In January 2020, I moved to India for work. I was supposed to be there for a year, but the pandemic cut that plan short. In December 2023, I finally had a chance to go back.
The week that Europe shut its borders in March 2020 as part of it’s response to the COVID pandemic was unfortunately my time to leave India. That same weekend, I had planned to visit Goa with some friends, looking forward to enjoying Goa Trance and warm beaches. When I was invited to an Indian wedding in December 2023, I took it as an opportunity to backpack around the subcontinent and finally visit the places I never got the chance to the first time.
Day 0 (Thu, Dec 1, 2022)
Wake early, make some coffee and read for a bit. Everything packed, but a last bit of cleaning before I leave my apartment and plants to the care of my neighbour. Last minute pre-trip anxiety. Starting a trip is ending something, leaving a home. Moving between cities during a trip isn’t really an ending, because the city was just a step in a trip, but leaving home is different. I close the door to my apartment for the last time in 30 days and grab the U-Bahn to BER, arriving exactly 2 hours before the flight. Check-in and see a Lego Taj Mahal in duty free. It’s a nice model, but I will never understand people who buy Lego at an airport. Sandwich and a bit of reading before boarding the plane to Warsaw. Quick walk through the terminal at WAW, then sit down by a power outlet and read Culture for while in front of a large window and a larger, grey sky. Evening falls and we board and lift off into the dark sky. Vegetarian meal, Top Gun Maverick and finishing Things Fall Apart (oof, that ending) before reading and turning in early to head off the jetlag.
Day 1
After a brief, light sleep, I wake and return to Player of Games before deciding to go all in on resetting my body clock with a duo of coffees as we descend into Delhi. A familiar smell as we deplane, a spice on the air and I am taken back to my short life in Pune. Long wait at the immigration desk, pick up luggage and exit through a very relaxed customs who just waves half the people through. Pick up cash and a SIM card, then wander to terminal 2 to scout it out before descending to the metro. Lots of people with guns, including a guy with an Uzi in a hilarious little pillbox in the departure lounge. It occurs to me that escalators are an almost universal human experience now. Not everywhere has them, but where they do, they are almost identical. Departure times at the metro jump around with no discernible pattern. Eventually, we depart and emerge into the dull brown morning as the ABC hangs over Delhi. “Smoke” indeed. Delhi Central is Kafkaesque but eventually I make it to my mediocre hotel, have a quick shower and chill, then head out and grab an autorickshaw to the suit shop Akriti recommended. Eat a Myore Masala Dosa after the manager questions “are you sure sir? It’s very spicy”. Meet the Brus and Yoce as I start trying on Kurtas. After a long time trying things on, Bruno and I settle on our outfits ans pay up. We search for saris for the girls and after a few attempts, we manage to get most of what is needed. As they try on Saris, a political march passes the street outside. Drummers, autorickshaws and Indian flags with a hand evoke a sort of Indian Uruk Hai. We grab lunch after figuring out a confusing order system and discuss the nature of butterscotch. Tiredness overtakes me, so I take an autorickshaw back as the others finish their shopping. Confusing trip back as children fight in the street and th driver needs help from the police to find my place, but eventually we make it back. I dump my stuff, take out some money and walk down the grand bazaar for a bit, buying a shirt for the wedding ceremony before heading back for darkness and sleep.
Day 2
Wake up, get breakfast of Puri Bhaji in my room, the head out to meet with the others at their hotel. After a short walk through the main Bazaar, I find them and we hop in a taxi to Jama Masjid. Another short walk through a busy market, dodging mess on the streets and make it to the front door, where we remove our shoes to enter the mosque. Beautiful, broad square, though the dome is surrounded with scaffolding. Groups of tourists amble past the signs saying “no tourists beyond this point”, a microcosm of India. Outside again, we step into a bustling market just meters away from the mosque. The Cathedral and the Bazaar. Ironically, the tighter interior is less hectic and we walk past engine parts on our way to the Red Fort.
Outside the Red Fort a Ferris wheel spins worryingly fast, but we enter through the market and walk around the many historical buildings. The palace buildings and apartments give way to picturesque, if a little drained, gardens and Bruno and I briefly lose Bruna and Yoce, but rejoin them near a pavilion. Exiting red fort, we wander into the narrow streets in search of food. We find a nice hotel/restaurant and sit down to be presented with a tasting menu, which doesn’t fit Bruno’s tastes so we get up to leave and they present us with an actual menu, so we settle down for a nice lunch. Afterwards, we are ushered up to the roof to see the minarets, monkeys and red sun hanging in the smog, dim enough to look directly at. We head down to pay, but Bruno calls us back up to the roof to excitedly show us more monkeys. Back outside, we explore narrow streets and find our way to a Sikh temple. Entering the information office, “Lucky” greets us and takes us on a tour, showing us around the temple, explains the philosophy of Sikhism and lets us share the temples food. We donate and move on, enriched. We hop in an autorickshaw to take us to Akshardham, but he ends up taking us in the wrong direction, dropping us in a bustling local market by Delhi junction, so we grab an Ola to Karol Bagh, where Bruna and Yoce pick up their adjusted dresses. Hop into an Ola, then to Leo’s bar where we discover alcohol is not sold on account of the election tomorrow, but we settle down for a pleasant meal. We all part ways, and I walk back quickly through the main Bazaar, mostly closed now and have a quick shower before turning in.
