Manali to Delhi - The Last Ride in India

I left Manali early on Wednesday morning after spending just under two weeks there having my bike converted into a classic which it now is. I spent two of the most boring and relaxing days of my journey waiting for Bonnie the mechanic to finish and each day I would go to his garage and stand there looking whistfully at the bike and with sorrow at him in the hope that he would speed up the work in order to get rid of me, if not out of pity then just to get rid of the love-sick bull mooning around the place. It didn't work. But then it was ready (except for some minor cosmetics to be done in Delhi) and after a test drive to town and back, a distance of about 4 kms, I too felt that It and I were both ready to hit the road one last time.

So early on Wednesday morning I rose, brushed ny teeth, had a last shower, made coffee, woke up Amit and Maya who though they were not going with wanted to see me off (at the ungodly hour of 6:45). We did this and that, said this and that, smoked this and that and then I was off. For the past week it had rained very heavily every night from about 3 or 4 often till 10 or 11 but this morning promised to be better with few clouds and an open road. And I was off and 20 minutes later it started to rain and went on doing so till 12:30. Sometimes it was light rain but more often it was hard and once I even stopped at the side of the road in a dhabba with a bunch of curious locals (of course!). But after that the rain stopped and I eventually discarded my "SCANIA" on a branch by the side of the road hanging on a branch for the next lucky scavanger - it is big enough to house at least a family of Indians. Good luck scavanger wherever you are!

The route was as usual in the north magnificen, I drove through narrow valleys with raging rivers, I wound up and down the mountains (none of which, incidentally, were snow topped - but I still get to use the term). The road was good and not overcrowded but I am running in the bike and can't ride too fast. So I'm going about 50 - 55 and I pass through Kullu where I once went specially (in a particular fit of miserliness, to print pictures for 6 ruphees instead of the 10 I was beimg charged in Kasol - I must have saved at least 5 ruphees on the 3 hour trip) and then Bhuntar where I spent the night on the way to Paravati and then the temple where Guttes gear gave out and we could only limp on and then Mandi and then Ner Chowk where Houdini hit the car and then through Barmana and Ghaggas and Bilaspur and Swangaht and Kiratpur and Rupnagar and Kharat where I turned right and Morinda where I turned left and Fatehgarh Sahib where I turned left again and then I was on the NH1 to Delhi.

A few kms down the NH1 I pulled into Ambala for the night - for your
information Ambala is one of the places where the Indian Mutiny of 1857 started. Why have I mentioned all these places? Mainly because they are ndestinguishable, they are all dirty and dusty and rundown and set in beautiful surroundings and I drove for kms along the Kullu River and then the Beas River and still the towns were dirty and dusty and rundown.

The next morning I set of to do the last 200 kms to Delhi and it was most frustrating to be on a real highay for the first time since March and I couldn't do more than 55! I was passed by busses and trucks and cars and even rickshas and the ocaisinal bicycle ricksha! The only things I could be sure of passing were the bullock carts.

The nearer I got to Delhi the heavier the traffic got and all of a sudden I
was in the city and in a traffic jam and totally unaware of where I was. I
stopped an autoricksha and told him to lead me to the Main Bazar and he did just that, leading me right to the hotel I had chosen. I am now settled in a room the size of a basketball court with A/C and TV and an overattentive staff who barely allow me to enter or leave without bugging me.

What I have seen of Delhi is not much, the Red Fort and Hanumans statue and the Main Bazar and it is all dirty and unappealing and anyway I dont really have time for touring and the weather sucks and so I don't believe I will see much of the city.

Now I am off to Conaurght Place to find a MacDonald's - I need a fix even though I know the burger will be chicken - but think of the chips (fries) and milkshake.

Leh

Well here I am in Leh. The journey here was not of the easiest - 420 kms, 180 of them road and the rest "no road". When we left Srinigar it started to rain and it didnt stop for 2 days, that is till we were about 2 hours from Leh. On the way we crossed 3 unpaved passes with the highest being 3500 meters more or less, none of them were paved and the few sections that were were covered with muddy water - driving was excrutiatingly slow, mostly in
1st gear both because of the climb and because of the mud (Amit and I were especially careful, or cowardly) because on the return trip from Gulmarg (near Srinigaar) we both slipped, slid and fell at the same spot and do not want a repeat of it.

Despite the really hard ride we did manage to take many, many photos and when I reach Manali I will send them (it's expensive here and I am a well known cheapskate). How can I describe the scenery, its indescribable, but of course I'll give it the old college try. The first leg is through Kashmir and its all lush and green with little glaciers coming right up to the road and streams, tiny ones running across the roads and picturesque little villages and herdsmen and their tents and flocks and many soldiers and army
camps and deep ravines with the fast flowing Indus all along the way and it cuts through solid rock to get where its going and then after Kargil, a passionately Shi'ite town where we tried unsuccessfully to dry out (the second day I put nylon bags over my socks because my shoes were soaked) the whole world turns into a desert with high snow covered mountains and more
rain and two passes and mud and wet and cold and lots of "no road".

But we made it and met our friends from Kasol and got ourselves a lovely guest house which we have completely taken over - 5 rooms of Israelis (9 people) and one of Danes (2) and we run the place.

We decided to take a camping trip in the Nubra Valley and to get there you have to drive the worlds highest motorable road (according to BRO and The Lonely Planet) where the highest pass Khardung La reaches 18380 feet (don't ask me why feet, maybe a leftover from the Raj) which is about 5500 meters and it gets cold and there is not enough oxygen but the road, except for a
very few sections and the very steep climb - about 2000 meters in 40 kms, is quite an easy drive. So we're going camping and we've got everything including the kitchen sink and we reach the top in about 2 hours and we do the obligatory photos with bikes and sign and have the obligatory puff and we're on our way. Oops, no we're not, Gutte's bike won't start. Nachum, who had been miserable till then, suffering like me from the effects of the lack
of oxygen brightens up and in 10 minutes has the engine stripped and has found the problem, but 10 minutes turn into 2 hours and we're all suffering from the height so we stop a Tata and load the bike on and Gutte sets out for Leh again. End of Camping Trip! I had moaned about having to go camping but was now most dissapointed (wew have planned another shorter one for
tomorrow) and I am sure I would have moaned and whinged but I am truely saddened. the remaining 5 bikes turn around to follow Gutte and 10 minutes later Toto's bike dies - another Tata! Maya joined him for the ride and how they managed to roll a joint as the Tata bounced and jounced (is that a word?) down the road is beyond me. I was feeling pretty bad myself on the way down so I stopped and vomited. I also lost everybody else but arrived,
or limped "home" first.

After about 30 minutes during which iI just sat, the others started limping in too and Maya made us all a delicious potato soup which did much towards our recovery. Toto's bike was ready last night but Gutte's may take longer.

I think that the boys enjoy it more when their bikes break down, they seem to thrive on the adversity. Ah well, no Nubra valley this time, maybe next year. Any takers?

Now we are waiting to do the Leh-to-Manali road which is supposed to be the hardest and the next petrol station is 300 kms from here. There are 3 passes, all high and tough. But in the meantime we have met here a group of 70 Indian Enfield riders and if they can do it so can we, even though they were a ralley and rode empty with all their luggage on a truck and mechanics and 3 doctors. But hats off to them anyway.

Want more pics?

For more pictures of Arie and Srinigar, check out the collection on Picasa Web Albums.

Srinigar, Srinigar has captured my heart!

As I said in my last long mail Srinigar is special and I feel obliged to write more about it, even if its just to give a blow by blow description of our activities, and despite the tranquility of the houseboat we have managed to get up off our big fat arses (well mine is big and fat, it just seems [appropriate] to try and drag Amit and Maya down to my level).

The houseboat comes with two meals a day, breakfast is unfailingly eggs (scrambled or omletted), huge amounts of toast and a slalad. (What's a salad?). Dinner is usually fried lamb or liver or chicken and tonight we had an excellent lamb stew (at least I believe it was lamb but mutton can be either lamb or goat - you don't really want to ask) with vegetables, usually carrots, beans and potato. Our host Ayub is not, however, a very good cook and sometimes one has to really struggle to bite and chew the lamb stew was cooked by his father from whom he took over the business. Apparently the old man (probably 50) likes to keep his hand in. We have a fridge, the first time for any of us and that means we can keep milk, cheese, coke, water, fruit, ice cream - god, the posssibilities are endless. We are eating well and living off the fat of this land.

