Arie's Travels, Round II

Manali to Delhi - The Last Ride in India

2007-07-27T20:10:00.001+03:00

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

2007-07-06T19:38:00.001+03:00

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?

2007-06-28T03:53:00.001+03:00

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

Srinigar, Srinigar has captured my heart!

2007-06-27T21:53:00.001+03:00

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

2007-06-20T10:06:00.000+03:00

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.

Srinagar

2007-06-19T08:25:00.000+03:00

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.

Here I am

2007-06-08T09:48:00.001+03:00

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.

2007-05-31T21:17:00.000+03:00

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

2007-05-23T21:19:00.000+03:00

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

2007-05-03T23:04:00.000+03:00

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

2007-05-03T22:42:00.000+03:00

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

2007-04-21T15:37:00.001+03:00

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.

Back in India

2007-04-09T12:43:00.001+03:00

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.

I leave Nepal

2007-04-05T14:45:00.001+03:00

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.

2007-03-22T18:26:00.000+02:00

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

2007-03-11T14:19:00.001+02:00

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...)

2007-03-11T14:17:00.001+02:00

(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.

Darjeeling

2007-03-06T00:18:00.001+02:00

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

2007-03-06T00:17:00.001+02:00

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

2007-02-22T16:45:00.000+02:00

Pictures, galore!

2007-02-22T16:35:00.000+02:00

Pondicherry and other stuff

2007-02-14T17:57:00.001+02:00

I was taught as a little boy by my Christian nurse (in my house we had a nurse to look after the kids) "cleanliness is next to godliness". If so, then India, despite its myriads of gods and temples, is the most godforsaken place I have ever visited.

I am now in Pondicherry, a little piece of France left behind when the French moved out some 50 years ago (I think). It is unbelievable: wide streets, a beautiful waterside boardwalk (tayelet) but with no cafes restaurants along it, which I can't understand, well preserved buildings, policemen with 'kepis' and French and other European restaurants - and you all know what that means! Last night I had a real hamburger. Thank the gods that I have decided to service my bike here and to rest up a bit, the last leg to here was 430 kms in one day and I could not think of a better place to rest up. The only problem here is that it seems to be the worst smelling town I have visited so far - you smell shit half the time! However the town is full of French tourists and even a number who live here permanently - there is some sort of international community - - that leads a special lifestyle, I hope to visit the area and check it out tomorrow.

If you remember I left Varkala and the delicious fish on the 2nd of Feb setting happilly off for Kodaikenal - well no zen, no nothing - got completely lost, I must have driven an extra 150 - 200 kms and most of that in the mountains on real scary roads. I bought a map in Varkala, the best map of India available here - I think I will use it for toilet paper. Half the roads marked on it don't exist or don't go where they show they are going or end suddenly at some ashram in the middle of nowhere. And roads that do exist and lead somewhere are oftimes absent from my Eicher Map Book - Aaaaaaagh! But the drive was magnificent and the road filled with animals, squirrels, monkeys, birds of a gazillion varieties, cows dogs, donkeys, horses, pigs and of course at least one elephant and the views were breathtaking etc.....

I finally in Kodaikanal in the late afternoon after 2 hard days of travel and checked into a fairly decent guesthouse. And then it got cold, and then it got colder and then it froze. I spent about 3 nights there and never left my room after 6pm, what kind of a holiday is that? Mind you, it is very beautiful up there and I did do a couple of walks and was impressed by the scenery. of course the Israelis have taken over Vattakanal, a little village about 4 kms from Kodai and a bit higher in the hills - they can have it. On my second day there I met a guy who knew me from Om Beach and he invited me to visit him and his girlfriend in Vatta and so I walked about 30 minutes downhill to their little hovel on the mountainside. I then crawled up the hill for about 60 minutes - fortunately I was alone and nobody saw what a wreck I really was. I found a place that made really good chicken pies and I think that because of the food I stayed in Kodai an extra day. But it was too cold and I wasn't enjoying it and so I left.

From Kodai I drove to Madurai where I spent 2 days visiting the local temple and the Ghandi Memorial Museum. In Madurai I found a great supermarket (there are a couple like that here in Pondi too) sold all sorts of western foods and stuff, Scottish butter biscuits, decaffe coffee, impoted cigarettes but most important of all - tinned meatloaf (luf!, the Israeli equivalent of spam --J.B.) and I bought a couple of tins and had a gastronomic orgasm. (okay, I admit that luf is not a reason for an orgasm but after my experience with meat in Varkala it was the best meal I had eaten in days)

From Madurai I drove to Rameswaram which is as close as you can get to Sri Lanka in India - the town is about 40 kms from Sri Lanka and if you drive east for about 18 kms you reach Adams Bridge (after a 4 km walk along the beach) which is only about 18 kms from Sri Lanka - unfortunately it is 18 kms across water and there are no ferries so you can only almost see S.L. as it is beyond the horizon - in Rameswaran I ate luf because even the dhabas were bad there.On my second night there I went for a walk around town, well there is no real around town so I walked to the temple which is the center of town and came across a ceremony with guys carrying statues of gods and of course in front a beautifully decorated elephant.

So as long as I am enjoying the food I will spend a couple more days here and then start making my way slowly north.

Shpitz - Varkala

2007-02-02T18:08:00.000+02:00

Most of the men wear diapers for fucks sake, and I have seen them expose themselves at each other and I have noticed that all the teachers of girls wear the diapers. Makes you stop and think, right!

So I am still in Varkala, first it was because I was sick and then because the next day I was thrown out of two (yes, 2) guesthouses because they didnt believe that I had had food poisoning but I really did! And I was damned if I was going to let them chase me away. And then the fish is the best food Ive eaten since leaving Goa, I never thought I would say some thing like that but there, I have, the blue marlin/swordfish is especially tasty with an almost steaklike texture to it and very little 'fishiness'. I have stayed in 5 different guest houses in Varkala and on Saturday I am leaving for Kodaikenal.

The day before yesterday I set off with Eyal who also has a bike but it is hospitalized so he rode pillion, for the shpitz ('tip' or 'point') of India, Kunyakumari, where that night I watched the sun sink into the ocean on my right and that morning I got up at 5.45 so that I could watch the sun rise from the ocean on my left. The sunset/sunrise is a big thing with Indians and they come in droves to watch it. The sunset is watched from the beach by thousands but the sunrise only by those who dont have a hotel roof (we did), those who do have a roof gather there in their hundreds from about 6am, at about 6.45 they begin to leave but our sun only rose from behind the clouds at about 7.15, well worth waiting for. I also took a tour of the island memorial to some revered 'baba' but since I am pretty irreverant myself I didnt bother remebering his name. Kunyakamary is very pretty in a rundown, dirty sort of Indian way and for the life of me we couldnt find a decent eating place even though the town appears to have about 2000 active fishing boats!