Day 3
Wake around 9 and have a slow start of reading and breakfast before popping our to get money and water. Head outside to grab an autorickshaw to Old Delhi and walk through debris ridden streets to Zeenat-ul Masjid, getting briefly lost in some quiet, dusty streets before finding my way into the mosque amid a prayer session with a small group. Watch quietly for a while then leave in the direction on the main road. A newly laid, clean walkway lies alongside the road. Shady and clean, a sudden change from the backstreets I just left. I eventually cross a broad freeway to the entrance of Raj Ghat, passing through the gate into another world, quiet, solemn and clean like nowhere else in Delhi. Gandhi quotes abound as I head for the main memorial, a mix of solemnity and selfies. Heading north, I walk through lakes and further memorials, the theme of martyrdom repeats and the language of the memorials evokes a dream of what India could and should be, mirroring the park itself. Exit to the south and hop in an autorickshaw to India Gate and more crowds. The gate towers impressively, and despite the hawkers and selfies, there’s a different energy here. Take a long walk along Kartavya Path towards the government buildings at the end, enjoying the openness, despite the crowds. Sometimes, (space) capacity does solve problems. Turn back and walk alongside a river, spying monkeys on the far side and turn north towards Connaught Place, the style and vibe changing immediately. Delhi is such a dense place, both in terms of religions, styles and energy. After a few roundabouts, I stop at Sagar Ratna for a Thali and a rest. Walking north again, Connaught Place is bustling, but eventually I pass through the darker north exit and walk north, past the main Bazaar to the hotel, where I read and enjoy a masala tea before turning in.
Day 4
Wake slowly and have breakfast, before popping out to grab some lozenges and other supplies. Repack and hop on an autorickshaw to Humayun’s tomb. Quiet walk to the gate, pay and enter the broad gardens. Isa Khan’s Tomb is beautiful, but the majesty of Humayun’s blows be a way. Walk up the broad way to the tomb and circle the shady grounds before leaving and hopping in an autorickshaw. Driver tries to sell me more sightseeing, but I decline and explore the temple. A lotta swastikas around, as I slowly recall bits of Hindu myths from Religious Studies. Looks like a wedding is being prepared behind the temple. I think about how conversational the signs are “If you are bringing a child, please ensure they do not cause a nuisance”. Everything assumes a person to person communication. You’d never see that in Germany. Outside the temple, schoolkids pour into the street. A few chat with me, asking if I have Instagram. Further up the road, I rejoin the main Bazaar, checking out clothes and stopping for a coffee. Back at the hotel, I settle my bills, then head out for a disappointing dinner of palak paneer, then return to repack, shower and prepare for tomorrow.
Day 5
Wake early and prepare to leave. After a snack and a last check of the room, I check out and head for the metro. As chaotic as ever. The vast metro, almost all empty space and potential. On the train, I look out over the trees. At the airport, I grab a terrible coffee outside, then drop my baggage at Terminal 2 and sit down to read, with a much better coffee. Board the plane, observing that this will be my last time in Delhi for a while. The flight is short and I just miss getting some free coffee. At Patna, we step off the plane almost directly into the terminal and wait for baggage. Predictably, mine is the last to arrive. After a brief search, I find the driver and 2 Poles. A short drive later, we check into the hotel, amid a maze of highways and narrow alleys. In the room, I shower and have a brief rest. Outside I hear Yoce, so we chat a bit then I head out to buy some water. Upon returning, I bump into Mateusz and confirm the evening plans. Get dressed, then head upstairs to the Sangeet night. Quiet to start but as people start to filter in, we find seats and servers hand out small, tasty portions of food. Opening ceremonies, first dances and cake cutting before dance music (a mix of bollywood and other, weirdly cut). Food and mingling follow before we all retire to our rooms.
Day 6
Wake early and surprisingly well rested. Figure out the hot water and have a warm shower and paint my nails before breakfast. Buffet breakfast with the Poles, then downstairs to get dressed up in my fancy Kurta. In the lobby, I’m the first to arrive, so I wait until Yoce and another Pole arrive, then we chat for a bit as Mayase and Eddie join. Bruno has a fever but they are preparing to join. Cars start to fill up and leave, so eventually I join the last car with the Brus and we set off through the morning traffic. At the venue, things are still getting set up, which causes some stress for the organisers, but we mill around, enjoying snacks and tea as the morning rolls by. The Brus head back to the hotel to rest a while. Eventually, the Tilak ceremony starts and we call Bruna back. Slow rituals and exchanges of gifts and clothes, before rice throwing and a short break. Haldi begins and yellow abounds. More ritual and eventually we line up to anoint the couple and get a face full of turmeric in the process. Discussing German bureaucracy over lunch, then photos and we head to the cars. On the drive back through rush hour (?) I watch the adverts roll by, clearly unrestrained by regulation, simultaneously hyper personal “Rajvinder’s 3 core flat cable, trusted by Pune” and completely impersonal (generic white actor stock photography). We get back and head to our rooms to chill. Leaving time gets pushed back, but eventually we leave around 8. I hop in a car with Mateusz and his parents as the driver demands a 5K INR tip. A beggar approaches the car and starts to threaten Mateusz, a security guard pulls him back, but gently, talking with him before he sends him on his way. The advantages of having security force who actually lives in the community I guess? Eventually, we pull out into traffic. Along the way, we pass “Get wel hospital”, a single, small tower block, tiny by comparison to German hospitals. It occurs to me the focus on small, individual enterprises limits scaling. When everyone runs a whole in the wall, it’s difficult to see economies of scale. We pass a traffic jam of motorcycles honking at pedestrians, despite themselves driving on a sidewalk. “The pinnacle of arrogance” says Mateusz. It’s fascinating how the adverts for medical practices focus on the doctors and their credentials. So many letters. Not so much a side effect of distributing power, but rather, trust? Finally, after passing several other weddings and cutting off a tinsel covered tractor, we arrive at the event. I get a fancy pink haz as we wait for Mateusz to properly arrive (it’s bad luck for people to see him before the event, so he hides in the car a while). Drones fly as he enters the event to an enthusiastic announcer. Dinner is served as dancers dance in front of a screen proudly displaying an Activate Windows banner. Watching the choreography is incredible. I wonder if I could ever be a professional dancer. No. I could not. A second, grand entrance brings in Mateusz as fireworks burst around them and from the entourage’s umbrellas. Unlike the Christian weddings I’m used to, the emcee and the priest are separated, which allows the emcee to go absolutely batshit, bringing random questions and the energy of a wrestling commentator. Akriti makes her grand entrance, similarly accompanied by fireworks and pomp. A relatively short ceremony follows, culminating in yet more fireworks. Sleepiness and mosquitos set in as we head inside to wait for the final ceremony. Finally at 03:00, the final ceremony starts lt with Mateusz feeling his way through the rituals. The father joins as the ceremony continues. Wrap up with rice throwing as Sakshi escapes with Mateusz’ shoes as the ceremony comes to a close. Negotiation for the shoes before stepping into the night for goodbyes. As we leave, a truck is dumping a comically large pile of concrete onto a concrete store. Speeding along almost empty roads, we make it back in less than 15 minutes. I didn’t even have time to read the adverts.