Each day we wake up around 8:30 (me) or 9:30 (my house-mates) and then breakfast is served half an hour later. During the interim, we drink coffee and have an early morning smoke. (ha). What to do with the day? Whew, that's a toughie. Everything, well almost everything is brought to our deck-step (my word I believe), all the shops you can imagine float up to our HB and
yell till we come out to tell them we don't want to buy anything, but they are nothing if not persistant and now and again we break down and allow them on board and then we are lost, we buy and buy and buy and buy.

There are jewellers, and woodcarvings and pashminas and papermache, mind you, they haven't brought carpets to the HB, for that we had to go to the shop and again I showed total lack of will power. I have bought too much and I want tovomit and I drool over my newest additions to the museum of kitch!

And then there are the fruit and vegetable guys, and the floating supermarket which has everything but at a 20% markup and the shishkebab wallah and the shikara taxis all needing to make a buck (and most of them subsist on that buck - most not all, some of them actually make a whole herd of bucks).

Some days we take a ride to a tourist site; Shalimar Bagh and Nishat Bagh the magnificent Moghul gardens, gulmarg, Indias most popular ski resort and claimant to the worlds highest golf course, a temple here a mosque there and of course a visit to a village about 35kms from here where the locals make imitation cricket bats (I've begun to take an interest in cricket since arriving here - it is almost impossible to ignore India's national sport and national passion).

And then there are drives around the city which are beautiful and going to Nehru park to watch the Indian tourists at play. They are mostly Punjabi (Punjab is just south and very, very hot at this time of year (Amritsar!). They come here in droves, the middle class with their 2.4 children and parents from both sides and two or three brothers or sisters and their kids and all 32 pile into a jeep and never complain but very rarely smile and because the language of Kashmir is Urdu the tourists mostly interact with the locals in English. And we take pictures of them and they of us, all very amicable.

But the best is when we take a day off and just lounge around the HB. The mornings are magnificent with the sun rising and shining on the Fort opposite us and sometimes we can see the mountains behind, snowtopped of course and the reflections in the sometimes mirrors-mooth lake. And the silence in the morning is wonderful and you hear the frogs croaking and the birds singing and in the lake are little ducks which dive and swim under the
water close to the surface so that we can follow their movements and then they pop up with a tiny fish in their tiny beaks. And all around are hawks and pigeons and two kinds of crows, the completely black and those with grey around the neck. And swallows and kingfishers and cuckoos and many others which I can't identify. They soar and swoop and dive and they're always
double, in the sky and in the water. And besides the various salesmen there are Shikara taxis and goods Shikaras going about their business completely oblivious of us.

We went for a lovely Shakira tour of the lakes, Dal and Nageen (we're on Nageen) to see the floating market - one hundred boatman all selling the same three types of vegetable all grown on the floating gardens which really do float and rise and fall with the level of the lake. You can get out and stand on them and they sink with your weight. Wherever you go on the lakes you see houseboats and all those who serve them, kiosks, bakeries, souvenier shops, carpet emporiams, restaurants - all on houseboats moored to the shore.

And when it gets too hot to sit around we jump off the deck into the lake which is unpoluted and just the right temerature for me. Then we get out and eat our icecream and watermelon or pineapple and wonder why we spent all that time in Kasol when we could have been here.

The people are friendly and even when we admit to being Israeli, not always of course, but when it seems okay, this does not change. All you have to say is that Kashmir is the best and they smile hugely. We feel pretty safe. Kashmir is indeed a sort of paradise on earth. If I have, in the past praised other parts of India, they all pale in comparison to the beauty and tranquility here.

I cannot resist sending many more photos, sorry (I don't really mean that).

The Road to Srinagar

In Praise of Indian Roads:



Indian roads suck, they are probably the worst I have ever been on and I hope I shall never drive on roads like these again unless my life depends on it.



Some sort of contrast there, I mean why would anybody want to praise such lousy roads? Because they get you there my friends, these lousy, potholed, avalanche covered, cow-filled, elephant-filled Tata-filled [for the uninitiated Tatas are the huge, colourful, overloaded Indian goods transporters that cross the country every which way and barrel down the roads at speeds upwards of 50 km per hour often reaching speeds of 60 or 70

and occasionally touching 75 or 80 - but they look a lot faster and a lot bigger and scary as hell as they take aim at your rather frail Enfield (Sorry Shlomi, but this is my motorbike tour)]. Roads take you everywhere in

India.



They take you across the flat lands and they take you along the long narrow valleys and up the high passes and into the mountains and for long as I have travelled here the roads have never let me down - even, for those of you have done it (or remember my mail on the road to Goa - NH4A or what is popularly known as the Londa road - if you need you may look it up on my site though there will not be a test). And if you do break down because of the shitty road and get stuck it is never for very long, you can always hitch a ride with one of them Tatas if you can't find a mechanic (not necessarily a competent one but we are talking about the Enfield).



I was warned before I came here and then again while driving in the relatively flat south that when I reached the north all that would change and that due to the roads I would probably break down constantly and that

the 350 cc would not be powerful enough to pull me up the hills. BULLSHIT! It's true the roads are bad, often worse than in the south (but not always) yet my bike has stood up to it all and I have managed to reach here with no trouble at all (Okay, okay - Touch wood). It's true that the inclines here are far steeper than you would ever find in the western world but the Enfield has carried me up them all, sometimes with another passenger and other times with extra baggage and it has always made the climb. And it's true that the hairpin bends here are hairier than anywhere else but they are always negociable (?) and so here I am in Srinagar to refute those unjust accusations. Of course the big test will be the road to Leh or should that be The Road To Leh next week - I will have to cross a pass of about 3500 meters and that aint bubbkes!



As I see it the roads will never become better, they will never be westernised, India simply does not have the recources, but as long as the traffic continues to get through, as long as nobody (very, very important) complains or demands or strikes, nothing will be done, as long as the vehicles can get through, and all vehicles in India seem to double as "off-road vehicles", nothing will change. Generations of future travellers will be able to experience the thrill of riding an Enfield through the crazy traffic on the lousy roads of India, how truly fortunate for them.

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Srinagar

I am here in Srinigar, the capital of Kashmir, without a doubt the most beautiful part of India that I have seen to date. I am staying on a houseboat with Maya and Amit who have travelled with me on and off since meeting them in Kashmir in March and why they are prepared to travel around with an old fart like me is beyond my comprehension but be that as it may they are with me and I am very grateful for that because they are wonderful travelling companions.



Our houseboat is huge and delapidated and oh so almost English that it makes you want to puke and laugh and roll around on the carpet. We have 2 huge bedrooms, a dining room, a lounge and a veranda over the water (Nagin Lake). Our host, aptly named Ayub (Iyov, Job) is a dour gentleman who does his best to fulfill our every wish but does not quite make it, ah well. He serves us breakfast - eggs and toast, and dinner, lamb or chicken and rice and some other veg - today was an excellent liver. Each day we wake up. smoke and then at about 1 pm we ride off to do the tourist bit and see the sights and eat a snack (yesterday it was kebabs at a sidewalk BBQ and Amit and I have had the trots since! - But it was worth it, they were delicious).



Tomorrow we are getting up at 4 to take a tour of the lakes, veg market, floating market, floating garden and who knows what else, should be fun.



If there is one place in India that I would wish to bring my loved ones, it is here. The locals are so friendly, even when they know youre an Israeli and despite the huge numbers of heavily armed soldiers and police, you can

believe that you are in a town under occupation, not protection. But you really do feel awfully safe and while there are not a great many foreign tourists (there is no shortage of Indian tourists), there are quite a few

and probably half of them are Israelis (Surprise, surprise)



I wrote a beautiful, long, interesting mail but it got erased in a power out and I'm pissed as hell but I will rewrite it and send it later.