On the way back we got lost and then hit a really deep pothole! 10 minutes later the steering begins to wobble and people to shout at us, we reach a town and by then the wobble is uncontrolable. Descending from the bike we find that about 8 of the spokes (shpitzim or slikim - what do you call them, I'm taking a census) on the rear wheel are broken - it must have started with the pothole and as the wheel weakened spoke after spoke broke, eventually 14 had to be replaced. Luckily (Its India, its the zen thing again) we were right next to a puncture-wallah who took the wheel off and sent it to the spoke-wallah by a ricksha-walla and 3 hours later (just twice the promised one and a half) we were on our way again only to promptly get lost again and then after finding the right road getting lost yet a third time! Okay, I'm not the best navigator ever! We did find a very nice air-conditioned restaurant (my first AC in India!) where I had a reasonably good chicken-liver and no food poisoning.

Eventually, about 9 hours after setting out we arrived back in Varkala - WHICH I AM LEAVING TOMORROW!!! It only took us 4 hours to get there. Mind you, on the way we saw an elephant being washed in a river by his mahout and when I stopped to take pictures he invited me to join them, some stupid 'Polish" prissiness prevented me from doing it, the water was dirty, I didnt have a change of clothes, and other stupid shit. Ten minutes later I was overcome with regret but by then it was too late. If I believed in anything I could say that they broken spokes were punishment for not joining the elephant, you know, karma and all that shit.

Thats all for now folks, I have to get back to my exceptional Kerala-grass of which I have a goodly supply. Ha!

...at last I can fart again!

2007-01-23T09:50:00.001+02:00

I have decided to grow a long white beard and speed through India like some insane portent of disaster driving women and children to weep and wail and grown men to huddle behind locked doors.

After my sister Paula (who still owes me a testemonial for my wonderful treatment of her during her visit here) departed carrying 32 kilos of gifts - thank you Paula - I spent one more night in Cochin and after finally receiving my authentic Motorcycle Owner Papers, I headed off to Varkala in the belief that once again I would be eating meat, albeit of a lower quality than I am used to but meat, red meat, delicious red meat!

Due to circumstances beyond my control I had to leave at 2pm which was pushing it a bit as I dont like to drive in the dark but I knew the road and I reckoned that I could make the 180kms in just over 4 hours and I was right,though I did have to forgo a photo op with an elephant which I hate to do, I made it just before dark. Arrived here tired, had something light to eat and went to bed happily. Spent the next day relaxing and reading (now that Paula has left I have no incentive to buy anything!). In the evening met a couple of honeymooners who I had met in Munar and we went out together nand of course I ordered steak. Well what I got was not exactly steak and it was badly burned but best of all it was off.

As I ate it I could tell that there was something wrong, it tasted wrong, it looked wrong but could I stop eating it? No way, and I ate it all to the bitter end. 20 minutes after the meal I started shivering and 20 minutes after that I was emptying myself haphazardly all over the place - I will spare you the gory details - in adittion I was in excrutiating pain and moaning like only a sick guy can moan. Some of my young friends here became alarmed for some reason at my absence and came to look for me. When they got no answer at the door they became even more worried and then with the help of Zamir, Yafit's dad, who somehow persuaded me through the window to let them in which I apparently did though I have no recollection of that or of next few hours as they rushed me to the local version of Sisters of Mercy Hospital. I vaguely remember fighting the the insertion of a IV (Which turned out to be a massive dose of antibiotics, so massive that I can see the two little sores I got in a most undinified fall in Munnar about 14 days ago). And then it was morning and I felt almost human. And Eyal and Inbal were with me all night in the hospital, they grabbed an hours sleep on the ground outside before making sure I was alive and kicking. And I was never alone, Yafit was there and Ziv was there and Eyal was there again and Shai was there and if I have forgotten anyone "Mia culpa". And if Yafit hadn't bought me a pair of shorts I wouldnt have been able to leave the hospital, I do have some dignity! So I love you guys.

The hospital is reminiscent of Tel Hashomer in the early 50s but 50 years back again. Everything is very basic and I believe that if the guys had not brought me food I wouldnt have gotten any. I guess however that the medical staff are competent because here I sit at the computer typing this bullshit (no Freudian). It is the non medical side that is more interesting, I was an instant tourist attraction, they came in their droves to gape and gawk and stare, usually from behind the door but at least one guy brought his three kids into the room and they all stared at me while wagglig their heads in the Indian way and smiling inanely. I smiled and waggled my head back at them for about 5 minutes but then gave up in exaustion, they continued for another 10 minutes without uttering a sound and then got up and left. Then there was the baba who said he identified with me because the moslems had tried to kill him too. And the student nurses of both sexes who came in 3s to stare at me (which is weird because girls usually travel in pairs). They seem awfully young.

So I will not be eating meat again till I reach Nepal!

Our story continues, at some stage of the prehospital proceedings somebody called "Habait Haham (The warm home) which is an Israeli organization funded by the government and some anti-drug organisation which does great work with kids who "Flip out" - mitfalpim - OD on something or other and they follow the Israelis in their migrations from north to south and back again trying to help the "mitfalpim" get home again. So the next thing is that my son Roy gets a call from the foreign ministry or the embassy in Delhi suggesting that he get on the next flight to carry me home - I still don't know where they got his number, did they call all the Barels in Israel till they found one who would admit me as his father? Well I understand that that upset Roy who is quite used to my foibles and eccentricities by now and he and Paula got in touch with cousin Ariel in Goa who got the number of the hospital and still shaking from the after effects of my desperate illness I was called to the phone to hear cousin Ariel and 30 minutes later again to speak to Paula.

Romours of my demise are greatly exaggerated - I mean me mitfaleping, it aint gonna happen!

I will not be meat again till I reach Nepal!

Zen and the Art of Riding a Motorcycle in India - Part 2

2007-01-13T22:29:00.001+02:00

Okay, I know I have written about this before (thats why its part 2 dummy) but I have now been driving for and a half months a bit more and I am more aware of what the whole thing is about - Zen course, with a smidgen (kortov) of thown in!

It is important to mention the animals first, and there are many animals of course; dogs, pigs, monkeys, an elephant! Chickens, crows, and of course the ever present supreme ruler of the road and anyplace else; The Sacred Cow! Cows have automatic right of way, after all, they are holy. And they take their right of way, they walk into the middle of the road with no consideration or care for vehicles of any size, shape, direction or speed. Sometimes they just stop in the middle of the road and in the early morning they are often found to be sleeping on the road as it is apparently warmer than not-road. You either have to wait for them to move - which may not be this week, or you can try to manouver around them which is not always easy with oncoming traffic. The Indian drivers are less considerate of the cows than most Westerners and bear down on them hooting loudly which the cows of course ignore. Somehow though, we do all manage to get round them and continue on our way. The dogs are in many ways worse than the cows which although they are sacred, are also terribly stupid and cowishly ignorant that anything is going on around them. The dogs however, seem, unlike dogs everywhere else, treat you the driver with absolute disdain and ignore you deliberately obviously hoping that as you near them you will panic, lose control and end up at the side of the road in a burning wreck - well that is the impression they give (as an aside let me say that it seems to me that the mdogs, usually reffered to as "pariah dogs" are becoming increasingly feral and in a couple of generations India will be flooded with their own homegrown variety of dingo - thats only my opinion of course but who knows the wonders of nature - the fuckers can be really agressive at night when you are alone). And a week ago on the road from cochin to Munnar we were passed by a work elephant dragging a log through the center of town (Don't ask how it passed us!).