Day 7
Wake earlier than expected, but slip back into sleep. Woken a little later by a call from the front desk, alerting me that breakfast is ready on the 4th floor. Slowly rise and after a second call, I make it to the empty breakfast buffet. I guess they just wanted people to eat the food? After breakfast I pack clothes and shower before relaxing a bit. After Yoce wakes, we head out to get a suitcases for her and repack, offloading my wedding suits. Head to Bruna’s room, where Bruno is resting out his fever. We chat, have some coffee and head out, bumping into Akriti and Mateusz. One last brief chat, then hugs and goodbyes from most of the Berlin crew. I head outside to get some money and explore. I find the first supermarket I’ve seen since Pune. The MSRP prices are all printed on the packages, so the best they can do is offer less that the MSRP, a fascinating dynamic. Back at the room I start Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi. I wonder if I could make it to the Varanasi part before actually reaching Varanasi. Would it make a difference? Later, I head out to Gargee Grand for a small dinner and chat about the difficulties of keeping plants alive. Walk back via supermarket, then back to room for an early night.
Day 8
Sweaty night, but wake somewhat more rested than yesterday. Head upstairs for a quick breakfast, then prepare, checkout and head into the dusty morning. A short walk later I pick up some water and arrive at the station. After walking the entire length of the train, I find my berth and settle down. Cool and spacious, flashbacks of the Trans Siberian. One Indian woman joins my compartment and we depart on time. City quickly gives way to fields. Even the fields are small. A few stops at minor stations. We cross a broad, mostly dry river, boats washed up against its extended banks. Read as the world goes by, realising how much I’ve missed long train rides. As we draw closer to Varanasi, the train slows and I find myself looking at the map, wondering how we can cover a quarter the distance in half the time. We stop in Mughalsarai a while, 10km from Varanasi, before the final push. We stop again as goats play by the side of the rails and a woman collects wood. Strange patties with hand marks on them as we pull into Varanasi Junction, then finally, alight. A short walk out, hop in an autorickshaw and drive towards Assi as the sky quickly darkens from purple to night. Walk the last few blocks, then wend my way through a dark side street to Moustache Hostel. Front desk guy makes some mistakes, checking me into the wrong room, but as I wander through the hostel, the real desk guy returns, presumably from a break and finishes my check-in. As Vik(?) walks me through a map and things to do in Varanasi, Dutch Sanne joins as well. We chat a while, planning to join some of the same tours tomorrow, then I head out for a short walk to get my bearings. Throngs of people press from the waterfront, as I get there, it’s mostly empty but for touts and bright lights. A coca cola sign logo and a pizzeria sigh blares out next to Assi Ghat. Dissonant. Varanasi has a somewhat new energy, combined with commercialism and glitz that I’m depressing like familiar with. Disconcerting. Back at the hostel, pakora, tea and chatting in the common area (a nice balcony), then a shower and turning in as the tiredness sets in.
Day 9
Wake distressingly early. Briefly consider skipping the aarti today but figure, fuck it, already up. Do my best to dress silently, the ghost out of the hostel at 5:15. The streets are strangely empty, dust shrouded street lamps marking the way. Grab a tea at sit down at Assi Ghat as the people arrive and mic checks begin. Girls begin singing and 7 red garbed men begin motions with a variety of fiery implements, repeating for each cardinal direction. Red priests. The flood lights snap off, revealing how much the dawn had encroached. The rituals continue, the priests head to the Ganges, return and end the ceremony by splashing the crowds with water (I thought it was rice). The devoted gather to feel the heat of the fires. It is light now. I wander north through the ghats, backed by the mantras. Pass some bathers in the Ganges, taking a dip at first light. Everything here steeped in spirituality and ritual, again conflicting with the adverts and commercialism. At least here on the waterfront, the adverts abate somewhat. More bathers, what seemed novel a few minutes ago becomes the norm. The sun rises higher, losing its ruddyness as Varanasi emerges from the fog of morning. I turn back to the hostel, retracing my steps as the haze thins and the city wakes. Quick rest at the hostel, booking a place on a tour later. Walk to Manikarnika Ghat, retracing my steps in slightly warmer temperatures until the pyres reveal themselves. The workers prepare the bodies, pouring butter before the priests from the temple bring “natural flame” to light them up. His arms stick out as he burns, I observe. Sit down a ways back from the burnings with a lemon tea to think. Somehow, even drinking a tea feels vaguely discordant here. Delhi is the most city, but somehow, Varanasi is more. Past the eternal fire and some squabbling puppies, I find the Blue Lassi, which, despite being filled with people, is closed. I head to BrijRama Palace for lunch, but the cover charge is more than I have in my pocket, so I move on. Twisting alleys and more stairs than I thought existed in Varanasi and I find my way to Varanasi Diljeet Cafe and it’s tiny, rooftop courtyard (?). A couple and one woman lounge around, I sip a banana lassi and 2 dogs join us. A walk back, a shower then chat with Sanne about her day (pretty chill, apparently) and LK finally gets my name right as he strolls past. Derek from Taiwan joins the group, along with Yesh from the hostel and several other Indians. We walk to the boats and quickly board a boat, life jacketing up. The boat pulls out, along with several others and sails up the river, Varanasi glimmers in the fading light. By the time we reach the burning Ghat, night has fallen and the lights of the pyres glow bright in the darkness. A body floats silently past our boat. We pull up the busiest part of the waterfront, a press of boats crushing against each other. The evening ceremony begins, two groups performing similarly to the morning ceremony, this time attended by Yogi (?) a local, and apparently well liked, politician. Eventually, the boat travels a little south and we deboard, walking into the market after a brief stop for chai and lassi. In the market, a man approaches me “I am selling the same shirt you are wearing. 200 Rupees.” “But, I already have the shirt” “OK, 50 Rupees”. We manage to keep the group together and make it to a chaat place, enjoying a wide variety of chaat and chatting. One of the Indians teaches a lovely phrase “vasudeva kudumbakam” or “citizen of the world”. We finish with meetha paan, a strange, bitter leaf with a soapy aftertaste. Sanne and one other take a strong dislike to it and spit it out. Another chaotic walk to an e-rickshaw, where technical difficulties delay our departure, something is unplugged and nobody can figure out what. Back at the hostel, I head upstairs with Sanne and share a beer, my first since leaving Germany. We discuss careers, travel, relationships and life plans.
