopani

I'm walking quicker so spend most of time by myself. It's a significant descent to Tatopani which lies at around 1000m. By now the surroundings are covered in thick vegetation, many trees and wild grasses. The route cuts across the river a number of times to bypass landslides, each time passing over steel wire, rope and wooden planked suspension bridges that give me that familiar Indiana Jones sense of adventure.

The menu at Bob Marley cafe Tatopani lists 'special bread' for a significantly inflated price compared with other items. Smiling, the woman chef explains it is because it contains 'Bob Marley medicine', good for what ails you, although she adds promptly that it is better to consume by smoking. Wild cannabis plants cover the hillsides at this altitude and it seems this menu serves as a conveniently indirect way to advertise sale of hashish.

'Pani' means water and 'tato' hot, referring to the hot mountain springs in the village. We spend a good hour or more sitting in the steaming pool, soothing aching muscles and salving hiking blisters. Waking up the next morning the benefit is dramatic, not having to stamp out the nagging feet pains in the first 10 minutes of walking is welcome (although it doesn't last all day).

Day Six - Tatopani to Birenthanti

A group of other trekkers choose to go back via Beni, which involves a 2-3 hour hike to the next settlement where they can get jeep to Beni and then a shared taxi 5 hours back to Pokhara. Having only been trekking for 5 days I decide it would be more fun to go the alternative route via Ghorepani, which involves a 1700m climb to near the summit of Poon Hill and then a long walk down to Nayapul where a taxi back takes 1 hour. The trekkers' guide estimates it will take two days, more than 8hours to reach Ghorepani and a further 6-7 hours to get to Nayapul. Feeling in good condition from the hot springs and setting off at 7am I decide to see if I can do it one day...

The trail is beautiful, a steady stone path meandering steeply up a hillside enveloped in mist with persistent rain that refreshes. However, the going is tough, lugging my rucksack probably 18-20kg, the path becomes a series of short goals and frequent stops to catch a breath. My first proper pit-stop for a hot drink is at Sauta, maybe halfway up, 10.15am for 45minutes. I reach Ghorepani, legs burning and soaked to the bone at 2.30pm. The town seems deserted with hardly any of the guesthouses open as it is out of season. The only place I find serves hot drinks but the kitchen is not open. A hot chocolate later I set off at 3pm on the way down to Nayapul. The checkpost guards shake their heads and say it's at least 6 hours. Unswayed I continue on the path at a pace enjoying the reward of being able to go downhill. This turns into a different kind of challenge beyond Ulleri, the steps. More than 3,000 uneven stone steps weaving down the mountain that strain knees and joints regardless of speed. Around 7.30pm I arrive at Birenthanti, only half an hour away from Nayapul, but the dusk has given way to night and unable to see the path anymore I concede to common sense and stop at a small guesthouse for a welcome hot evening meal and warm bed.

Beni-ficial route?

The olive-green 1970s Toyota Corolla whisks me back to Pokhara from Nayapul. I wonder if I'll meet the trekkers somewhere by lakeside to tell them how I nearly made it in one go from Tatopani. I bump into Tiffany and Lamore a day later. As it turns out, their route was severely hindered by landslides that made it slow-going and prevented jeeps so they ended up staying over-night in Beni and only made it back late in the afternoon.

Pokhara Part One

It's early evening and walking northwards along the lakeside road there's a buzz of activity, restauranteers standing outside hoping to attract diners, old Tibetan woman sitting-down and opening out shawls to lay pendants and necklaces on the pavement, and other visitors wandering about. Soon, passing the shops and cafes, buildings become sparse again. The road bends round the hills to where areas of the lake are being reclaimed gradually for paddy fields, irrigation steps up the delta inlets in neat rows. As I pass by, a family drives a plough knee deep in water and work the mud into dam ridges. The road peaks at a corner with views across the lake. I sit down and watch a fisherman drag nets close to the shore's edge, Nick Drake singing 'Pink Moon' as the sun sets in the far hills.