Okay, now we come to simple rules of the road - traffic lights, stop signs, circles, right of way, driving on the left, policemen! All recommendations - you should never feel obliged to obey them - the Indians dont! As you drive along with your Israeli (Yes, even Israeli) driving habits of more often than not obeying the law, you are lost, you are non existant, are dead in the middle of the road! If there is a policeman around he will often look amazed that you are obeying some stupid rule such as keeping to the left lane even though the right one is empty! And if you are a traveller from a land where people do not look Indian and do not speak any of the 13 (!) local languages or 200 odd dialects you do not want to be involved in an accident - you are automatically to blame, no need to discuss this, its your fault because you are so very rich! You may get to a traffic light which is green and find that you are the only one who cares as other drivers cut you off from every direction, you may be driving along a highway (and I only call them highways because the locals do - some of them are like a back road leading to the back of beyond on the road less traveled) and you will meet a bus barreling down your lane as he overtakes a truck on a blind hairpin turn and all you can do is get off the road and hope there is a hard shoulder.

And of course there are roadsigns, generally those giving directions will be in English, not all the time of course but enough to help you (with a measure of Zen) to get to where you are going. But that is not enough so i will give you a couple of examples; two nights ago we arrived from Kottayam to Aleppi by ferry the tale of getting the Enfield on and off the ferry would be a chapter on its own and a picture being worth a thousand words I will try to send one) after dark when I dont usually like to drive as the Indians have to positions on their light switch, bright and off and they use them both at night. but we had been recommended a hotel by Uri ( we met him in Cochin where he had come to make sure his daughter was not having too good a time) and even though we were offered hotels nearby I insisted on going to Uris hotel, after all, he is an Israeli! (Never trust the recommendation of an Israeli over 30). So we phoned and they had an empty room and we were in. But where was the hotel? Oh, about 13 kms from here, just get on the National Highway and then turn left and ask. And I did, and without one wrong turn and after much twisting and winding and avoiding homicidal and suicidal Indians and negotiating a goat track on the banks of a river and all this in the dark we were there (and despite my recriminations against Uri it was a charming place with awesome food for my sister Paula, not for me) but it was not suitable for a stay of less than a week. how did I get there, I am certainly not the worlds best navigator. Zen!

And today I wanted to buy stamps so I hopped onto my trusty Enfield, drove about 3 kms and stopped by a ricksha driver (they know more about how to get there than almost anybody in the country and asked him where the post office was, he pointed behind him and there it was, right behind him. There you are, the big Z again.

the other kind of roadsigns, those that tell you about the condition of the road are almost non-existant. from time to time, after doing 50 kms on a winding, badly maintained, narrow mountain road with no signs at all beyond those selling expensive saris or gold jewelery or women's underwear, at the end of a long, straight, level stretch of road you will suddenly see an internationally recognised sign for a curve and nothing further for the next 50. I could live with that but all the signs extorting you to 'not drink and drive', 'speed kills", 'drive slow, arrive safely' etc are in English and very few drivers here can actually read English.

Two days ago I had a breakdown, the gas cable snapped and Paula (my crazy sister who has been riding around with me for the last two weeks) slowed quickly to a halt. Luckily I had spotted a "2 and 3 wheeler garage" a short time before so leaving Paula to guard the bike I hopped a ricksha and went back there. I told them what had happened and one of the mechanics put on his shirt, wrapped a bunch of tools in a newspaper and accompanied me back to the bike. After opening it half up he agreed that it was the gas cable and we, the riksha, the mechanic and I set off to find one. The first place didn't have it so the ricksha-wallah and I went to another place which had it (I bought a spare as well - you never know and at 25 rhp you cant go wrong). When we went back to collect the mechanic he wasn't there but we found him 50 meters down the road looking at the bike of a large Indian gentleman who turned to me and said, and I quote "Actually it was me who ordered the mechanic, he only tended to you because he saw you on the road as he was coming to me" I looked at him and smiled - You stupid lying fucking wanker! Do I look that stupid? Okay maybe I do but there is no call to take advantage of me. Anyway the mechanic couldn't do much for him there and taking his (the liar's) battery we were off to poor Paula again and 20 minutes and 120 rph later we were happily on our way again.

I leave it to you.

Travels with my sister

2007-01-10T23:54:00.000+02:00

I am now in Thekkady in Kerala at the Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary with my sister Paula who came to India to ride around for two weeks on the back of my motorcycle. She must be mad.
It is a cold and dirty day, the first I have had since arriving in India and we got up at 6 in the morning to catch the first tour boat at 7AM. We did catch it and spent a freezing 2 hours sailing around the park on a dirty old tourist boat but we did manage to see a few animals, some boars (of both sexes and all ages), a deer, a bison and 3 jackals tearing apart the carcass of a dead deer and the trip was calm and the scenery breathtaking (forgive me if in the continuation of this I use that word again but the last few days have been filled with breathtaking sights) so despite the cold a good time was had by all. Tomorrow we are going trekking and rafting through the park and we will definately take jackets!
Before coming here we spent 3 days in Munnar which is due east from Cochin but high up in the mountains and is a major tea growing area. The drive from Cochin to Munnar took us from the teeming city of the coast on a long winding, climbing road to high up in the mountains where it gets really cold (I ended up buying a jacket! Me, who never feels the cold). As we were entering Munnar I saw Gali (from Hampi and Cochin) by the side of the road and she sent us to the Aida hotel which was lovely with a great view out into the mountains and tea fields (fields?) which are breathtakingly beautiful even when you notice the tens of Indian women bending over and doing backbreaking labour so that we can all have our cuppa when we feel the urge, in fact they even add a certain rustic, pastoral beauty to the whole scene. Yup, thats what they do, add romance, I hope they never find a way of doing it mechanically
On the way from Cochin the view was breathtaking and we met our first close-up elephant who was a working stiff, it was pulling along a log right through the center of a little town. Along the way were many beautiful homes but one stood out, they kept a pet elephant! I would love to have one too.
From Munnar to Thekkady was just over 100 kms but it took us about 5 hours due to both the difficulty of the road - narrow winding, climbing, descending, potholefilled and various traffic coming at you from all directions at all angles and at sometimes death defying speeds. But the route was magnificent and we stopped often to take pictures! And more pictures! And then still more pictures. Of course when I print them out to put in albums I no longer remeber wher they were taken!!
Today was a shitty day for me, we booked and went on a bamboo-rafting and hiking tour through the reserve and I saw no bllody animals except for one deer and I was expecting to see elephants frolicing along the river banks or at the least doing the dance intro for The Simpsons show. Nada, nothing, zilch, I was screwes, I wanted to see elephants. I suddenly felt sympathy for all those Americans who stand there yelling "But I paid to see elephants (pigs, cucumbers, pine tres, factories or whatever). I thought that if I was paying the Indian equivalent of two weeks worth of a working mans wages, at the very least I should see one lousy pachyderm! I will never go to another Indian game resrve, never.
Tomorrow we are off to Kollayam to visit and cruise the famous backwaters of Kerala.
Wait for the next exciting episode - I will be back.