Day 10
Wake at a reasonable time, wash up and head out to the common area for aloo paratha and reading a while until Sanne joins. Chat a bit over tea, then head out to walk along the waterfront and look for snake charmers. No cobras in sight, but we observe kids being shaved. Find a yoga festival going on, punchy music and yellow garbed kids contorting themselves. Turn into the market, so Sanne can get her some sunglasses. Walking deeper towards Shri Kashi Vishwanath Temple, seeing a long, unmoving queue. No Sven though. Looking for the ticket place, a man tells us it is fully booked, which Sanne and I immediately agree is a scam. Inside the ticket office, it turns out the temple is actually being painted, so the tickets are not bookable. Huh. We walk towards Blue Lassi, which is again, closed, before finally turning to Manikarnika Ghat. Bump into Derek briefly as we ponder our culturally relative perceptions of death. Another short, failed search for snake charmers later, we walk to Baba Lassi and enjoy mixed fruit lassis before heading to Varanasi Diljeet Cafe for a chilled out Thali. We discuss the lies we tell children and tourists. Drop bears, haggis, poppadoms as frog skin. Sanne explains Sinta Klaus and is surprised I haven’t heard of this Dutch tradition, with its incredibly racist elves. Johannes Vonk rides again. Cookie and Gogo, the dogs play with each other and us, and bark at the monkeys, Cookie in particular. The owners of the cafe use an unloaded slingshot to scare of the monkeys. Deepshika joins, studying at Varanasi and graduating tomorrow. We discuss University systems, monkeys and names. We eventually leave and walk slowly back to the hostel, stopping at Maharaja Harishchandra Ghat, watching the burning for a while. The bodies here were too poor to afford the ghats. Back at the hostel, after freshening up, we hang out in the common area with Pavna (recently graduated, heading back to Delhi tonight), Devyani (from the tour last night) and LK. We discuss poetry, hipsters and what a terrible country America is. Sanne and Pavna leave. I am sad to see them go. Devyani loses her wallet, but after a brief, tense search, we find it. Nani joins and we talk about drug laws in India, religion and aerospace engineering.
Day 11
Wake slowly, then head out to the common area to read and have breakfast. Head out to get some cash, following a trail of unavailable ATMs until eventually being able to withdraw a bit. Half way to Baba Lassi already, so I continue on to order a special lassi. On the walk back, I head to the shore. The clearest day yet, even able to see the bridge. It arrives slowly. At first, skip around ideas and music seems slower and more meaningful. I briefly forget I am in India. I eat the delicious wedding snacks on the balcony. I think about what it must have taken to create the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I play Wordle a bit. I think about how I’m sitting on a rooftop with only Indians. I’m privileged to have experienced this experience across several countries. AI as crystalised, blended, stewed labour. The exceptions aren’t captured in the training data. The day rolls on and I drift away.
Day 12
Chat with Victor over breakfast, sharing homemade Mexican snacks before heading out to walk the waterfront, now a ritual for me, it seems. Another clear day, with fewer people around. Bump into a music video being filmed outside Chet Singh Ghat. Make it to Blue Lassi and finally get tha famous lassi after the owner prepares with the curd on top of a block of ice. It’s a nice lassi. Join the waterfront near Manikarnika Ghat and head north, cutting in briefly to explore more narrow streets. Reach the very end of the steps by the ghats, seeing the Ganges flow on beyond. Turn inland, finding quiet, goat filled streets and following winding alleys to sit down at a quiet cafe near Baba Lassi for an Americano. Nice to sit a while and people watch. Lines of colourful, sari wearing women, small packs of tourists. Stomach feels a bit off, so I walk back to the hostel. Waterfront quiet. Unsure if its the heat or the aftermath of the government minister visiting. Back at the hostel, grab a sandwich, my first meal of the day and turn in early, exhaustion and nausea taking over.
Day 13
Wake slowly, still not 100% and pack. Head to the common area and finish The Player of Games and continue with Jeff in Venice. Shiva Shambho begins playing. The sky brightens, portending the journey to come. I am open and excited. Slow day, nursing somewhat shredded health. More Mantras and Ragas play and I relax, reading and chatting before saying my goodbyes. This was a nice hostel. Hop in an auto to the station, but he tries to drop me half way there (???). During the ride, a slight apprehension or anxiety passes, sadness at leaving Varanasi perhaps? At the station, I am approached immediately after stepping out of the auto “taxi?”. Mate, I just got out of a taxi. No thought, only throughput of offers. I pick up some snacks and search for the platform before boarding and setting off. I have a top bunk, so I can’t see much, but I settle in and read at the top of the car. The train rumbles into the night and I drift away to sleep.