Peace and leeches

It's a long walk round Phewa Tal (lake) to climb the hill and reach the World Peace Pagoda. On my way I'm met by a young Nepalese lad, Souli, who says I'm going the long route and offers to show a shorter route. He leads a way, rising more steeply, cutting behind cottages and small farms, following narrow pathways and occasionally along a stone-wall line. He tells me about landholding and farming, how his family leases from an owner for the cost of 50% of their crop yield and that buying a decent-sized farm costs about $4,000 which is beyond the means of most. At the ridge summit the World Peace Pagoda stands, a kind of sorry sight up close with a mangled barrier preventing people from climbing the steps and masonry rubble littering the ground around it. Souli explains that not so long ago some visitors were badly injured, one killed, when the balcony gave way and they fell. Now all the marble is being replaced with more sturdy materials.

The views of Phewa lake are stunning though. We walk further on up the ridge passing water buffaloes wallowing in muddy puddles and children playing on the hillside. Back at the Pagoda there's a route down to the lake from which it's possible to get a boat back to the other side. However, the boatman wants to charge 250 rupees and I've not got that in my wallet so ignoring his warnings I set out to circumnavigate the heavy wooded shoreline. More than two hours later, having pushed past face high brambles and spiders webs, clung to rock faces and slid down muddy hills that gave way underfoot, I arrive back at the guesthouse. Kicking of shoes and removing socks I slump into a chair feeling exhausted. It's only spotting some small red specks on bottom of the bed's valance that causes me to look down and realise the boatman was right, I've taken 15 little freeloaders back with me. These bloodsuckers are tiny, able to crawl through your shoelace holes and you don't feel a thing. Some scrubbing later I'm leech-free but my feet look like they've been savaged by Dracula's baby.

Gonna climb that hill no matter how steep...

The Khahare hills to the north have interesting looking rock formations jutting out like giant fingers high above the lakeside below. Emboldened by the pagoda-leech experience and feeling like a challenge I set off walking to find a route up to the ridge. The south-facing hillside gets the early afternoon sun and as the initial canopy of trees disappears it soon becomes a very steep incline of shrubs and rocks without any pathways.

After fun climbing for 45 minutes all of a sudden the hillside plateaus and I'm standing on a well-trodden path. (There's an established route that I missed on the way up which proves far easier to follow on the descent.) From here the route leads through hilltop farms, occasionally going directly through the cornfields.

In places the pathway seems overgrown with brambles and disused, although the fresh buffalo pats suggest otherwise. Walking past a few village settlements and finding sidetracks to keep along the ridge line eventually I reach the rocky outcrops. The reward is panoramic views of the lake and surrounding hills.

Finding Kathmandu

I'm happy to be leaving Lucknow. My short stay in the city unfortunately tarnished by poor accommodation and, as it turn out, not having time to view any sights as it takes a long time to sort out my train ticket to Gorakhpur. However, I did find a decent bookshop nearby the hotel and bought three cheap books which will keep me busy for while:

• The Argumentative Indian, Amartya Sen


• The Jungle, Upton Sinclair


• Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

The train pulls out of the station and soon the city is behind us. I'm resting against the berth dividing panel, looking pensively out of the grilled window and listening to the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the track. The night sky is lit by strong moonlight defining the contours of clouds, like a sombre painting, contours of clouds defined with celestial shadows like brooding titanic boulders. A strong sense of relief.

We arrive in Gorakhpur at 3.45am. Finding a bus to Sounali takes no time and soon we're bumping along a country road on a 3 hour journey to the border town. At the border Indian cycle rickshaw drivers have formed a barricade 200 yards from the border impeding traffic from the Nepal-side. A man tests my reaction saying 'Nepal is a dirty country, why do you want to go there?'. I decide pointing out that he is standing on the street by an open gutter and a pile of rubbish and excrement would not be the best response so I smile and say 'that's your view, I've never been' and walk past.

Getting a visa stamp and exchanging currency is relatively simple and after 30 minutes I've arrived in Nepal and on a bus towards Kathmandu. The landscape is noticeably greener and reminds me of the journey through hills between Krakow and Budapest. The mountain road is spectacular, following the winding course of a river, passing suspension bridges and cables traversing the water, gaining altitude. After a 9 hour ride we arrive at Kathmandu and a short taxi ride later I'm at Hotel Elite in the Thamel District. I set off from Lucknow at 7pm and 22 hours later I'm in Kathmandu, tired but excited at arriving in a new country at the roof of the world!