Pictures!?

2006-12-28T15:09:00.000+02:00

Arie has sent some pictures. The captions aren't very detailed, so I've dismissed them.
They're from Mngalor, Goa and Om Beach.
Dad, looks like you're having fun, aren'tcha.

J.B.

Om Beach to Cochin

2006-12-28T15:07:00.000+02:00

God am I sorry I left Om beach (mind you Im not completely sure because Ronit told me that all the garass has dried up - which of course I dont believe) the beach was great and the living was easy. but I did leave Om Beach and now, after 6 days on the road I am in Cochin.

The first day from Om beach to mangalore was easy, good road and not too much traffic, using my trusty "lonely Planet " I ended up in a truly middle class hotel in the an obviously middle class town - from Mangalore to here I began to see the presence of an Indian middle class. After checking into the hotel I decided to go outside and check out the town and ran smack bang into the middle of some sort of fancy dress parade, very coulorful and musical and photogenic though I have no idea what it was in aid of.
What struck me most about Mangalore was the fact that for the first time since arriving in India I did not have to worry about stepping in cow shit, it seems to me that that makes a hell of a difference, I find it difficult to move into the 21st century if I am forced to manouvre around cow shit and have to stop on the highway, literal and figurative to wait for the cows to move. I dont wait for them to decide to move because they are cows and dont make decisions, they just move or dont.

Mangalore is biggish with many modern 'conveniences' such as a mall and.......oops, thats about it but still more madern than most. I did manage to get little boxes for my bike rack made by hand from scratch - perfect 18th centuary hi-tech. But beautiful work and fascinating to watch in the creating.

From Mangalore to Calicut where I spent christmas and ate shwarma, beefr shwarma, not up to israeli standards but beef shwarma nevertheless. Nothing to add about another large coeless city.

From Calicut to Thrussir, on the way, almost blocking the road i came upon a huge cattle market. I stopped the bike to take pictures and all around friendly farmers made way to let me through to get the best view. I esked whether the market was for racing bulls, due to the huge crowd, excited interest and good looks of the beast. But no, they were all going to be eaten! And indeed im many places in Kerala beef is on the menu though not always available. Thrissur itself nothing special (okay there is a chapter on culture in the town in the Lonely Planet but that is a bullshit book anyway) except for a beautiful church and an important temple off limits to forigners (shit, how do you spell that?).

from Thrissur to Cochin - Of course I looked it up in my trusty (ha!) lonely and they say that Fort Cochi is the coolest place in this city more than 1.3 miilion but only give the names of about 3 budget level guest houses and warn about the narrow winding streets etc.. So of course i took a room outside the fort. Then I went to the main area and was stunned, a roomy friendly town with guesthouses and homestays at reasonable prices all over town. I also bumped into Gali (from Hampi) who told me that Efrat and Yitzhaki (also from Hampi) were in town and I then took a room in there guest house/homestay and we are planning a new years eve BBQ (I have offered to make mashed potatoes - surprise!).

Cochin, for those who dont know was home to several tens of thousands of Jews who all emigrated to Israel in the 50s and 60s and they can now be found there playing cricket every weekend. There is a "Jew Town" here and a few synagogues so I am doing the jewish connection thing.

As soon asIi arrived here a young guy with a baby in his arms struck up a conversation with me and 20 minutes later I had grass in my pocket and a smile on my lips. I like Cochin and will spend a few days here waiting for my sister who arrives on the first for a 2 week holiday with me. Thank goodness she is bringing me de-caffe and shoresh sandals.

Hampi

2006-12-12T21:12:00.001+02:00

I have just spent 8 days in Hampi. How I got there and away to where I now am (Om Beach) is irrelavant. Hampi was amazing, a tiny village nested up in the eastern plateau of Karnataka is one of the most beautiful sceneries (can I write that?) I have ever seen. The village, actually there are two but they are usually lumped together, sit on the two banks of a large, filthy river which has to be crossed by a dirty leaking about to die and sink motorboat which is about 3 meters long and can carry 20 people, 3 goats and 2 motorcycles (and of course the fervent prayers of all the occupants, including the goats (and they know they're going to be eaten that evening). The boatman is silent but his assistant, a boy of about 12 is loud enough for both and totally obnoxious, he has a squeaky voice and whines for money and in a couple of years will be squeezing the T and A of the girls crossing in the boat. You can also get across in coracles (look that up if you need to know) but they are out of the way - though they charge less for motorbikes.
Because of the scenery Hampi is full of tourists, in Hampi proper you will find tavellers and tourists from all over the world but no Israelis, on the other side, in you will find travellers and tourists from all over Israel but very few, and those only the very brave, from anywher else. The Israeli side is, like Arambol, geared for Israelis, all the guest houses and restaurants serve Israeli favourites, the computers are all geared for Hebrew and many of the locals have adopted Hebrew names to make us feel more at home (and thus willing to part more easily with our untold riches (all tourists are by definition millionaires!). Little Israel, just like "The Valley" in LA. And for a while it worked, every day I ate 'shipuddim" (Shishlik) or Israeli breakfast or borekkas at a different place but after 5 days it all blurred into one and I had to leave (Thats why I'm in Om Beach now). Also because of the neverending satla brought on by what I personally consider Primo grass. If you do get to Hampi dont pay more than 500 rhupees for a 10 gram packet!
In Hampi ther are the ruins (huge) of an old temple site and I did the right thing and walked around the complex for about 2 hours and was then "templed out". There is also another temple which has an elephent which blesses you, by patting your head with its trunk for a rhupee, and 50 more to take a picture. Of course I did that.
On the Israeli side you can rent a bike or motorbike and ride through magnificent rock formations to visit the nearby lake, which may or may not have crocodiles in it, whatever, when I was there a numbe of tourists (Okay, Israelis) were swimming despite the rumours. there is also the Hanoman (or Monkey) temple to which I had to climb 600 steps (Thanks Jeremy, for getting me into shape). The view from the top is amazing and the Baba who lives there has a sattelite dish and a chillum. You can see forever in every direction and the ground is covered with huge piles of cacked rocks that look like they were put ther by a 5 year old playing with blocks. And all around green fields and palm trees and little hovels for the locals.

Moving around

2006-12-11T09:43:00.000+02:00

Hi Guys. I have left Hampi (which I havent yet written about) and am now on the coast again at a beautiful place called Om Beach in Karnataka (if you are looking at a map of India, which I'm sure you not).