Day 14
Wake with a terrible back. The train is delayed by an hour, so I rise slowly and watch the misty river roll by as we cross the bridge (through a disconcertingly open door). Jump off the train and onto an autorickshaw, getting dropped off at the edge of Kinari Bazaar. A short walk later, I enter Joey’s Hostel with a few other backpackers. Not able to check in yet, but head up to the rooftop to chill. Join the backpackers from earlier. Ruta from Latvia, Leo from Belgium and Romeo from (South) Korea, all just arrived on the train from Varanasi. I drop my bag in Ruta’s room, then we head to the Taj Mahal. Get frisked at the entrance “The Irish are known for drinking and fighting” “Not today, I promise”. Romeo gets turned away on account of having a tripod for his GoPro (?), so retreats to find a locker as we have selfies with crowds of teenagers. Romeo returns and we head into the grounds, quiet at first, then opening up to the iconic views. Strange that people choose to have selfies with us rather than the Taj, but hey. We are “high value ticket holders”, so we get to skip the queue and enter the mausoleum quickly. Many photos, a brief sit, then outside to the bustle of touts in the Bazaar. Ruta buys 2 guavas, which monkeys promptly steal out of her and Romeos hands before we head to Luckys cafe for lunch. Ruta does a little work and Romeo reviews some footage. “All about the hashtag content, yo”. Romeo departs to buy train tickets and the rest of us head back to the hotel. Shower, chill then head up to the rooftop for a few calls on the rooftop, flaunting a world class background. Another recharge, then we decide to walk to Bamboo Cafe, through a series of dark winding alleys, sparsely lit with dogs everywhere. Make it to the restaurant, order food and proceed to apply henna to each other. Discuss, custard, the redness problem and astrology before being interrupted by dogs fucking in the middle of the street. Thank the restaurant owner, take a cab back and we all turn in.
Day 15
Wake well rested. Brief wash, then dress and head outside to meet Ruta, where a nice dog joins to play. We order an Ola as Romeo and Leo join before saying our goodbyes. At Agra Cantt there is a brief fight between the driver and another auto driver (he blocked the way). In the station, Ruta and I say goodbye, then I buy water and snacks before jumping on the train. First time in CC class and sat next to a fairly well off Indian lady. Low fields roll, birds playing in the grass, followed by gorges and rivers. Alight at Gwalior and walk to the base of the fort through, winding, dirty streets. At the bottom of the hill a guide introduces himself and says he speaks some Spanish and French. I reply in Spanish, chat a little then say goodbye and walk up the hill. The fort rises ahead, looming over the town, but separate from it. A few groups, young and old explore, and an old mad sits and looks at the walls. I pay to enter a building of the fort, exploring dark, narrow passages and stairwells. Light plays. Children scream. Lovers sit. Pay again to enter another section of the fort, open and wide. Walking in and out of buildings, I notice the graffiti on the walls. Hundreds of years of history, supplemented. 2 green parrots fly away as I turn a corner and the guide from earlier greets me from afar, in Spanish, bringing his tour group round (a group of older, businessmen) for a photo with me. “¡Hasta luego Esteban!”. Walk to the far side of the fort and a Sikh temple, changing into a turban, crossing the ritual water before circling around 2 pools, one covered in aglae. Sikh temples are always so calm. Past a market of ceremonial Sikh weapons, I turn downhill to the Siddhachal Jain caves, beautiful in the light of the lowering sun. A single guard patrols and a goat herder leads his herd through the gate as I take a tuktuk. I get dropped off at the station and cross the road to an upmarket mall. Flashbacks to Phoenix Marketcity in Pune. I know stuff like this exists in India, but it’s jarring to see it again after the last few weeks. Everything western, even the people’s clothes. Barely a sari in sight. Everyone striving towards a western vision. Is it possible? Is it right? Mostly western food, so I grab a small pizza and sit down to recharge. Constantly amazed by how bad the user experience of Indian train stations is. Platform either not clearly numbered or only on temporary, digital signs. What’s the one thing most people want to see when they arrive at a station? When and where their train arrives, so let’s only show that for a moment on screens interspersed with advertising. I realise I haven’t seen another westerner in Gwalior. Board the train as it starts pulling away. Onboard the train, it’s very loud and I’m sat next to a woman talking loudly on her phone (even while eating, can’t you break for a second?). Get food delivered for some reason, but not really feeling up to it. Back at the hostel, I unpack and fall asleep quickly.
Day 16
Wake tired, with a slight headache. Take it slow and head up to the cafe for a coffee and an omelette. Grab some cash then hop in a tuktuk to Agra Fort. Tickets, queue a bit, then get to skip the queue and enter. Evokes Red Fort, but smaller and far better preserved. After a few hours of exploring with startlingly few selfies, I walk back along the road and through the gardens by the Taj West Gate. I buy an ice cream “watch out for monkeys!” on the way back to the hostel. Shower and head up to the roof for a drink. Almost every rooftop in view of the Taj has been converted into “Taj View” cafe of some description. Life finds a way. Birds circle the rooftop and call to prayers echo over the bazaar as I sip an iced tea. The horizon grows ruddy orange with the sunset and air fills with mosquitos and I retreat inside. Read and have dinner while a group of deaf women converse silently in front of me. Recharge and repack before turning in for an early night.
Day 17
Wake easily, a few others leave the dorm early, apparently for a trip of some sort. Wash, checkout quickly and hop in a tuktuk to Agra Cantt. Once again, blown away by the UX of Indian Railways. Every board in the station shows a different set of trains, often conflicting. There is a lizard at my feet. My first experience of Indian 1st Class Rail is underwhelming, but my cabin is quiet, at least. Read and watch the countryside roll by. Trains in India are so big. They travel hundreds of kilometres and need to be booked far in advance. So opposed to most of what India is, ad hoc, short notice and small. We pull into Delhi, the buildings growing more numerous around us. Pick up lunch at Delhi, followed by a nap and more reading. The trees change subtly as we progress north and I pick up a veg biryani at Ludhiana. Spicy, we’re in Punjab now. Pull into the dark Amritsar station and jump off, surprisingly not swamped by touts at the exit and after a failed Ola and some confused drivers, I hop in a tuktuk. The darkness seems deeper here, combined with coloured lights everywhere and more hectic traffic than Agra. A whole overpass lit up blue. A man in a turban waves traffic by, it’s unclear if he has any formal role. Hostel is down an alley off another alley, and seems fairly quiet. I sleep easily.