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Here I am

am in Mcleod Gadj, just above Dharamsala which is another pretty, dirty Indian town in the magnificent north.

There is not much to do here except shop and eat in Israeli restaraunts. The Dalai Lama lives here when he is at home which he isnt right now. So there are only 20000 Indians, 10000 Israelis and me.

Tomorrow I am off to Amritsar and the Golden Temple and the changing of the guard at the Pakistani - Indian border.

Nothing special to write but I may elaborate on this.



If anybody is here contact me, I will be on the net later. Ziv and Eitan - I heard a rumor that you may be here.

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Mabali

Here I am in Manali - compared to Kasol it is Metropolis, Las Vegas and New York rolled into one - it is bigger, better and has excellent shopping. The food is adjusted to Israeli palates and even has a couple of bars (which I have not visited because my previous experience of bars here has shown me that they are, in effect, an exclusively male preserve and who wants to sit in the company of 50 guys at least as desperate as yourself?). Like the Paravati Valley the Kullu Valley where Manali lies is green and surrounded by snow-capped mountains but is not as quiet as Kasol (and I've had more than enough of quiet for a while). This is a very popular tourist destination for Indians too and I have seen no religious connection - for them it is apparently a fun place and we can see them playing from time to time at what most travellers consider "local" entertainment and are too uppity to take part in though to me they look like fun - for example being bounced in a sling over the raging Beas river or riding a yak through the town.

Manali is two towns - Old Manali, which is considered more "in" and where we, the travellers hang out and New Manali where the Indians stay is considered too "modern" but I liked it and the shopping is much more fun. It has a lovely, colourful market with much for the "cheap junk shopaholic' to go crazy over and since that is what I am, I did - you are all invited to a veiwing at my home after the 1st of September (mind you that is when I will arrive back in Eilat). I dont really understand why they call it New Manali - after a year in India everything is "Old" and in truth the only way to differentiate between them is to lok for white faces - more white faces = Old Manali, less white faces = New Manali. Very simple, its all a question of maths. I have come to Manali to do some business so I am not touring although there is much to see and do here but as I will be returning after leh and spending a few more days here I will do them then so you needn't worry that I am not doing my share of tourism.

The 3 hour trip here would have been unremarkable but for the fact that I invited a young lady along for the journey which should have been a fun cruise except that an hour and a half after leaving Kasol we were hit by a monsoon which poured down for an hour with us stuck in a dhaba drinking chai and smoking ......... and when we got back on the road we were caught in rain agin after about an hour and we had to hole up again for 2 hours which was rather unpleasant as we were high in the mountains and the weather turned cold and none of us was really dressed for the cold, least of all the young lady who was wearing shorts and no socks. Lucky for her she was sitting behind big, fat me which blocked off a lot of the wind but what had started off as a pleasant joyride ended up being the "Motorcycle Hell-Ride" and has probably put her off bikes forever. Ah well, you can't convert them all.

It is good to be back on the road. I have had a fun time in Kasol - those who have been will understand - but now it is time to move on. I will write about Kasol and Paravati properly before I leave. I know! I know! I have promised this before but this time I will come through. Depend on it. Trust me. The cheque is in the mail.

Paravati

Paravati Valley is a long narrow valley with a road which winds up for about 65 kms and then ends. Along the road are about 4 or 5 villages with Kasol being the tourist center and the tourists being about 90% Israeli. Kasol is in fact the only real foreign tourist resort while Manikaram, about 4 kms up the valley draws the locals in great numbers. Away from the road, after
Varasani, the last village on the road, you have to trek up in to the hills to get to the various tourist destinations which are a few tiny villages high up in the mountains which make the valley a valley.
After much persuasion I agreed to accompany Gingi to Tosh, the nearest of the mountain villages, about a 90 minute walk from Varasani. We took the bus to there, my first experience of a "local" bus and of course I had the drunk leaning over breathing on and and trying to talk to me during the entire 40 minute ride (another reason I'm so happy to be riding a bike) through one of the most beautiful valleys I have ever seen. There is a raging river, beautiful waterfalls, green forests, quaint villages and of course the ever present possibility of the bus going off the edge of the cliff.
At Varasani we got off the bus and headed up into the hills and of course got lost, took the wrong way and ended up walking an extra 45 minutes. But "no worries mate" it was, except for a bit of climbing (quite a bit actually) a stroll in the park and like the bus ride it was through
beautiful scenery and the extra walk was if anything, a pleasure. Along the very narrow path we came up behind a herd of sheep and goats and had to wait till the whole parade reached a wide spot on the path so that we could pass. But the whole way was breathtakingly beautiful.
Tosh seen from afar is beautiful too but up close it is a filthy collection of filthy, broken down hovels, some of which have been converted into guest houses and restaurants to cater to the tourist trade which is quite brisk, again, mainly Israelis. The view around Tosh is indescribable, suffice that I mention green forests, towering trees, herds and herdsmen, villages and villagers, blue skies, pouring rain and of course the ever present snow covered peaks. But for me nothing can make up for the shortcomings of the village which is torn between the 12th and 18th century, internet and washing machine notwithstanding. And it is cold, fucking cold so after one night I was quite happy to walk down again - 40 minutes - and get on the bus back to Kasol.
We were very lucky to come down just as the bus was about to leave but the conductor waited another minute for us and we were off. Which was quite strange as we had come down at 3:15 and the bus was supposed to leave at 2:30. A nice German tourist explained to me that the bus had been delayed twice because the srteering was not working! Now he tells me! But the drive back to Kasol was without incident and the steering held out and all was well.
Next I'm off to Manali and then Kashmir and Leh but not before I send a longish description of Kasol and Paravati - when I get round to it.

The Rules of the Road

Actually this has absalutely nothing to do with motorcycles, in fact its rather pedestrian (Sorry!)

A couple of days ago I was strolling down the main street of Kassol, old Kassol to be exact, that is the first 150 meters of street which have run down little guesthouses, restaurants, internet cafes and tourist shops, which differs very little from new Kassol which is the second 150 meters which has little guesthouses, restaurants, internet cafes and tourist shops. I was strolling along minding my own business and thinking happy, happy thoughts when suddenly my attention was drawn to shouting ahead of me.

I looked up from my deep contemplation of the road in front of my feet to see a jeep coming towards me with a guy running behind shouting to the driver to stop, which he didn't. I thought he was running after a taxi which he had ordered but which had somehow gone past and he was trying to catch its attention when my eye also caught a young lady lying on the ground a 50 meters in front of me. Of course my mind slowly made the connection and I foolishly stepped into the middle of the road and blocked his way.

Fortunately he must have decided that 2 (he had actually hit two girls but one had only been grazed) victims was enough for one day and pulled to a stop just in front of me. I stood there until the boy who had been shouting trotted up and started shouting at the driver.

And then I heard the sentence which I will always cherish - "BUT I HORNED THREE TIMES". Thats it, apparently in India if you toot the horn 3 times that is sufficient. If some pedestrian is so stupid (or perhaps just "hearing impaired") as tp not get out of the way they are fair game.

All the rest pails behind that sentence, the fact that the girls were right off the road is irrelavent, the fact that he hit one and then the other (fortunately all occured at low speed) is irrelavent, the fact that he didn't even stop is irrelavent - HE HORNED THREE TIMES - 007 - License To Kill.

You can't not love this country.

Of course there was great indignation on the part of several Israelis who were witness to the excitement or arrived soon after - lynch the bastard, smash his car, call the police. This is India guys! You're not Indian you're to blame! It doesn't matter that you were walking and he was driving, you're a forigner, your'e rich, you pay. Thats how it works, you cant fight city hall. And everybody is carrying a generous supply of garras. You don't want the police anywhere near you idiots.

And with those thoughts in mind I quickly melted away.

The best part is that the driver of the jeep was quite certain that he had done nothing wrong. He couldn't understand why the people around were getting so indignant. I stared at his almost blank face for a while before melting and all I could see was astonishment that anyone should have any kind of beef with him, after all, he had horned three times.

Walk carefully my friends.