Still doing good and riding my bike - mind you with all the crappy roads, and yu cannt imagine just how crappy they can be - I am now , right now, at this moment putting i into a garage for servicing and tomorrow I'll get it back so I can move on to my next stop which will be Mysore for major book aquisitions, I'm running out of reading material and the book shops here are awesome.

Planet Arambol

2006-12-01T17:15:00.000+02:00

Last night, my last night in Arambol, yes, I have escaped from "The Land Of The Lotus Eaters" and I am now somewhere else.

Anyway, last night i was invited to a party that some people were having at a house that some of them had rented, many people who plan to spend a long time in Arambol rent houses, its cheaper over time and you have extra amenities like TV and kitchen, so there I was at this party.

There were about 25 people there and I have no idea who most of them were or who lived there or whatever but in that room was the biggest collection of drug smoking parephernalia I have ever seen and I have seen quite a few rooms in my time, there were bongs and chillums and joints and a pitero (I think thats what its called). And the various instruments were in all shapes and colours and sizes and some had names and special cases and whatever and WAS I impressed! And they all knew exactly what to do and how to prepare the different implements and they all shared the work and the bongs and chillum and piteros and joints went marching endlessly around the room. Then the hosts brought out the 'piece de resistance' - 'space cookies' and after about an hour everybody was totally stoned. People were either sitting down nodding to the loud techno(?) music or wandering aimlessly about and I looked around at these 23 - 24 - 25 year olds and thought to myself what great kids they are, real salt of the earth. Done their time, paid their dues and now they want to go out and taste as much of life as they can till the mortgage hangs heavy round their necks.

they worked hard to get here and they upped and left their safe secure homes to spend 40 hours on the train with 30000 wild Indians to get from Delhi to Goa and they didnt moan or complain. they planned and worked out and bargained and priced and made friendships and developed caring and trust - Awesome young people.

And most of them dont drink or smoke cigerettes and before India they didnt smoke drugs either and when they go home they either will or they wont but they will - to paraphrase Bogie "Always have India" So Adi and Yakov and Ariel and Yafit and Ronit and Omri and Shpitz and Chen and Adi, just go on having fun till you decide its time.

Getting to Goa is easy, but getting out is another story.

2006-11-20T20:00:00.000+02:00

So I arrived in Goa last Saturday, or was it the Saturday before that, or the one before that. It seems like I have been here for years or at least forever.
The journey from Kalhapur was horrific, one part of the road was so unroad that it took me 4 hours to cover 40kms and in fact I didnt stop or get off the bike for five bloody hours! And the dust and the huge trucks aimed directly at little me! But they all love seeing a mad white guy on a motorcycle in the middle of nowhere and try their best not to hit me! Sorry about all the exclamation marks (!) but everything causes me to exclaim!
And trhen as the song says "The bear came over the mountain" and there were waves of bright green mountains floating away into the distance and scattered clouds scattered lightly and birds singing and I was in Goa and it was a different India, like Israel before 1967. So I toddled off to find my cousin Ariel and Tali You see, I do have a cousin everywhere! And when I found him they welcomed me and I spent the night there and most important, I had a shower there.
The next day I set off to find Arambol and I did and now I am stuck. And the fucking place is not even marked on the map!!! I was going along this green winding jungle road and suddenly I was in Arambol and it was like all the othe villages I'd been through on my way here but this one did look different, well there were lots of white faces for one thing. So anyway I met a girl and she needed petrol but wasnt sure how to ride the moped and asked me, in English to go with her to the petrol station which I did but they didnt have any petrol, I told you this is all about India. At that she spat out a Kus Emak so we continued in Hebrew and she showed me the center af town where I was kidnapped by an enterprising young Indian gentleman who showed me a great room where I have happily settled in. That evening my upstairs Israeli neighbours introduced me to the joys of "Garras" and I am totally happy and content.
This is Homers" Land of the Lotus Eaters from The Odyssy" - for those who dont know what I am talking about read the Odyssy or ask me. Any way in the Land of the Lotus Eaters, if you eat of the lotus flower you lose all desire to ever move again and this is what happens here, in the little town of Arambol. You take a hit or a puff and you are lost, you become an Archi-Satlan, a high priest of garrras, a rabbi of bongs. And you never want to leave.
Of course there are many important decisions to be made each day. First of course is do we have enough garras, then where do we eat breakfast, lunch, dinner and what do we eat and whose going to be there and...Take another hit..and just one more before we leave ..and one more!!
And I love the cows. Its not like the big city where you see a cow here or there, here they share the roads and narrow lanes wiyh you and sometimes walk into the restaurant where you are just starting your steak. They fight in the streets and send the basta (stall) owners into hysterics and they poke the bulls with sticks to chase them away from their basta. And they crap all over and they stink up everything and I love them. In Denver I visited a mall that had a display of cow statues but these are the real macoy, not painted.
Anyway, under the circumstances it has not been easy actually sitting down and writing this thing but this is all I could manage (need another hit!) . I will eventually escape from here but if you dont hear from me for a couple of weeks, dont worry, just take another toke or hit or whatever.

Pensive Moment

2006-11-12T09:43:00.000+02:00

Hi guys, here i am safely esconced in Arambol, nothern Goa and except for the "barchashim" this is what I imagine paradise lost was like. blue skies, blus seas, white sands, beachside cafes and restaurants, beautiful people and cheap. Not to even mention the "jarash".
I have lost several kilos and now no longer look like ganesh the elephant god, I still have a paunch and love handles (oops, no love at the moment so I will call them "spare tyres"). I think I told you that I have hardly been eating and I feel great, even my right shoulder which has been giving me terrible pauin for the last 15 months has eased up and much more usable.
Also I walk a helluva lot, I try to avoid riding the bike in the big cities, too scary.
There was just a commotion in the street, two bulls were fighting and everyone was hystereical with woryy that they would knock there stall over! great excitement and I took several photos. I love all the cows in the streets, I have even seen them walk into retaurants. Yhats a little slice of India.