Day 18
Wake early and read while people snore. Climb up to the roof where close fog gives Amritsar a Silent Hill vibe. Short walk to the golden temple, and after removing my shoes and turbaning up, I cross the water threshold and admire how gold it is, striking in the morning mists. After a while, I stop looking at the temple and start people watching. The devotion and joy on the faces is magical. For all the selfies, there’s something here. Walk through the Sikh museum. Paintings of bloodshed, battle and brutality. Bravery and martyrdom too, though a thread of grievance runs deep. Beyond some shocking imagery of 9/11/82, hall after hall of faces. It slowly dawn’s on me that they’re all martyrs. A corridor of names. Martyrs. There is space for more. Stop for food and a donation. The men washing the dishes pass the trays along a line, chatting to each other along the way. It’s adorable. Outside, the market is calmer than others I’ve experienced in India, perhaps because the streets are too narrow for most vehicles. Shower back at the hostel then head off the border with one Pole and four Indians. Driver is a funny guy “we’re still waiting for the British to come back and fix this shit”. One lane blocked by striking bus drivers, so we take a detour. Introductions all round, during which I’m told I look like Steve Jobs. At the border, Vik takes our bags and batteries “there’s not much difference between tourist and terrorist” and we head inside. Polish Patrick and me are foreigners, so we get lumped in with the VIPs. A military man with a handlebar moustache runs towards us with 2 Indian flags, passing them to the VIPs and allowing them to run around the stadium with them. Patrick and I sit down in the stands and enjoy the absolutely bugfuck spectacle. Wild, energetic dancing, with handlebars pushing the crowds to even higher states of frenzy, while the comparatively small Pakistani side is overshadowed by a vast flag. An advert for the Border Security Force plays, with National Geographic watermarks. More flags and a procession of dogs, minesweepers and dress uniformed officers performing a sort of Hakka towards to Pakistani side. The gate between the country opens, followed by a blink and you miss it handshake, then flags are raised and the ceremony winds down. It’s a celebration of united India (“Hindustan Zindabad!”), but what is that? Energy, fervour and an echo of Empire in the pomp and circumstance. All around the border, another echo of Empire. Patrick and I slip out ahead of the crowds and make it back to Vik, followed by a long bumpy drive back hanging out the back of an Auto. 4 kids on a motorbike wave and joke with us. Never change, India. We stop for tasty Punjabi food (Lacha Paratha, Kadhai Paneer) at Kesar Da Dhaba before heading back to the hostel. Short chill, then out to see the Golden Temple, lit up in the dark. Good lord is it golden.
Day 19
After waking, a Bengali roommate is surprised by how thick the morning fog is. Walk outside without fully deciding where to go, so head north, circling the temple until I emerge into a clean, paved Promenade. Enter Jallianwalla Bagh, circling the misty memorial among the crowds. The language and tone is personal, brutal. No feigned objectivity or distance. The brute, “the poet” in heavy air quotes. Are western museums right to plaster over the narratives and emotion in the name of objectivity? Do we do it because we can, or because we must? A girl asks me to take her photo “take me with you!”. Outside, I wander through alleys and cloth markets, stopping to buy a scarf. Maybe I’ll become a scarf guy now. Lunch of Tawa Paneer, then into the partition museum. Gradual start, then into the horrors of the partition. An old woman cries over her dolls, left in Pakistan decades earlier, the emotion still fresh in her eyes. Beads split between nations, entire cultures displaced. Refugees at Humayun’s tomb. I was there, just 2 weeks ago. Letters to the government, seeking their relatives. Evokes the Berlin holocaust memorial. “did any of your relatives get separated at the time of Partition? Ask the manager…” This is an open wound. Sit a little afterwards, then walk back to the hostel. Chill, then head out for a final visit to the golden temple, resplendent in the fading light. Food, then home. Tea and reading in the common area, where I catch up with a guy from yesterday, who just got back from Pakistan. We talk about visas and museums a bit, then I shower and turn in.
Day 20
Wake early and after a short wash, I head out for a walk in the misty morning. Through alleys to the temple entrance, the white marble blending with the thick, white fog. Walk around through quiet gardens, stopping at a breakfast place for Chur Chur Naan and Chole. Pack back at the hostel and check out just catch Viky from the border tour just as he’s about to take a couple to the airport, so I tag along. Viky proudly claims he could smuggle me across the border “don’t worry about the way back, they have way more smugglers”. Hugs and goodbyes at the foggy entrance, then a frustrating security check and reading in a pigeon filled departure lounge. Plane delayed with no updates (but many adverts). Once again, India hates travelers. Thick fog delays the flight further and tension rises. I have a 3 hour layover at Mumbai, but even that is being cut into. The sky grows dark and the fog remains impenetrable, the universe conspires to keep me from Goa. Chat with the other stranded passengers, mostly going to visit family in Mumbai, one French couple catching a connection to Paris they bought as separate tickets. Shit. Conciliatory snacks, then we get news that the airline has found a pilot crazy enough to fly in this weather and our flight leaves at 20:30. Definitely not making it to Goa today, but certainty is nice. Kids chase pigeons around the 2nd floor of the airport, a Sikh guy I was talking to feeds them. The time comes close and I see the staff laying out dividers for the queues, I look for signs in the tea leaves. After a few false alarms, we all line up to board. No official announcement, but a sense of camaraderie as we board. I’m sat next to the French couple. At BOM, we deplane quickly. Fuck it’s warm. Yell “Bonne Chance” to the French couple as they sprint to their connection, then fail to check in online. Need to head out to departures, check in at the desk, then go through security again. Wander an almost deserted terminal, so sleep for a few minutes before heading to the gate and boarding (the guard is very strict about ordering). Another sleep on the plane, then wake up in Goa. Walk out, grab a prepaid taxi. After a struggle to escape the press of taxis and a stop for gas, we’re on our way. Adverts abound, of course, but now for casinos. Sort of like a good-Vegas. Palm trees! Get dropped off and my body creaks with exhaustion as I walk the last few steps down alleys that quickly devolve into dirt paths. At the House of Memories, nobody is there yet, but 20 mins later I’m checked in. I collapse onto the bed, 2 others asleep in the same room and fall asleep immediately. I’m finally in Goa.