Zen and the Art of Motorbike Riding in India - Part 5

I am now in Kasol in the Paravati Valley and like the lotus eaters I have lost all will to move. it is like being in a picture postcard. It is not at all what I had expected, I had imagined a broad valley where you could not see the sides and little mud villages scattered around the countryside with thousands of Israelis riding between them on motorbikes and endless trance parties.

Well the bikes are here and I believe the parties will be here soon and the thousands of Israelis are here with more pouring in every day. But the scenery is completely different, We are high in the mountains, in the (lower) Himalayas actually and the valley is narrow and intensely green with snowcapped mountains (Again! For F%^$ sake, youve already used that word several times before - true, but these arent towering above me) at the end of the fast flowing Paravati River just outside my room. It is like Paradise Regained except you have to make allowences for time and place. There are as many signs in Hebrew as in Tel Aviv and that is the main language spoken here (more I am sure even than signs in Hindi). I will be staying here for a while.More about Kasol will come later.

But I really wanted to tell you about our journey from Rishikesh to here. In Rishikesh the guys I'm travelling with met "Papa" an old (my age) Norwegian hippie type who has lived here for the last few years riding around on the most elaborate Enfield I have seen to date, in fact whenever our convoy stopped the rest of us were ignored as the locals all rushed to crowd around Papa. Papa is permenantly stoned, at levels which I can only imagine, when I met him he was sitting in one of the popular cafes in Rishikesh so stoned he could not talk. For the first hour I only saw him move when someone offered him a chillum which he always accepted with alacrity, drew deep into his lungs and only exhaled when he had passed the chillum to the next person. Never said a word nor did he react to anything said to him, just sat staring stonely, stonedly ahead. Rrom time to time he would come out with a sentence which while gramatically and syntaxicly correct, is connected to nothing we may be talking about.

At one of these meetings it was agreed that Papa and a couple of other bikes would join us on the journey to Kasol. the journey kept getting put off (mainly for sexual reasons with which, unfortunately I had nothing to do)but finally it was decided that we would leave on Saturday and at 7:30 am on Saturday Pappa was at our guesthouse on his bike ready to roll. But no-one else was (I was but I'm not admitting that). Eventually everybody was organised and ready to go. We were, Papa, Houdini (an Irishman), Gutte (Elad) with Gingi riding pillion, Noam and myself.

The first days riding was relatively easy and trouble free although the roads were at times bad and I did get slightly sideswiped but with no real damage. The scenery was amazing and we drove through mountains, valleys and plains all green and bright with gezillions of monkeys frolicing by the side of the road. The ride was great, Papa led the convoy and was perfect, he rode neither too fast nor too slow, if he got too far ahead and lost us he stopped to wait and all this time he never really said a word. Even when we took a break to skin up or have a drink he didnt talk, unless it was about the journey or to cough as horribly as I do after he took a pull on the chillumm and he took a lot of pulls! Towards evening we reached Punchkol and wanted to stop for the night and Papa wanted to sleep in the great out-doors while we all wanted a hotel. There did not appear to be any guesthouses along the way but every couple of kms we passed a turn-off with a sign to Punchkol and on a whim I said we should turn off at the next one and we did. We turned into a different world, broad, villa lined, empty boulevards which led us to 2 beautiful hotels, we couldnt afford to stay at either one and ended up in the "Suud Memorial Boarding House and Hospital"! where all the rooms are dedicated to one Dr. Suud or another or his mother which was no more than adequate but did have A/C in desert cooler form and hot water for bathing - a prerequisite after a Hard Days Ride. While wew were at the hotels we decided to check them out and ended up in the elegent bar of the Shiraaz - and us so dirty and scruffy after the day's ride - we had vodka, beer and coffee and determined to return for dinner. on our way to the hotel for dinner we passed through a magnificent neighbourhood of lovely villas each with 2, 3 or even 4 cars and a couple of matorbikes in the closed off parking area attached to each house. "Yeah" I said, "but wait until we see it in the morning, it will be as rundown and bleak and unfinished as anything else we have seen here". And we continued merrily on our way to dinner which was as exquisite as the hotel promised. I felt like I was back in the time of the Raj, clean, quiet, neat dining room with old wood panneling and furniture (not the usual plastic garden furniture you find in most restaurants) clean, quiet neat waiters (who except for the chap in charge not one of them understood a word we said to them), the food was excellent (I had the Chicken Stroggonof - delicious). It was a Magic Moment in India.

The next morning when I looked again the villas were still perfect, we could have been in Tarzana or Herzlia. We were up and on the road early(ish) and riding happilly along with only about 230 kms to do and a mostly good road beneath our tyres. And then it happened (okay so thats a cliche but it did) I came round the corner in Mandi and there was a car in the middle of the road and Houdini almost, but not quite, under it. Of course we all pull over and rush over to see whts happened and how Houdini is. he is almost alright, some bangs and bruises and aches and pains but not out of it. Fortunately there is a bike shop just opposite (there is almost always a bike shop opposite - not neccessarily an Enfield shop but you can get most things done in any 2 wheeler garage) and they manage to straighten out the front wheel and the handle bars and poor Houdini is ready to roll again (with the help of a couple or more pain-killers and a few pulls on a joint). In the meantime Papa has been sitting on his bike starting it every few minutes and revving for a while and then turning it off all the while muttering (in a loud voice for all and sundry to hear) that he's ridden bikes in much worse condition - from manali to Delhi with the handle-bars parralel to the bike, from Rishikesh to Agra with one whell and a broken leg and mor in that vein. And all the time we can see a neon sign flashing in front of his eyes saying

"Kasol! Kasol! Kasol!" he is totally focused on getting there that night.

We move off and I can see that Houdini is a bit nervous (the old falling off a horse thing) but as he rides he regains his confidence and is soon doing fine and I am hard pressed to keep up with him (for some reason I always end up as Tail End Charlie), Papa in the meantime is lost to sight, he has obviously forgotten about us completely and is racing to Kasol. Then Gutte and Noam start dropping back and after a while we discover that Gutte has lost 1st gear and is only able to use 2nd occaisionally and we are climbing really steep hills with quite a lot of traffic and its hard to start the bike in 3rd! Then of course we lose Houdini and finally manage to limp into Bhuntar just as darkness falls. We quickly check into the first decent (!) guesthouse we find (actually it was quite comfortable and we got a fair supper and the service was good so please ignore my earlier snide punctuation). Gutte and Noam go off to find a mechanic and return an hour later to report success and the bike would be ready at about 11 the next day. And it was.

The next morning was a bit of an anticlimax, we got up late, lazed about, collected the bike and rode leasurely to Kasol on a beautiful mountain road with magnificent view and a river flowing below and then before us were the aformentioned snowcapped mountains and we were in Kasol.
And you will get more about Kasol later if you have the patience.

Thank you Papa and Houdini - wherever you are.

Zen and the Art of leaving Kasar Devi

Kasar Devi does not appear on the map but it gets a very brief mention in the Lonely Planet - thank goodness it has still not been completely overun by us. You cant even find Kasar Devi without help. Kasar Devi consists of a long narrow street which splits in twwo at a little fork and along this road and a half are a number of guest houses - the tourist population is mainly Israelis and at least half, if not more are riding Enfields. KD is perched on top of a little hill and on a clear day you can see across huge mountain ranges the hugest of them all, the mighty, snowtopped Himalaya (sorry, I kind of got carried away there). Anyway its pretty impressive and even on an overcast day you can see acroos the valley for miles into the mountains. It's very tranquil, electricity is the exception rather than the norm and even when its on its weak and the light flickers and there is no running water. The locals hump it up from the stream some 100 meters below us in buckets and jerry cans and for the first time in my life I used bottled water to brush my teeth. If the water were clean you could have a clean hot shower if

you could get hot water.



But every morning I'd wake up to the view and at 7:30 the litlle girls in the little school across the little valley would raise their little voices and sing for half an hour at school "assembly". The peons till their fields with oxen and monkeys scamper about and birds sing and it was almost paradise (the grass was crap).