Arie at the Ashram

2006-11-11T15:21:00.000+02:00

Well I couldnt come to India and not do the Ashram scene, could I? I had to look for enlightenment somewhere, right? it is not enough to know myself, I had to meditate, right?
So I arrived in Pune and after a bit of regular touristing, I decided to head for the Rolls-Royce of Ashrams (and it is fitting that I should call it the Rolls-Royce of Ashrams since when he was kicked out of the US old Osho had either 19 or 90 of those rather expensive motor cars).
So off I went to the Osho Meditation Center, paid my penny, did my AIDS test, bought my robes and went in to meditate. the center is magnificent, beautiful gardens, beautiful buildings (all black), swimming pool, retaurants, an auditorium to die for, meditation halls, shady plazas, the works. All around you see calm people dressed in purple robes (yes, me too!) walking slowly or quickly but all with a sense of calm and peace about them. Its like being in Club Med - in fact like Club Med you dont use money, you use coupons.
The place is full of people from all over the world, of course Israelis, but Russians, Rumanians, Norwegians, Brits, Australians, many Italians and Germans, lots of Indians and who knows what else.
With a group of others I was taken off for an introductory session where we did loud meditations, then I went off for a silent meditation followed by meditation with drums and others which I caanot describe. I have to tell you all that I am lousy at meditating, my mind seems to wander all over the planet and I cannot empty it. I tried a" breathe in - breathe out" sort of mantra (shades of the blonde haircut joke) but even that didnt work. I guess I am not cut out for that, or maybe, just maybe I am relaxed enough to know my place in life and not worry too much. Of course I do have a problem or two with the meaning of life but dont we all, nothing that a shrink or a chillum cant fix.
The evening sessions were amazing, at about 6:30 in the evening everybody would appear at the main auditorium, showered and dressed now in white robes and to see a couple of hundred white-robed figures climbing the steps in the dark under muted light was quite impressive - even I was moved. We all found a place to park, most of the people had little chairs or rugs and for 15 minutes everyone danced to wild(ish) music, last night ironically enough, it was Hassidic music - the Lubavicher must be turning over in his grave! Then Osho himself would come onscreen and begin his talk (actually he died a few years ago and what we got was a recording but nobody seemed to mind). I enjoyed the talks, he was smart, knowledgable on many religious, social, scientific and philosophical matters and cerainly new how to hold his audience. he was by turns serious, sarcastic and humourous and the speeches alwas end with a dirty joke or two. And the audience is riveted to the spot, you are not allowed to cough or sneeze and when people did they were quietly escorted out. For myself, I was more worried about farting but fortunately I have a strong spincter!
After the daily lecture it is fun time with parties, variety shows or chillouts by the pool. But what can I say? I just didnt connect. I am a sceptic and cynic of the first order. I have a problem with people who ask me to forgo the material world and end up owning 19 (or maybe 90) luxury cars.
I am now in Goa - wait for more!!

Me and my bike: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Riding (in India)

2006-11-08T17:08:00.000+02:00

Well as I told you in my last my bike was delivered but as it was late afternoon and traffic was heavy I decided not to try and ride it until the early morning when there was less risk of my crashing it even before i had started my travels.
I woke up on time, 5am, went down and my bike was still there. Yay, after battling with the kick-starter I finally managed to get it started and took a couple of spins around the block. Easier said than done as the Royal Enfield is based on a 1950s British bike and for me its all ass-backwards, the gears are on the right and the clutch is on the left, the gears are 1 up and 3 down instead of the other way round and it takes some getting used too. But I managed without falling off, loaded my bags on the bike took a last look at the map (and what I hoped would be a last look at my hotel) and set off to find my way out of Mumbai, a huge city of 16 million people speading for miles in every direction.
I dont know if I found the way out or the way out found me, after all, this is India so I guess it is a Zen thing and 25 kms and 1 hour later there was no city aroud me and I saw a sign "To Pune" and I was truly on my way. Outside the city I was still surrounded by vehicles of every description but no buildings, few slums and very little garbage. As I continued the countryside turned green and the city was left behind.
After driving for about 30 mins on a beautiful (relatively) highway I pulled up at a tool booth to be informed that 2 wheelers were not allowed on it. I was even told that I would have to pay a penelty but after a short consultation I was forgiven but told to leave the expressway, which i did.
When I got off I saw 2 roads, 1 paved and 1 unpaved. Of course I chose the paved road - BIG mistake. 20 minutes later after negotiating sheep, goats, oxen, donkeys and cows I was in the middle of nowhere. I stopped at a tiny cafe in a tiny village and asked the tiny owner if he had a large coke, he did. as I sat there people gathered round to see the westerner on an Enfield. I took some pictures and the kids there loved it and kept asking me to take more, I did, and when I showed them on my digital how they looked they were thrilled. That seems to happen with kids everywhere I go.
So back I went 15 or so kms, again passing all the anomals until I reached the unpaved road and took it (again a Zen thing) and believe it or not it took me all the way to Pune, on the way I again passed a largw collection of domestic animals, which I have already described and in addition I met an elephant coming the other way, I swear! Also a caravan of camels going in my direction. Amost interesting ride, what can I say.
On the outskirts of Pune, while stopped at a traffic light my engine stopped - low revs - no biggie, and as I was already stopped I decided to have a smoke and a short rest. As I was standing there a guy came up to me and asked if I needed help, I told him I was having trouble with the revs and he offered to fix it, which he did. Then he said that he wanted to take it for a drive to check it, he looked at my face (you can imagine) and asked me if I was worried and I said what the hell, take it. Off he went, the wrong way into crazy traffic and I sort of waved goodbye to my "junk". But 10 minutes later, or was it 10 years? he was back, gave me instructions how to get where I was going and refused payment. Zen again.Tired but exausted I finally found my hotel and settled in.
Driving in India can only be a Zen thing, people ride where they want, how they want and when they want. There seems to be no rhyme or rythm and red lights are of course only a reccomendation. There is however a pecking order: busses are top of the hill because they are biggest, then come trucks (unless it is a huge truck then it comes before the busses), then come pickups followed by cars, autirickshaws and then motorcycles though because they are quicker than autorickshaws can sometimes out rank them. At the bottom of the heap are bicycles and then, only then, pedestrians - you dont want to be one of them!
Thus ends the lesson for today. Wait for the further adventures of Arie in Pune.

Have Bike -- Will Travel

2006-11-02T15:38:00.000+02:00

Thats it, my Royal Enfield 350 has been deliverd and if it is still there in the morning and if I can kick-start it and if I can find my way out of Mumbai I will be headig south early tomorrow morning in search of adventure.
Well hotmail wouldnt let me send this when I wanted to and now it is 48 hours later and I found my way out of Mumbai, or maybe the way out found me. And after a very interesting ride I am now in Pune where there is not nearly as much crowding (Well as much but not right on top of me) and I feel very comfortable and relaxed.
More will eventually follow.
Guys, Please tell me if and when the postcards I sent arrive, I have sent 2 to each of you so far but this is India and I have been warned that sometimes they take the stamps off and throw the cards away. For 8 ruphees with 10 ruphees to the shekel - but there are many poor people here I have been given to understand.