Day 21
Wake after a very short sleep, still with a bit of a headache, but decide to rise. Take a much needed shower, wash clothes and meet Sriram from Bangalore, who is checking out tomorrow. Walk to the beach and sit down at a shack for coffee and a Bombay sandwich. Others arrive at the shack, an extroverted Indian man and a cohort of Russians, arriving piecemeal. Apparently, I’m on the Russian beach. Walk north, realising I’ve forgotten how to walk on sand, so I walk through the surf, the water pleasant between my toes. A crow lands near the surf and caws at the breaking waves, a sort of corvid Canute. Read the Baga Beach sign, then turn inland, picking up sunscreen and a shirt, before turning back to the beach, enjoying the surf again. Ditch stuff back at hostel, then out to swim a while, the swells and rip current stronger than I imagined. Read, then sit down for dinner at Horizon, ordering Goan prawn curry as the local dog yaps at anything that moves. I (and many others) snap pictures of the setting sun, growing redder by the minute. I look west, visualising the path home and the paths that led me here. Back at the hostel, drinks and a short birthday party (one of the Indians is 24), ends with cake on a face. Discuss spirituality, the diversity of India and the Berlin Airlift. Shweta doesn’t know how long she’s staying and beedies are ever flowing. We try to convince Divya to get us more beers. We head to the beach, taken aback by how close the water is. Drunken ramblings, cheers as I competently swear in Hindi, claims that this is the “real Goa” and finally, pizza and gatecrashing a nearby shack.
Day 22
Wake slowly and head downstairs to catch up with Ashu. Walk to the beach before having a short swim, enjoying the swells, before sitting on a bed and reading over coffee. This is a morning tradition I could get used to. Breakfast of a disappointing Paratha, then more reading with an iced tea, condensation dripping down the glass as sea spray fills the air. Go for a short walk to buy a bag for gifts and take out some money. Shower back at the hostel and chat with the others, English Emma (living in Dubai) arrived today and Animesh recommends clubs for tomorrow. There’s a music evening getting set up. “The gig will start… sometime, but not anytime soon… so if you want to go to the beach, drown your sorrows or commit suicide… don’t do that”. I choose one of those options and walk along the beach as disk settles in, stopping for a delicious prawn xacuti. Back at the hostel, Ashu has mostly recovered from last night, begins on the beedles again. Live music begins, Hindi and English in waves. Dancing, pictures and Jojo and Julie, the dogs, joining in. Chat with English Rosie and Will about British politics “I feel like a lot of the UKs problems would be solved it we took everyone who had a nanny and exiled them to Gurnsey.” Bharti joins us, followed by dancing, rambling and eventually, sleep.
Day 23
I wake surprisingly early, and head straight to the beach, enjoying a swim (strong swells, deep water) before sitting down to read with a coffee. I quickly become a creature of habit, but it’s a fine habit. Shower back at the hostel, then read and catch up with the others. After a slow early afternoon, we head to the beach for a swim and chat. Josi cuts his foot on some glass and leaves a trail of blood as he walks back to the restaurant to get his wound cleaned. We discuss marriage, poha and get invited to models night. Are we models now? Possibly. Back to the hostel to prepare to head out. Showered and tickets bought, we hop on scootys and drive to the German cafe (decked out with prayer flags) for chicken sandwiches, then on to a perilous ride to the club. We stop briefly to buy a bottle of petrol from a roadside stand, also selling cigarettes. Never change, India. Me and Ashu are the first to arrive, so I get a crash course in scooty driving and park near a tree. Ragu and Bhati arrive, followed by Dada. I go inside to get our wrist bands, finding an American without a ticket begging to be let in. Vibe check. Inside, we dance a while before Josi and Aswheta arrive, so we mix drinks in the parking lot as a cow chases Bharti and kicks sand everywhere. Back inside Hilltop, we dance and drink. A pirate-patterned man walks past me and Josi, and we exclaim to each other “Jack Sparrow!”. Bharti ties my shoe laces and I’m overwhelmed by the kindness of the action, before a very wide Russian walks past. The set is great, a mix of psytrance and european techno (using forest gump samples). A Russian girl walks up to me “Русский?” “Нет, но говорю намного” She shrugs and pours a drink into my mouth “пока пока!”. After a few rounds of cocktails (La Cucharacha is good here), we get some fries, bringing the ketchup guy over for extra, before heading off. A search for the scooty keys, then we’re off. The ride back is just as perilous as the ride out, but doesn’t feel so. When we get back, Esa and a few others are fairly drunk, so we wish them well and head to bed.
Day 24 (Christmas Day)
Wake late, walk downstairs, saying merry Christmas to all I pass and onto the beach. The sea is calmer today, apparently taking a day off as well. Morning ritual of coffee, reading and paratha as a drum circle starts to my left. Shower back at the hostel, where Eita and Khushboo arrive as the painting starts. I call my parents, the join the painting. I paint a setting sun, which is not very good, but I am proud of myself nonetheless. Chatting and socialising for hours as discussions about going to House of Chapora start. Most seem set on relaxing for Christmas day, especially after last night, but discussions continue, a wave function that will not collapse. I join Esa, Emma and Jane for Christmas dinner, they choose a western focussed restaurant, which is unexpected but pleasant. Pigs in blankets, steak and mousse, followed by an exapted cheese board constructed from all their available cheese by a very accommodating chef. Discuss the essence of Christmas and India as a Complex Adaptive System before wandering back and chatting with the remaining people at the hostel for a bit. Play some sushi go, as board games are a Christmas tradition for Emma. Short, fun games and a last drink before we retreat from the thickening mosquitos and settle in.