Sen relaxation

I'm recovered from the journey after a good night's rest in clean, comfortable room and not bothering to get up til noon. The Thamel District in Kathmandu has evolved to meet the needs of the 'tourist /traveller market' and as such you can find Internet cafes, clothes shops, camping and trekking equipment, restaurants all along a couple of main streets. It's a welcome relief some time insulated in this traveller bubble, and I pass a couple of days spending hours in Chikusa Coffee House reading Amartya Sen's 'The Argumentative Indian ', which is a series of essays looking at Indian history, identity and politics. He offers an alternative view of the religious / spiritual characterisations of India and examines its rich traditions of scientific and rational philosophy along with a remarkably heterodox culture of different religions co-existing and interacting.

Swayambhu Temple

Across the river 2km west of Thamel, weaving up a hillside, steps come into view as I turn the corner to the east entrance of Swayambhu. It's a steep climb up to the temple, declining offers of a guide and watching monkeys with amusement as they walk in front of tourists. At the summit, the giant stupa stands with reliefs and sculptures of Buddha at four points to symbolise the elements of earth, wind, fire, and water. On top is the white dome painted with the eye symbol of enlightenment and crowned with a golden spire from which strings of prayer flags are tied.

Walking clockwise round the stupa there is a large bell-frame and mhane row (cylinders inscribed with prayers that rotate). Set back and to the right is a cemetery of headstones and shrines with votive offerings honouring long-since deceased worshippers. Around the central stupa, stone and wooden buildings have become converted into shops peddling brass-ware, handicrafts and artwork as well as soft-drinks.

Further to the west are other shrines and the world peace pond, an unremarkable circular trough with bronze figures at the centre, into which people toss rupees coins, perhaps for luck? Here families of monkeys wander about munching on leaves and tit-bits offered by visitors. They are surprisingly unbothered by human interlopers and if you sit down they walk past or very occasionally over you without a care.

Looking back at the main temple there are thousands of prayer flags strung over an impressive distance all fluttering in the light breeze, a rainbow array above the tree tops.

Mo-mos and Tongba

Across from Elite Hotel is a small restaurant off the side-street, 'the New Kavreli'. Here I try mo-mo for the first time, steamed dumplings containing veg and ginger served with a fiery sauce. Tongba is Tibetan beer. It arrives as a metal tankard filled with millet seeds and herbs and a flask of warm water. The water is poured into the tankard until saturated and using a metal straw pinched at one end to prevent sucking up seeds you drink the mildly fermenting liquid. It can be refilled 3-4 times. The taste is kind of like home-brew and takes some getting used to.

Freak Street?

Jnoche, better known as 'Freak Street', is one of those places that have acquired status in a canon of classic hangouts. However, this is due to the experiences of travellers in the 1960s and 1970s,what remains today is a pretty sanitised and commercial road with few outward signs of whatever made it 'hippie' in days gone by. A little disappointed by the spectacle, I decide to explore the area instead and get lost in some of the streets behind, finding myself wandering through a very different looking part of Kathmandu with few tourists and old crumbling buildings. I re-emerge at the main Durbar and Hanuman Square which is crowded with visitors and local teenagers congregating on the building steps.

Conversations and Cocktails

It's my final evening in Kathmandu, tomorrow I head for Pokhara. Rather than head back to the hotel I decide to try and find a fruit juice bar I'd seen nearby. Unfortunately, they've run out of all citrus fruits apart from lime, which isn't very appealing. As I'm leaving a voice calls to me. A man sits on a stool outside by a table. He's fairly plump, messily dressed with a stubbly face and warm smile. He introduces himself as being from Lebanon and invites me to sit down. We talk for about an hour. He tells me about his home in the south near the Litani river and we discuss the current political situation. He is firmly convinced of 'Syria's meddling causing violence', but reserves biggest criticism for George Bush and Tony Blair. He says they have blinkers and cannot see they are ruining the region, as he puts it "Iraq there are many deaths and now Iran is more powerful. Why? Why do this when this (invade) when this is what happens? No sense!" Hard to disagree.