Mr. Bollywood

2006-10-31T19:38:00.000+02:00

So three days ago the hotel clerk asked me if I want to be in a Bollywood movie and of course I agreed, maybe i would be discovered, right?
The next morning I was up bright and early and climbed aboard a rickety old bus with about 50 other travellers of all ages and descriptions and we trundeled through the streets of Mumbai for about an hour till we reached what was the newest and cleanest building I have seen in the city. (Most of the city looks as if it hasnt been cleaned or painted in at least 50 years, even the brand new buildings look run down).
We were herded off the bus and taken up some stairs and stuck in a large room where nothing happened for the next couple of hours - it wasnt too bad, we chatted, swapped stories and of course compared prices - very amusing and informative.
Then a wardrobe mistress appeared (easily the hardest working person of the entire adventure) and handed out medical staff type uniforms to about half the people. Then a couple more hours of hanging around. I never found out why they were dressed as medics and none of them knew either. I'm not even sure they were used for a shot. By that time it was about 1 oclock and we were all marched of to the commisary (canteen) for quite a decent Indian lunch (Yes! I do eat some Indian food!) I kept hoping the cast of Blazing Saddles would come roaring through but that didnt happen.
We sat around for a couple more ours and then my big chance came! While some of the girls were dressed in what the Indian audience imagine western women wear with hair done in a way they imagine western women do there hair (there was some resemlance but I dont believe any of the girls would be caught dead looking like that!) the guys were dressed in "standard" western clothes. I was given slacks that were too short and a shirt that was too short and they couldnt find shoes to fit me - naturally when filming started I was pushed to the back. My big moment in cinema lasted about 2 seconds as part of the crowd in a museum. I was not singled out, I was not discovered, I was not given a big fat 5 year contract in Bollywood! I was not even in the really big scene with an actual Indian film star with fireworks and baloons and champagne. Oh the frustration.
We had to hang around till 12 that night, fortunately at about 7:30 they handed out beers which calmed most of the people down (if you remeber I dont drink beer) but by 12:00 we had all had enough and some of the kids started a mini riot and strike so the bus was brought around again and as we climbed aboard we were each handed 5 crisp new 100 ruphee notes, fair pay for a fair days work. I dont believe I'll make a career of it, I dont think it would give me a living.
But it was without a doubt my best day in Mumbai, far from the maddening crowd, in a pleasant parklike area with shade and grass and benches and of course very few people. We could sit in the shade, doze, chat, read and relax. And even if I did not achieve stardom it was a fun experience.
But I dont think I'll do it again in this lifetime.

Mumbai Arrival

2006-10-24T18:45:00.000+02:00

Well for all of you who care here I am in Mumbai (Bombay for those who remember the Raj. For some reason Israelis tend to avoid this like the plague and for the life of me I cannot understand why. True, I have only been here for about 6 hours and I have only walked around this one particular area for 4 hours but already I like it. Of course since I am going to spend a few days here - it takes at least a week to buy and register a motorcycle - and I only start that tomorrow, I will have plenty o time to wander around and see the sights, and according to my guidebook there is plenty to see.

The flight was easy, the plane was half empty, or half full, you decide and everyone had plenty of room to spread out. I only had carry on luggage so my lie was that much easier. Of course I stocked up at the duty free and have now discovered that I can get my smokes for less than half of what I paid. Fuck it, I love buying in general and at the duty free in particular.

I am not sure where exactly I am headed after this, probably south and east. Lets see where the wind and the roads take me.

As I got out of the plane I was struck full in the face (actuallu full in the nose) by the smell but now I am aclimatised and I dont notice anything unpleasant, just something exotic. O course on the road in from the airport you see what poverty means as all along the road there are a variety of hovels and in the city there are large numbers of beggars but it is far better than I expected - of course tomorrow in daylight I may see that it is actually as bad as I expected. Hopefully not.

To all those who I saw and played with while I was in Israel, thanks! And to those I didnt see, Shit, I'm sorry, I'll see you when I get back.

Be well, work hard and think o me suering out here.

Home again, home again

2006-09-28T14:07:00.000+03:00

Arie is back in Israel.
As soon as he deals with his photos, I'll try to put them up, on flickr or picasa, not sure yet.

Stay tuned. grab the RSS feed to keep up to date.

JB.

Montreal Summary

2006-09-11T00:19:00.000+03:00

So here I am back in LA with Shani and Mitch and the little ones. You have
read my experiences in Denver and now it is time for me to tell you all
about what I did in Montreal. Actually I'm not sure what I did in Montreal.

I arrived in Montreal on Monday the 28th (I think that was the date) and was
picked up at the airport by Kai and Tara who took me to their home and
filled me with weed (Lots of weed!) and vodka and at some stage I just
passed out. Good times. The next couple of days Kai and I spent running
around the city like regular tourists (Except we were very,very full of
weed). I really enjoyed Montreal which has a very french flavour and it is a
really pretty town. And the weed is awesome.

Then I got in touch with Gabrielle, who I last met (and first met) in
Auckland in 2001, we got together and shared another joint and had a fun
evening (and thats all for you dirty minded buggers) I hope you're having fun
in Mach Pichu, Gabrielle, and I loved the "poutine".

After Labour Day, a very important North American holiday, yes my friends,
Canada is in North America, Kai and Tara took me off to a lake (sorry, I
really dont know what its called) but we stayed at a place called Sandbanks
- we were real "trailer trash" and loving it. We walked, smoked,visited the
local village, smoked. looked for a shop called "Dead Peoples Stuff" which
was closed when we found it, smoked, sailed on the lake in a metal dingy
(and smoked) and when it rained and Tara and I quit, Kai continued to sail
(and smoked), went back to "Dead Peoples Stuff" and found that it was not
very interesting stuff and then returned to Montreal.

What can I say, you have probably understood by now what I did in Montreal.
I had a great time and will do my best to return there again as soon as I
can. Thank you Kai and Tara!

Thus ends my Montreal saga. Soon I will be back in Israel, for a while at
least and then India - I plan and Hope.

May you all continue to flourish!

Denver over, begin Montreal

2006-09-01T01:37:00.000+03:00

So here I am in beautiful Montreal - Yes, despite being spoiled rotten by the Tarlies, Carol Lyons and Jeremy, I had to move on. But not before some more Denver news.
Carol invited me to a party she was holding at her home for her environmentalists and that was fun, especially because she gave us all name tags and I didnt have to make a fool of myself forgetting people all the time. Then Berne took me to Red Rock amphitheatre, amazing - that night at a rock concert some drunk fell and killed himself - I hope I'm not a jinx.

Then it was off to Yves house in the mountains, it was fantastic - I cant describe it, eventually I will send photos, please be patient.

Saturday night was family night, dinner with Berne Aunsch, Carol and Eves. If you can make it to Denver - Do. They are great.

RSS feed for Arie's Travels

2006-08-23T21:49:00.000+03:00

I've added an RSS feed, for those of you who know how to use it.
Grab it here, or the link on the sidebar.

--JB

Denver

2006-08-23T21:43:00.000+03:00

So here I am in Denver and the youngest woman I have met is about 65. Oh, woe is me.

On the other hand I am resting, eating over-well and reading book after book, broadening my mind and gaining wisdom (Yeah, right!). I arrived here a week ago and since then Have been spoilt rotten by my relatives and despite the fact that it is almost impossible to find a place to smoke here (and that is cigarettes only, no weed) I am keeping up a fairly decent intake of nicotine.

It is very beautiful up here, it is about 1.5 km above sea level and at times difficult for us lowlanders to breathe when doing physical activity. I think it is in the Rocky Mountains, they are all around but I'm not exactly sure of that, you gotta trust me on this.