Besides enjoying nature there are 3 centers of entertainment and meeting in KD. In the morning there is Mohans which has high-speed internet, great muffins and the sun in the morning. Then there is the Galaxy which is where you sit in the late afternoon if its warm, to watch the sunset or if its cold you crowd into the one room and eat supper. I did try their snitzchel but it was more like KFC and I dont like KFC.



The third and most important center of socializing and activity is Danis' Enfield Garage run by Dani and his brother Dani. For some reason every bike that reaches KD needs an overhaul or some other major repair job or at the very least a 2000km service. Dani and Dani know nothing about motorbikes (apparently they have property and several businesses, our Danis do) but they

do employ a very talented mechanic called Asim. However Asim works alone, no

assistants and he is completely illiterate, cannot even write his own name so if he finds a problem that he hasn't dealt with before he cannot go to the manual, which they don't have anyway, but must proceed by trial and error. At any one time there are at least 4 bikes and their owners screaming for attention and Dani is bouncing around trying to calm everyone down and promising everyone the earth and that he'll be first out and pandemonium reigns. Things calm down after a while and we all sit around drinking tea, chai or coke brought by the 12 year old "babu" who works at the kiosk just down the road and swap stories of our adventures on the highways of India and the mechanics who have fucked us or not.



We become used to spending our days at Danis and only occaisionally wander off to the market in Almora which is a totally local one, nothing for the greedy tourist (since leaving Pokhara I have had no desire to shop at all, maybe I am kicking the habit). I was lucky, the work on my bike was mainly cosmetic and though I spent hours sitting around and waiting the work only took a few minutes and a few rhupees.



Finally we were all ready. Even Noam's bike, which had stubbornly defied repair was pronounced fit to travel. We decided to leave the next day, Friday the 13th (and I can hear your ominous sighs but we're Jewish for Christ's sake, for us 13 is a lucky number). Toto did voice an objection but very quietly and I was the only one who noticed and I told him that he was not fit to make a judgement (this because he had just become number 36 or 46 on Ms X's list (Noam had been number 35 or 45)  and wanted one more night of passion as she was leaving on Saturday. On Friday everyone except Toto got up and started packing and by about 12 we were ready to roll. Although we did only take delivery of Noams bike that morning but it was supposed to be in perfect working order. Except for Toto but he too was eventually persuaded to move and by about 3 (!) we were ready to roll. Except that Noam's bike died on him again and we went back to Dani and Dani. Fortunately the road from KD to Almora is almost all downhill and Noam managed to coast down to the garage where there were three Israeli bikes being worked on and it soon became clear that Almora was as far as we were going to get that day. Indeed, we spent the night in an empty flat below the garage which was owned by the Danis and was due to be let in the near future. It did have a hot water boiler but we ran out of water after only two guys had showered. As soon as it became clear that we were not moving Toto rushed up the hill and got his (last) night of passion.



The next morning we got up, all the bikes were working and we set off. the journey to Rishikesh took two days of not too hard riding, we couldnt go more than 55kph because Toto's engine was being run in. And now we are here and this is another picturesque town with more cows than I have seen up till now in any other town, in addition there are monkeys all over and although I have not been bothered by them they often become very troublesome (is that how you spell it?). The big problem is that there is nothing here for me to eat, since this is a particularly holy area, on the banks of the Ganges and all that, everything is veg or pure veg or purest veg. Mind you we did organize a chicken BBQ last night but it was still only chicken.



Tomorrow we are probably leaving (I still have some "luf" and Nepali biltong) and heading to the Paravati valley although since my companions are all still in the garage (again) I am not too sure about that.



Till next time.

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Back in India

I woke up this morning to the sun on my back and the Himalayas right in my face - I didnt see this in Nepal.



I left Pokhara comfortably early after a 2 cups of coffee and as many joints (okay 3). the first 150 kms was a magnificent twisting turning mountain road in good repair but despite that the going is slow but despite stopping too often for photo ops i made it down to the Nepali plains in about 4.5 hours and then had a straight run through to Kolhapur where I slept in what was probably the most miserable guesthouse of my life. The next morning I got up early again had a cup of coffee and a joint and set out for India. I did the 200 kms without any problems and crossing the border despite.... was no problem.



I looked at my trusty map and there were 2 routes to Kasar Devi where I now am, a long route and a short route, I chose the short (obviously!). BIG mistake, big, big, big mistake! there is an old Scottish song that goes something like this "You'll take the high road and I'll take the low road and I'll be in Scotland before you" (or vice versa). Anyway I took the high road and very shortly regretted it, the view along the way is staggerig, you drive along the edge of the mountain with a sheer drop to the valley floor hundreds of meters down and a clear view across the valley to the other side which is dotted with little farms and famers plowing the fields far below with their oxen and wooden plow as they ignore the twenty first centuary and just get on with their daily 12th centuary lives. They draw water from the well by the river and carry it home in jerry-cans on their heads, sometimes hundreds of meters down to the river and then up again. And I breeze past on my bike and when I stop they gather around (I'd forgotten about that in Nepal, but here in the north they seem less intrusive).



And the road gets bad, really bad, apparently there is a big project on to improve it at the moment and from my experience here that means first tearing it up, without building western style bypasses and you end up with a one lane track creeping up and down the mountain cars and jeeps and buses come at you from both directions and since arriving in India I have become the most patient and least agressive of drivers I let anyone who wants to pass do so. But still I have a good vehicle and I make good time and pass most other vehicles which are generally slower and on this road very considerate. At about 3pm I decide its time to stop and I begin looking for a guesthouse and at 6 I still havent found one and I'm starting to worry but I've still got 45 minutes of daylight, the trouble is that there has unly

been one town along the way and I didnt see a guesthouse or lodging and whenever I asked someone they just wagged their heads at me and gave no sign of understanding or intention of answering. The road runs along a steep

bottomless cliff and when cars or lorries come towards me one of us has to stop to let the other pass, and I see no motorbikes. And no guesthouse.



Suddenly it is dark, really dark, pitch black dark and I have nowhere to go except on. So I drive very slowly and carefully and I can see nothing and part of me is grateful for that because I'm not sure I want to se down. I approach a little village and hooray, theres a guesthouse but when I inspect it I know that I have reached the point of no return, I'm not spending the night here. On my way again and my shoulders are sore and despite my new seat my arse aches and there is nowhere to stop. By the side of the road I see 3 horse herders with a little fire so I stop to get warm, remember, I'm high in the mountains here. Then after a smoke and a natter in Hindi and Hebrew the fire goes out and they get up and I'm off again.



During the hours of darkness i met no more than ten vehicles and 6 of them were huge Tatas in convoy. I understand now why that was so. Only a total nutter drives that road at night!



Long story short, at about 10:30 I finally reach Almora and there a friendly, helpful local gets on his motorbike and leads me to Kasar Devi which I would never have found on my own and I quickly find my friends. I am wasted. They took the low road and had an easy time of it.



When I had finally rested up I realized that I had known all along that I was taking the tough route, it is obvious on the map, it looks shorter for fuck's sake, that is always a good indicator. And I wanted to do the whole route even if, maybe especially if I could do part of it in the dark.



And the next morning I woke up and there were the Himalayas, snow topped and reaching the sky and the sun was shining warmly on my back and I had a cup of decaffe in one hand and a joint in the other and complete silence all around. I felt a great sense of achievement and was at peace with the world (again) and the ride had been worth it.

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I leave Nepal

I leave Nepal, well not exactly Nepal as I will need to drive for at least two days before I reach the border but I am leaving Pokhara which is probably the last place where I can have a steak before getting back to Israel in 4 months time. But I have bought a few tins of "luf" to eat along the way and I should survive. In addition, for those of South African descent, I found the local "biltong" and except for being a bit hotter than I'm used to it is fine, much better than beef jerky as found in the USA or the Far East, I bought 750 grams and that may last me for a couple of days on the road.