After a good hour on Middle East politics, I say goodbye and head back towards the hotel, but on the way decide to stop of at a restaurant bar. They offer a free cocktail with each meal so I order enchiladas with Mojito, Nepali hecho México. The barman takes an interest in 'The Motorcycle Diaries', which Aubrey gave to me once she'd done with it, possibly because of the revolutionary symbols on the cover. I offer him the book and in return he insists on pouring me a tall glass of the 'house cocktail' that leaves me feeling just a little tipsy and feeling like another beer. A few extra drinks, nicely toasted, I'm chatting away merrily with all the other barflies, including a Nepali man who claims to have just returned from the West Indies after leaving his wife and pursuing a woman only for it to all fall apart, and Marek a Czech traveller with a passion for India. Much later in the evening I say goodbye, leaving healthy tip, and stumble back to the hotel. I must wake up at 6am to catch a bus to Pokhara and there's a dim sense I'll rue this in the morning but for now the bed is very, very comfortable!

No luck Lucknow

Lucknow is basically a stopping point for me before long haul trip to Kathmandu. Still it's a chance to see another city in India, maybe some of the landmarks associated with the great mutiny of 1857. However, after a pleasant train journey things start to deteriorate...


Outside the railway station the familiar ambush of rickshaw drivers awaits. This time it feels more irritating. Having managed to negotiate a fare and destination to a cheap hotel recommended in the Rough Guides book (not easy as drivers can receive commissions by taking tourists to other, usually more expensive, hotels) and reached the rickshaw (which turns out to be cycle rather than motorised) and placed my bags on the seat the driver changes the price and demands 33% extra. When I ask what for he says to cover the railway 'parking fee'. I protest that we agreed a fare and this is a charge that shouldn't be passed onto me. I take my bags out of the rickshaw. The driver protests at first, holding onto my rucksack and I say 'let go' as firmly as possible without swearing, and then he consents to the original fare. But feeling almost cheated and not a little stubborn I shake my head and say 'why should I trust you now' whilst walking away. I'm pursued for a few hundred yards by the driver on his rickshaw trying to convince me but to no avail.


The long walk to the hotel is a chance to stretch my legs after the train journey and also clearing my head somewhat. On reflection, I feel bad about the encounter. We had agreed a fare so to some extent my stance was legitimate. But the amount was so small, only 10 rupees, and walking the distance over 50 minutes, I know it would've been a big strain on his legs to haul me, my rucksack and guitar all that way, through hot, dangerous, noisy and fuming traffic, for only 40 rupees (50 pence).


Maybe it was a reaction to being surrounded by people and having to be on guard and assertive to avoid being tricked? Maybe reading too much into warnings from the guidebook? Maybe because this is the first time alone in India? Maybe all of the above. It was one of those moments where you forget what you know to be reasonable and focus on feeling aggrieved. Anyway, the walk gives me chance to think and resolve to stick to what I know i right, be more flexible in the future and less curt with someone trying to make a living in very difficult conditions who doesn't need extra crap from me, sorry man!


The hotel adds perspective. Rickshaw drivers are trying to earn a tough living by eeking out favourable fares, but these guys can be far more dodgy with their margins. Chowdhury Lodge Annexe is behind a restaurant which you have to walk through, passing the kitchens to the reception hidden in a back-room that looks like it doubles as a storage facility. It's 9.30pm, I'm tired and it's dark. The po-faced man at reception doesn't even shrug as he tells me that the only room he has available costs 500 rupees a night and I won't find anywhere else cheaper in Lucknow as it is the holiday season.

I pause trying to look like I'm unconvinced and maybe a discount will be offered. But the reception man just stares blankly with an 'I couldn't give a .... what you do' look. The room is large but the walls are yellowing, the bathroom is decrepit, and insult to injury there is a condom floating in the toilet that refuses to flush away. Thessaloniki youth hostel has a new partner in my worst places to stay league!

Orchha

The main fort and palace at Orchha is across a bridge over the Betwa River, which at this time of year has shrunk to a series of fluorescent green pools scattered along the riverbed. Walking through a giant spiked wooden door we head towards a raised terrace.

At one end a strange mass of rises from beneath stone steps. Branches seem to melt and wilt in the heat and it appears to be a number of trees intertwined but on closer viewing it is only one tree from which branches have grown floor-wards and secured roots.

From the main courtyard of Jahangir Mahal you can survey the domed towers and turret walkways. Centrally placed are sunken bathing pools surrounded by stone benches. A few women are using the only pool filled with water to do laundry.

Ascending the main stairway from the courtyard you gain access to the turret walkways and ramparts that have precariously few railings and excellent landscape panorama views of temples, green fields and trees stretching to the horizon.