Day 25
Wake and head to the beach for my last beach-morning routine, enjoying a coffee and a last look north to Baga beach, then back to the hostel to checkout and book a taxi for 13:30. Chill and say my goodbyes as people flow in and out, on their way to their various things. Play a truth or dare-esque game and learn about Indian Snake and Egg role play before my taxi arrives. Many invitations and promises to meet again, hugs and goodbyes. Leave as the Chillis Otherside plays in the background. Dry fields in surrounded by palm trees. The heat here much more evident in the absence of a sea breeze. Station is small and doesn’t even have screens showing train status. The automated announcement “… will be arriving on platform…” and silence. Every system I look at for train status gives me a wildly different answer. Once again, Indias hatred of travelers is incredible. Jump aboard the train, where people negotiate over seat locations. All the windows are open and the AC consists of fixed fans on the roof, doing their best, but failing. A girl offers me a cookie, which I politely decline. The train gets much busier after a few stops, and I need to move a few times, ending up perched on the end of a seat next to a couple. Mountains rise through the mist and deepening light of sunset. A fire rages as we pull into Ratnagiri, at Chiplun a wall of noise as food sellers storm through the car, a whirlwind of samosas. I chat with the guys opposite me about my ebook reader and they tell me about their work in the Indian visa process bureaucracy. Almost everyone except me gets off at Dadar, leaving me alone in the carriage for the last few minutes. A contemplative return to Mumbai. The last of us disembark and walk the full length of the train to the station exit. Drivers make offers, but calmer than anywhere else I have experienced in India. Large rats fight over trash, naked unhomed people sleep and I find my hostel, around the corner from a Deutsche Bank and a KFC. Just like home. Several floors up, I find a locked grill with a man sleeping behind it. He jerks awake and checks me in in a hypnogogic state. Colonial stylings, tall ceilings and air con. I sleep quickly.
Day 26
Wake easily, only some light snoring around. A guy meditates on an upper bunk as another chills on the balcony. I complete my check in, wash up and head out for a coffee and KMC* before walking back to grab my camera. At Horniman Circle Garden, the central monument is under construction, the workers making a sculpture of their own. People sit serenely reading their news, meters from jackhammers. Walk south, seeing the most clearly British architecture in all of India (that I’ve seen, at least) and British mannerisms; brusqueness and aloofness. Echoes of Empire. Mumbai is a hot, humid London, for better, and worse. Get through the crowds to see the Gateway to Mumbai, something I saw last time, so really more about the nostalgia than the photos. Onwards to Leopolds, where I sit a while, enjoying the energy, order a Bombay sandwich and a masala Chai (also the same as last time, but the sandwich is better this time round). Despite my mixed feelings on Shantaram, every trip to Mumbai I make is essentially a Shantaram sightseeing trip, so I walk south through Colaba, stopping at the stinking docks with colourful buildings. At Nariman, I cut west to see the sea and sweeping shoreline. Turn back to the hostel to recharge a bit, then hop in a mini to the Chowpatty beach as the sun sets. The sky grows deeper red as crowds gather, the waterfront effectively full a very different vibe to Goa. Groups take selfies as hazy towerblocks and red sun burns behind them. Selfies at the end of the world. Snack on various puris (Sev and Bhal). I’m going to miss chaat when I get back to Berlin. Walk along the beach with a surprisingly nice milkshake, enjoying the falling dusk. Hop in a mini for the trip back, chatting with a very jolly muslim guy who chats about traffic. Get dropped at CSMT, which is now lit up blue, vivid enough to draw crowds of people. Short walk back, shower, then chill and read a while, before settling into my last sleep in India, for a while, at least.
Day 27
Slow wake and start, accounting for the late flight. Check out and chill in the common room for a moment as a janitor chases a pigeon out. Pick up a few gifts from the crowded underpass market then head to KMC* again, enjoying a quiet coffee and some cornbread. Finish Jeff in Venice as I have an afternoon snack of surprisingly good fried chicken. Mixed feelings on the book though, it captures some of the exact same insights as this travel diary. Does that make me an insightful writer or Geoff a simple travelogue writer? Pay up and walk through the underpass market, now sweltering and dense. A descent into a very busy hell. Hop in a mini to the airport, watching narrow and under construction skyscrapers sweep by in the haze. Tall, new buildings behind old decaying buildings with trees growing through them. The side mirror has a message “objects in the mirror are the same as they appear” I don’t think that’s the message. Traffic signs implore drivers to “follow lane driving discipline” and “arrive home safe, not in pieces”. A final cry for people to change, to become something new and different as I leave India, maybe a little different myself. Suddenly, we turn into the elevated airport road, another world of cleanliness and trees culminating in the archtrees of BOM. It’s a bit different to how I arrived in India. Check-in isn’t open yet, so I grab a coffee and a light, mediocre meal, then finally check in. Pass through immigration, a quick, perfunctory affair. Last time I left India was a bit different. Duty free is bright and bursting with people in a way few places can at 23:30. At the food court, bhel puri is 290 Rs, while yesterday at Chowpatty, it was 30 Rs. I guess I’ve left India now. Sit at the gate, gradually filling up and read, an article idea bursting into my head. That’s what 2am airport time will do to you I guess. Long chain of queues, then board the plane. Switch off cell data with mere hours left on my prepaid plan. Not planned, but fortuitous. Also have a free seat next to me. A quick meal, then a light, dreamless sleep.
Day 28
Wake an hour from landing, cities glittering in the darkness below. We land as a rusty gleam seeps over the horizon and the in-flight map shows us hanging over Zero-Point. Walk to a messier duty free and sit down for a coffee, looking out over the airfield. Airports, liminal spaces between anywhere of note and also acting as a book end to the trip. I’m not in Egypt, and yet, here I am. Another security check and back to vaguely familiar Terminal 2. On the plane I am exit row all to myself. Really lucking out on seats today. We descend through the familiar clouds, city and lakes sprawling below. Quick border check, then onto U-Bahn. The sun sets, the same sun of course, but now a salmon pink that I have not seen in a month. The same but different. It starts to rain. I’m home.