After Katmandu, remember Katmandu? I rode to Chitwan Nature Reserve which specialises in Rhinos and I have never really seen a live rhino in the wild close up. I left Katmandu with Noam, Elad, Tomer and Kobi whose bikes were more loaded than an Indian - they have evrything with them, a stereo, cooking equipment, matresses, a tool box, an electric kettle and a juice mixer and other home comforts and ameneties to numerous to mention. They are unbelievably well organized and the way they load up in less than 8 hours is truely amazing and I'm not sure how they can ride even though I saw it with my own eyes. We drove all day but didnt get very far as travelling in convoy means often waiting for some one with a problem, idea or excellent photo op. It was great fun however and after spending the night in Narayanghat (an incredibly long name for a dust covered nothing town but that is what one finds all over India and Nepal) we split up (after a great photo op) with them heading for India, despite my please for them to join me and me heading

for Chitwan alone.



On the way to Chitwan I met Amichai and Adi and spent time with them when I was not chasing animals. In chitwan I had a ball if though it is not quite up to the standard of the Kruger it is much better than Thekkkadi (sorry, Paula). I arrived at about 3pm and immediately after checking into my not outstanding but adequate guest house - if you are going to Chitwan go to the Parkside , it is exquisite, not like the Eden where I was - I took a guide and went of to the area called 20000 lakes (I saw one) and driving along on my bike I saw several spotted deer and a huge fucking rhino grazing happily 20 meters away - fortunately there was a river between us.



The next morning I drove out to the Elephant Breeding Center which was an amazing experience, you get to interact with the babies (baby bulldozers) without a fence between you and them. I fed them special elephant biscuits and got pushed lightly - for a baby elephant - when they wanted more - it was great fun and I came away with a really good feeling, From there I wandered down to the river bank and there were elephants and people frolicking in the river together. I determined to do that but didnt have time before my jeep safari on which I saw another rhino, a baby, he was quite far away and all we saw was the top of his back but it was great fun and I was not disappointed (as I was in Thekkadi but overcame). I booked an elephant safari for the next morning and while riding on their backs is not very comfortable (not at all like the pictures you see of people on elephant back during the time of the Raj, I did see another 4 rhinos very, very close up and my needs were satisfied. During the safari we stopped somewhere and the mahout (elephant driver) got off, the elephant then picked up a stick and used it to scratch her head - I was amazed because I've never heard of elephants, or any other animals besides primates, using tools.



After the safari I went down to the river and bathed with the elephant and it was fun! To get onto her back I first had to climb onto her head and she didn't flinch despite my nearly 90 kgs. First she gave me a shower as I was sitting on her back and then she got down on her knees and rolled over into the water spilling me off. I then helped the mahout wash her and had as much fun as any 7 year old. It made up for what I had missed when I didnt take the opportunity to bathe with an elephant which I'd missed on my way back from Kunyakumari in January (I may or may not have written about it).



At about 1pm I left Chitwan with Adi on the pillion and I lost something off the bike for the first time - just a little backpack (Jason's, actually, which I had taken from Paula but there was nothing important in it so no worries mate!). I have been in Pokhara now for 5 nights and eaten about 7 steaks and it is time to leave - I am NOT trekking - and tomorrow I am heading off for India again - a place called Kasar devi about 800 kms from here. Pokhara has been lovely, great weather, great food, great company and great scenery even though the clouds have not bothered to move since I got here and I can't see the snow-covered Annapurna range.



My next letter will be from India again.

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I am now in Katmandu, I have always wanted to visit Katmandu ever since in the 70s the country first opened up and became a mecca for travellers and hippies (I wanted to be a hippy but somehow found myself "making war not love" instead of the opposite). And as I descended from the mountains and first saw the city from far away and above I could almost believe that it
had not changed, but of course when I got closer I could see that it was not a crowded, poverty stricken slum infested ( Indian) city but one with a special charm of its own. And I have already eaten 2 steaks though I only arrived about 30 hours ago.

I entered Nepal from the East, near Siliguri in north West Bengal. The border crossing was easy and then I drove west along the Nepali highway and the road was not at all bad. nepal, I could se was far less crowded than India and obviously much poorer, hard as that may be to believe. There are far less vehicles on the road, the most popular motor vehicle is the tractor and there are many more bicycles than mopeds. The buses and trucks are more heavily loaded but seem to drive less maniacely than there southern neighbours.

After driving about 350 kilometers to the west the road branched northwards into the mountains and I left the plains behind eventually reaching Danam at a level of 2322 meters where I spent the night. From the Lonely Planet I had gotten the impression that Daman was a small town or village - actually it is a collection of 5 hotels and 2 dhabbas with a population of about 100, and that night I was the only guest. But the view the next morning from the hotel viewing tower and restaurant was amazing. The road over the mountains was breathtaking, I could see down far below where I had started from, I could see the road winding up and down the valley opposite and the mountains climbing ever higher. Every available centimeter is utilised for agriculture and the mountainsides are covered with terraces built over hundreds of years and tens of generations. I stopped every 5 minutes to take pictures none of which can really do the scenery justice. On hills and peaks and in valleys are perched little homes full of little Nepalese and as I passed all the children yelled "Bye" and the adults yelled "Namaste" and I return all the greetings and smile like crazy.

And then I was out of the mountain and there was Katmandu in front and a little below me and it is pleasanter than anywhere I have been in the last 5 months. I drove into the city and found where I wanted to go and suddenly I was in the courtyard of a hotel and there were 4 other Enfields there and I could see they were Israelis and indeed they belonged to Elad and Tomer and Kobi and Noam and I will be riding with them to Pokhara early next week - a real motorcycle "gang"

I have travelled for just under five months, ridden 9500 kms, worn out 2 helmets (I have just bought my 3rd, one camera and 2 pairs of jeans, read 53 books, among them War and Peace 888 pages, Shantaram - over 850 pages and A Suitable Boy - 1350 pages!, I have slept in about 80 different beds and packed or unpacked my bike 160 times. I have serviced the bike 4 times and
had 4 breakdowns on the way. I have missed about 80 meals and 160 helpings of meat, I have met about 150 people and forgotten about 130 names (Guess and hope), I have been to 10 cities, 20 towns and 10000 villages. I have driven up and down mountains, across huge empty rivers (which will flood come the monsoon) and across plains, I have driven along the coast and
avoided accident successfully so far. I have seen pigs and chickens and ducks and pheasant and cows and buffalo and horses and jackals and wild pigs and camels and elephants and horses and many weird varieties of people, transport and habitation. And it has been fun and a great adventure. From here I start the second half of my journy.

I AM ALSO 61 YEARS YOUNG TODAY (but that wont go on forever) and I have 3 great kids, may I say 5 great kids? Yes indeed I can, 4 awesome grandchildren (who have me almost wrapped around their little fingers) a mother who still drives her car - be warned all who enter Tel Aviv, two crazy sisters who are also my friends and 9 nephews and nieces who I have known all their lives, many, many cousins all around the world and of course countless friends who I cherish. And that is more than any trip around India on an Enfield which I have to tell you is a thrilling experience.

I love you all.

Since the greatest thing about a birthday for me is what I get (I'm not greedy, all I want is presents and BJs) I went out today and spent myself silly. A real ball. To top off the shopping spree I went to the Himalayan Steak House and had a magnificent steak.

I was going to write a lot more shit like how the road to Katmandu is like the road to love, winding, twisting, obstacle strewn, pot-holed, up hills and down dales but since I met so few cars going in either direction, and you gotta meet "vehicles" on the road to love, the analogy somehow breaks down. Mind you if I take into account all the monkeys I met it could work for those of the female persuasion.

I wanted to write more but my fingers are getting tired - arent you all lucky! So for all those who have sent me birthday greetinggs, and for all those who after reading this decide to send greetings, thank you, I love you too (see paragraph 7 (thats the very short one).

Keep on reading.

To Darjeeling - Zen and the art of riding a motorcycle in India - Part 3

This may be long, I feel muses descending on and inspiration flooding me and I may wax more than usually loquacious - feel free to not read it. However be warned, a pop-test will be given in a couple of weeks.