Railing support brackets are built into the side of the walls and they include foot high stone carvings of elephants bearing the load (a nice touch!) Inside the low-ceiling rooms are filled with materials and equipment for renovation works, bamboo ladder and scaffolding along with piles of rubble. The outer-walls have stone window frames shaped into various detailed geometric patterns.

Raj Rama cafe is just across the bridge back towards the village. They make very good thali, a mixture of spicy lentil-Dal, vegetables, papads and rice. Afterwards we try the Internet place but the connection is down so instead 'plan B', beer in the guesthouse garden. We manage to buy an Indian brew called 'something 5000', which has a very odd taste. Consulting a guidebook it says that brewers use glycerin as a preservative, which might explain why the sunset view of the fort appeared to be an especially dazzling pink!

Jhansi to Lucknow

Jhansi railway station is 18km away from Orchha. From here the train takes 7 hours and despite the apprehension of not having confirmed a seat it turns out not to be a problem. Asking if the seat is free a friendly looking guy nods and invites me to sit down. Vire is 31 years old and lives in a town just before Lucknow. We move from polite conversation to chatting about background and experiences, passing the time. I learn he has a degree in metallurgy and works in the steel industry. He explains that Goa and Bihar both contain large mineral and ore deposits that are mined and then sent to regional centres for processing. He also has a passion for cinema and an encyclopedic knowledge of older classic films. Without noticing time passes quickly and saying goodbye I realise it's only another hour until arriving in Lucknow.

Khajuraho

The night train from Varnasi takes 9 hours. I wake up 6am, my bare-arm sticking to the blue plastic seat-covering. The landscape is noticeably greener outside as we roll past farm-land easing into Satna railway station. We arrive 6.30am and catch an auto-rickshaw to the depot just in time to get on the late-running 6.30bus departing to Khajuraho and saving a 3 hour wait. Although the journey is less then 100km it takes 4 hours due to the road condition and stops. Three people crammed on a two-seat bench it is a knee-jarring bowel-bouncing experience made infinitely more testing by overhead speakers blaring unrequested high-pitched Indian pop music at decibels to prevent rational thought. We're dropped off 11km away and make the final stage in a landcruiser-style truck made to seat 8-9 but which holds 21 (I am convinced they are competing with Cairo cabbies for some world record, 'how many passengers in a...') Tired, aching, with slightly worse hearing, we arrive at Surya hotel, Khajuraho. Sitting down for a late breakfast in the hotel garden I notice we're joined by a distant cousin of Zebedee who is obviously curious about our choice of food but opts instead for the insects crawling about lower down the tree-trunk.

Athletic animal lovers

The 10th and 11th Century temples at Khajuraho are unique across India and the world. Incredibly intricate carvings and sculptures adorn all the walls and steeples. Lying within a compound that has been cultivated and preened to create a feel of well-kept public gardens, the vast monuments depict armies of warriors, elephants, gods and goddesses.

However, the Western Group is probably most famed for the very sexually explicit figures and scenes, including the south-facing wall of the Lakshman temple, over 1100 years old, which has a embossed frieze 1-2 feet high and 3-4 feet wide, 6 foot above the ground illustrating a man getting personal with his horse to the shock of onlooking women. This is alongside some truly athletic 'mithuna' scenes that suggest the Chandellas were committed to exploring possibilities from all angles.

The sheer volume of carvings is at times too much to take in. Just looking at one face of a building in full detail would take hours. Inside the temples are more statue sculptures and shrines for worshipping that catch the late afternoon sun and seem to come to life.

Whilst walking between temples I hear a rustling overhead and a very large monkey is chewy on some leaves. As I raise my camera to take a photograph the monkey bares its teeth and hisses loudly. Apparently home-sapiens share something like 98% same DNA as monkeys, which I can believe as I got that message clearly 'feck off!'.

It's almost sundown and perhaps a chance for a ambient photo of temples bathed in orange-red light. Unfortunately a stubborn gray cloud blocks the light and is joined by some equally moody friends. We consider staying for the sound and light show but it means paying the entrance fee again so instead we look for a restaurant for tea. For a while I'm distracted by a gecko stalking insects in the corner of the room when I notice that outside we're getting a show for free. A sharp crack not of thunder but lightening fills the air. For the next 30 minutes and electric storm rages above us, sheets and bolts streaking across a crumpled a crumpled indigo-violet canvas.