Motorcycles in India are sold not as recreational vehicles like in the West (and I include Israel in the West- okay!) but as family vehicles and indeed it is not unusual to see a family of 5 riding on a 50 - 150 cc vehicle. Motorcycles are not just a normal part of family life, they are often demanded as part of the dowry from the girls family and may even be the reason for canceling a marriage. They are without doubt the most numerous vehicle on the road, both in the towns and the cities where they all drive any whichway, even the girls, and there are very few of them, drive like Shiite suicide bombers - What about your families people? Oh that doesn't matter, apparently they have reincarnation here. Out on the country roads there are millions of them driving between the tiny and tinier villages and the various towns along the way and the huge busses and trucks miss them by millimeters as they flash past (I'm also in there somewhere). And they ride along in all their finery with all their kids and huge parcels as they head off to a wedding or birth or some other happy celebration. Enfields, which I and most other tourists ride are not popular with Indians because they have a high fuel consumption rate, between 25 (me) and 32 kms per liter (the member of the Darjiling Enfielders - the local motorcycle gang, who I met at Sunjay, the cleanest mechanic of any sort I have ever met when I took my bike in to be serviced after the 3000 odd kms I have done since leaving Pondicherry where I serviced it last). However as I have now discovered there are numerous motorcycle clubs all around India such as the Darjiling Enfielders and the Chenai Bulls I mentioned earlier and of course a club in Katamandu called, originally enough the Himalayan Enfielders. I imagine that there are many more around the country.

I left Puri early in the morning and for an hour drove on the highway towards Kolkotta (Calcutta) and then managed to get north of the city and on my way to Darjiling without going into the "black Hole" and I only saw one mention of Mother Theresa as in some sort of orphanage then the highway ended and I was back on regular country roads. Country roads in India and that includes the state and interstate "highways" are always narrow, usually potholed and often winding with sharp blind curves. In addition, the villages and towns often come right up to the highway and there is loads of non-vehacular activity up to and including the odd game of cricket! It is what I imagine the old Route 66 which crossed America must have looked like except dirtier and much, much more obviously poverty stricken. Of course there is life all along the road, it is difficult to stop somewhere where there are no people, and if you find such a place within 2 minutes they have popped out of thee ground to stare at the wierd Westerner, and all Westerners are by definition weird.



From Puri I was on the hghway, the really good one, and despite stopping for many of the magnificent photo ops (and there is one about every 10 minutes) I made good time along the road. The first photo op that day was a enormous, bigger than I have seen up till now, beautiful, painted elephant walking sedately towards me on the other side of the road, I slammed on my brakes (carefully), pulled out my camera and the mahout, riding on the pachyderm with his clothes, pots and pans tied around him, crossed the devider to make it easier for my to take pictures and even put the elephant through some excercises in which it touched me and then took my (completely freely given) donation out of my hand and passing it to his master, we then said goodbye, he in Hindi and me in Hebrew and went our respective ways.

As I said I made good time and towards 5 Pm I started looking for a hotel but there was nothing at all along the way. It started getting dark and I started getting near to Calcutta which I really didnt want tio visit. I went on driving and it did indeed become dark and still no hotel. I stopped at a truckdrivers dhaba, I have discovered, despite my earlier reservations that they are the best place to stop, for a cup of chai and a smoke. By the time I got back on the road it was completely dark but fortunately after about 10 minutes I found a little hotel by the side of the road in a town I later discovered was called Purba Medinipur - total Nowheresville - I doubt that a westerner has ever stayed there before. The day manager Sonai, who was going off duty begged me to take a photo and then send it to him. I took a couple of pictures and have since printed them out and will post them tomorrow, a little positive PR for Israel cannot do any harm. At 11:30 there was banging on the door and the drunken night manager demanded to know if there was anything he could get me - I politely declined. By the time I stopped I had driven about 450 kms and was only 50 kms south of Kolkotta which I was determined to avoid by any means.

One of the more interesting sights I saw was "Shit On A Stick". As I passed through a number of villages I noticed that a lot of the houses had sticks with some sort of material tied to them - looked like oversized "kebabs", there were also patties which looked like hamburgers. Unable to resist my curiosity I stopped and went to examine the kebabs and hamburgers, although I have a much weakened sense of smell due to too much smoking over the years, my nose immediately informed me what I was dealing with. It is used as fuel for fires, apparently the villagers collect it and prepare the patties and sticks which they then either use or sell.

The next morning I got up early, had no coffee - remember the night manager? And set off happily on my way. after about 100 kms I heard a wrong noise coming from the front wheel, I stopped and found that the screws on the front mudguard had come loose and one of them had so unscrewed itself that it was pressing against the tyre and gauging a furrow in it. I opened my toolkit and tried to rescrew it but could not get a grip. Despite some misgivings I drove back to a truckstop I had passed (going the wrong way on the highway just like all the other maniacs with neccessity) and there a guy loosened the wheel and fixed the problem - when I offered him 30 rhupees he would accept only 20. I then set off again and discovered that the speedometer was not working and despite everything I tried and the one motorcycle repair shop I stopped at we could not get it working again - it would have to wait till Darjeeling.

That day was the start of Holi, a holiday where they Hindus paint themselves and throw paint at others, this festival continues for 2 days. Everywhere along the road I saw happy men (and 6 women) all painted in different colours on every exposed part of the body, groups throwing powdered paint or shooting water pistols full of coloured water at each other and at "innocent" passersby (or should that be "passerbys" - come on English teachers and native-speakers) and of course I got splattered too. In addition there were "road blocks" along the way where vehicles were stopped and painted. Due to my westernliness I was spared by the road blocks for quite a while until a group of young men decided I needed a dousing and then I was green and blue and red and yellow and is how I arrived at the hotel Sunjoy Hotel, Restaurant and Bar in Berhapur. The restaurant served me a very respectable fish dinner but besides that and the lake with promenade, which has been taken over by the poverty stricken and turned into a slum, the town was unremarkable. Everything, (well this is India and you have to make a buck all the time and at all costs, so not quite everything but definately anything) which might interest me, was closed.

What I did notice was the fantastic number of cycle-rickshas, hundreds of them and from then all along the way that is what I saw, no auto-rickshas here, in addition there are horse drawn carts, flat top bicycle rickshas (as opposed to those with seats), bullock-carts and even mopeds converted to carts (use your imaginations).

The scenery along the way has been magnificent, green rice paddies, wheat fields (the problem here is that they spread the wheat on the road for passing vehicles to thresh, unfortunately it has the same effect as oil so you have to be very careful to not spin out of control - I generally drive onto the shoulder and around the wheat), rivers, palm trees, tiny villages and their fascinating inhabitants - many of them still deep in the 12th centuary. Spread all around were palm trees and otheres I dont know, low hills and cloudless skies, truckstops, dhabbas, kiosks, little shops, cattle markets and even a body being burnt at a river running beside the road (I did not stop there to take pictures - I'll get the burning body thing in Varanase). Animals gallore, I've already mentioned the elephant, in addition I met horses, cows, goats, buffalo (Indian), dogs, horses, chickens, ducks, a camel, a herd of wild pigs that seemed to have been domesticated, regular pigs, a wild jackal and many, many monkeys most of which were quite unbothered when I stopped beside them. And of course all the thousands of vehicles of every description and all the larger ones were try to, if not kill, at least drive me off the road).

After driving all day and covering about 280 kms I found lodging in the Highway hotel in Kishanganj (it appears on good maps). But lodging was all, no food anywhere - Holi! But they could give me bread so I ended up eating a couple of "luf" (like spam, only kosher -J.B.) sandwiches and "luf" with chips and finally just plain "luf. The hotel was on the main road and between two railway lines and despite the holiday it was noisy!, very noisy and while I tried to watch TV the noise bothered me but I had had a hard days riding and once I fell asleep nothing bothered me till the next morning. And despite having nothing they could give me hot water so I had coffee before I left. Coffee is so important for starting the day right, I can start without it but it makes a difference if I have it and its not always easy to explain to an Indian that all I want is a glass of boiling water and sugar! (okay, so I'm weird, but I wouldn't be here if I weren't).

I was now only about 180 kms from Darjeeling and reckoned that I would have an easy drive. The first 100 were indeed easy, nothing really difficult about it, just an ordinary badly maintained Indian road with everybody driving every which way - a doddle! And then I reached Siliguri, the last city before the hills. After getting through Siliguri I drove for about 10 minutes and then stopped at a truckstop dhabba for some chai and a joint. Within minutes I was joined by a young man who started talking to me and the first thing he said that he was only there visiting his family, he does in fact have a carrere outside of the village. He then went on to tell me that he was an expert at cooking and preparing Israeli food, malawach, shakshouka, hummus, etc. and that he travels around from Manali to Varanase to Rishikesh to wherever the Israelis go. He will make his fortune as an

Israeli cook, at this stage I told him that I was Israeli and he said "sababa", the first word foriegners are taught when they stick around Israelis. He then disappeared for 5 minutes and returned with a little baggie for which he refused to accept payment. I find myself taking some pride in the fact that an Indian boy (from the sticks, its true) is so taken with my countryman that he sees us as the way to a secure future. Not only that but it reinforces what I have said before about the young Israelis being decent, pleasant and welcome. Thanks again guys.



After I left Siliguri the road became both interesting and scary - I met a number of army convoys - were near the border here and the Indians are as paranoid as the Israelis, especially when it comes to moslems around them and among them, The road became steeper, more winding, narrower and more potholed. On the other hand the view became more beautiful as I climbed and suddenly I crossed the track of the "Toy Train" which travels between Darjeeling and Siliguri (ad description of Darjeeling and the surroundings will follow). And it is like riding through "Toyland" with little houses, and I mean little, I cant stand up in the doorways, I measured a couple. The houses are all neat and clean and cosy looking and many of them have neat, pretty pretty gardens or at least rows of potplants and they come right up to the track and some of the stoeps look like little railway stations and you can see into some of the houses and there are Noddy and Bigears! As you go up the cliff, which is on your left (I"ll be much happier on the way down with the mountain on my right) the drop becomes higher and sheerer and scarier with (mainly) jeeps coming at you from in front and behind at maniac speed (while here in Darjeeling I have looked at some of the jeeps from close-up and many of them have no tread at all on their tyres) and you pull over as far as you can but carefully as the road doesnt always have a barrier at cliff edge! Suddenly, as I watched, a mist came climbing out of the valleys and visibility dropped to below 10 meters (remember crossing the Bighorn Mountain Shani? This was worse) and what had been scary before became almost terrifying. But I persevered and then I was above the clouds and Darjeeling was revealed, perched up and down the mountainside in front and all around and beyond the houses tea fields and it was gorgeous.

Pictures will follow.

Still Darjeeling (I think that is finally the correct spelling...)

(Editor's note: I haven't properly proofread this post, so please excuse my haste -J.B.)



I like this place more than any other I have been in in India - it is much cleaner, much better preserved, the people are nice (and good looking Nepalese mainly) and I have found a place that has excellent food. There are

no touts and very little pressure to buy.



IMPORTANT



ON THE OTHER HAND, BECAUSE IT IS SO HIGH AND SO COLD THIS IS SWEATERLAND - MUCH BEAUTIFUL HANDMADE JERSEYS ETC. I COULD NOT HELP GOING INTO A " WOMANS SELF HELP" SHOP AND BUYING WHAT I THINK ARE LOVELY SWEATERS FOR THE KIDS - ALL 4 - AND I HAVE POSTED THEM AIRMAIL TO ROY. THEY SHOULD BE THERE FOR PESACH. AS I SAID THIS IS SWEATERLAND AND I WOULD LOVE TO BUY SOME FOR ALL

OF YOU, OR FOR THOSE WHO TRUST MY TASTE. IF THE PARCEL IS NOT TOO BIG I CAN SEND IT AIRMAIL OTHERWISE IT IS OF COURSE FAR CHEAPER TO SEND IT SNAIL-SNAIL MAIL. WHATEVER, I WILL BE HERE FOR AT LEAST ANOTHER 3 DAYS SO YOU CAN ANSWER BEFORE THEN.



I am having fun here, wandering up and down the narrow streets and I have ridden the "toy train", visited the zoo - which is all up and down the mountain but very animal and human friendly and I have now seen my first

tiger in India. I also visited the Himalayan Mountaineering Center and the Botanical Gardens. All in all I am having a relaxed and enjoyable time here and will be sorry to leave, but leave I will.



Jono, don't bother putting this on my blog, it is just for you guys.



(I know, but I still wanted to leave it in. -JB)



I still miss you guys and am sorry that I won't be with you all but when duty calls I cannot ignore. Enjoy your time together.

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Darjeeling

So thats where I am now after 4 days of travel through unLonley Planet India where I had to find lodging by myself along the way. I have just arrived, checked into a hotel which I may leave tomorrow, and came down to check my mail and to put your minds at rest if you were worried at all.



Now I am going to look for food and then have an early night (not unusual). I will write an extended mail in the next couple of days. I will probably stay here for about a week as it is very pretty and after all that riding to

get here I wont run away.



At the moment sitting next to me, are probably the only other Israelis in town who I happened to find when I arrived.

Off to Darjeeling

Yes, that is my next stopping place, why? I have no idea, perhaps because my motorbike is parked facing north and I can just go straight without worrying about turning early in the morning.



At the moment I am in Puri which is another temple town (one of the four holiest Hindu shrines appaently. The main attraction is apparently the fact that, like Amsterdam or Nimbin in Australia, you can buy "ganja" legally, at

government shops! (but of course it is not nearly as of high a quality as the private enterprise sector). It is an accepted part of the local religious ceremony and very popular. Besides the gezillions of Indian tourists who come here to worship (and smoke religiously) there are quite a few European tourists and there are also a number of Israelis, a very small number but I spent a couple of days with some nice kids and after they left I also did my touristing, visiting a couple of interesting sites/sights. In addition there are some excellent fish restaurants here and I have been eating very well - no meat however. So I have been here for about 6 days and

tomorrow I leave.



Just to update you all. I was in Pondicherry for a while, from there I drove to Malallapuram which is very similar to Puri except that it has some excellent meat restaurants and my guesthouse had a great swimming pool which

I used every day after I had visited the beach the first day and crossed it off my "must swim here" list.



After a pleasant stay in Malallapuram I decided to make for here and when I looked at the map it looked like about 1400 - 1500 kms. I didnt know what the road was like but from my experience up to now with Indian roads I reckoned on 5 - 6 days for the trip - No worries mate" the bike is good and time doesnt seem to be a problem at the moment. I got up early in the morning loaded the bike and set out. I immediately found myself on a lovely

2 lane (each direction) highway and in less than an hour was in Chennai/Madras.



The highway just sort of ended in the middle of the city, no ring road, but I had my trusty map and soon found the right road but then a large gentleman on a bike like mine stopped me and started chatting. He is a member of the "Chenai Bulls" a motorcycle club that travels all over the country and he offered to show me the way to my highway so I followed him and 10 minutes later was off my map and I lost him at a traffic light when I stalled and he didnt. I spent the next couple of hours driving around Chennai but eventually, with the aid of Zen and several helpful locals I was once again on the highway and what a highway it was.



For 1100 kms I could drive almost as if i were in Israel or the States, except of course for the many vehicles, from bicycles to the biggest busses, coming towards me on the wrong side of the road - of course I have mentioned this before but I was struck anew by it on this great highway. In fact it was such a good road that from time to time I would push the bike to 100! Great fun soaring down the open road with the wind in your face and no obligations. The scenery too was lovely and I had a great drive (except for about 100 kms on the 3rd day when the road reverted to normal Indian highway standard). The first night I spent in Ongole(!) a town which looks like it sounds and the 2nd in Vishakhapatnam which has over a million inhabitants and really needs them with a name like that. All in all I ended up driving 1325 kms in 30 hours on the road! I am having fun.



So now I have another 1000 odd kms before I reach my next destination on unknown and maybe interesting roads. The road less travelled.



Lonely planet is not much help if you are not at one of their recommended sites, on the road here only Vishakhapatnam was given a mention. But I managed. The road less travelled.

And more pictures

Pictures, galore!