The day after I arrived I was whisked off by a cousin for a day trip to Royal Gorge which is an old mining area and we went on a train trip through the gorge which is long and narrow and you dont want to have been one of the convicts who had to work on the construction - it is in the center of what is known as the "Prison capital of the world" -- 9 prisons in and around the town and all along the highways there are signs warning you not to stop for hitch-hikers - we didn't.

Since then I have been lounging around in the lap of luxury.

Last Friday I went into the mountains again to join my gay cousin and his "friend" in his cabin in the mountains. 'Cabin' is what he calls it, but I'm not sure that that is the correct term for a 500 sqm luxury home with not one, but two, living rooms, each about as big as my own humble abode and including about 6 bathrooms and a wine cellar. The only thing lacking was a hot tub and that is apparently being ordered. Of course the whole thing is situated right on the lake! Ah, the way these yanks suffer. While there I was taken to climb a 400 meter high mountain, now this might not sound like much but when you start at 3.5 kms above sea level it is no picnic. Well, it wasn't for me, okay? So I'm not as young as I once was. I did eventually make it to the top with much huffing and puffing and many stops and moans and groans but when I finally got there it was worth the suffering. The view was magnificent - almost straight down for 400 meters. Getting down was easier.

I am staying in a suburb of Denver which is hard to imagine - the small houses around here are about 500 sq meters and all on plots of at least an acre (4 dunams). Those are the small ones, some of the houses are as big as the average mall. And noone seems impressed, they are just homes. Mind you, I would not like to live in one, I like my little patio with its walls that hide me from the world and allow me to do as I please when I please and with whoever I please.

I cannot imagine myself having any adventures here so I am just reporting on the American dream fulfilled.

Beware of falling pianos!

Long update from LA

2006-08-13T00:03:00.000+03:00

I guess I should start at the beginning but it is easier to start at the end so that is where I am now - next week I am off to Denver and from there I plan to go to Montreal and then back here and then.

Last weekend we went to Big Bear Lake, about 2 hours drive from LA and about 2500 meters above sea level so despite the warm weather we are having at the moment it was way too cold to swim in the lake but just right to wallow in the hot tub, unfortunately I was alone in it, no joint and no woman. but you cant have everything and at least once Kyle and his mom shared it with me. It is really beautiful up there and Mitch rented a magnificent house right on the lake, truely awesome! Mind you there is not much to do up there if you dont waterski, but we rented a boat one day and went bowling another and cooked every day and generally hung out and relaxed - well I did anyway.

The weekend before we went to San Diago to visit Lego Land. Shani said it was for the kids but in truth it was for her and me. It was pretty cool even though it was childish. Hey, maturity has never been one of my better qualities!

We walked around the place for hours and I felt like my feet were going to fall off. The next day we took it quite easy and in the evening I was persuaded to go fishing from a boat! It turned out to be fun, everyone caught a fish or two or even more, starting with the 6 year olds.
Everyone, that is, except for me! Each time I put a sardine on my line it swam around for about half an hour without even being touched by a larger fish. After half an hour I would reel it in, release it to try and survive and put on a new one. I went through about 4 or 5 sardines and had nary a nibble (not a bite). But I now understand the attraction of fishing; you're out there in the middle of the ocean (okay, it wasnt exactly the middle but it felt like it), surrounded by white supremacists guzzling beer and occassionaly letting you understand that they are white supremacists (quite sympathetic to Israel, in a peverted sort of way) - and still there is something very relaxing about the whole scene.

Why do people name their daughters Amber? you just know theyre going to end up as strippers! That is absolutely a stripper's name!

The next day it was off to Sea World, which is a not-particularly-interesting vacuum for sucking in money. Except for SHAMU, of course you dont know exactly which one is SHAMU as there are about 5 orcas - and to me (Sorry Talala) they all looked exactly the same. But the Shamu show is truely awesome. The trainers obviously have fantastic rapport with those magnificent
animals that perform so excitingly and allow the trainers to do anything. I don't know if cruelty to animals is involved and it certainly doesn't look as if it is so despite what some people may say, to me it looked as if the sea creatures and the land creatures were working together in love and understanding. It is quite obvious that the trainers love the orcas, and by the way the orcas behave it appeared that they returned the feeling.

The whole park, which is huge, revolves around Shamu, everything else is dwarfed and insignificant in comparison. I have been to a number of aquqriums in my time and as an aquarium Sea World sucks. I had always believed that it was a magnificent aquarium but it ain't! And even though I was disappointed from that aspect, despite the various diplays of sharks,
dolphins, seals, manatees etc. Shamu is enough reason to visit. Rather than try to tell you all about it I will send independently of this email, pictures through a picture site, that way I can be sure you will get them. (I'll post a link once he does... --JB)
Please be patient as I have to wait for Shani to help me with that aspect.

In between this and that I have been bowling a couple of times here, even buying myself a ball, shoes and a fancy wrist support. Okay, I know that doesn't sound very exciting but I enjoy it and I am trying to adjust to getting old. On the other hand I try to make a weekly pilgrimage to Saga's Satchio and in fact this week I am even going twice - on Friday he is having a tribute to Led Zepplin and he expects several hundred people, and at the very least I get to look at and even talk to a number of gorgeous women. Though I have to admit that all American girls sound to me as if they have wierd squeeky voices, but hey, thats just my opinion again.

I guess that from the safety and compacencey of distance I should now put in my 5 (political) cents worth. I went out to a deli with mitch a couple of days ago and at the next table was a three generation American-jewish family, student son, his mom and elegent, white-haired, smartly dressed grandmother. The boy was very much pro-Israel and defending our right to
exist in peace, the grandmother kept saying that what we are doing is not the way Jews should behave. I was tempted, very tempted to interfere, I wanted to agree with the old lady, I wanted to tell her that we should behave like the good Jews of Europe in the 1930s and 40s who did not want to arouse people anger against them, we should let the hizbollah (I know that should have a capital a but fuck them - capital letters are for proper names and in my book that is a totally improper one) kill us with impunity, we really dont want to upset the world.

Anybody who knows me knows that I am a bleeding-heart, left wing, liberal peacenik (Yafeh nefesh, ya'ani) but you have to draw the line somewhere. While some of you may watch cnn and see the horrors and atrocities we seem to be comitting, please remember that we are only defending ourselves. And while this may sound childish - THEY STARTED IT! I know a lot of innocent Lebanese are being killed and I regret it, would it be perhaps fairer in the eyes of the world if every time a Lebenese died we killed an Israeli so that ther would be equall suffering? I dont think so! And any cease fire has to take into account our security needs, I dont want some Neville Chamberlin/Munich type "Peace in our time crap". If the UN cannot guarantee a tribute to Led Zepplin and he expects several hundred people, and at the very least I get to look at and even talk to a number of gorgeous women. Though I have to admit that all American girls sound to me as if they have weird squeeky voices, but hey, thats just my opinion again.

I guess that from the safety and complacency of distance I should now put in my 5 (political) cents worth. I went out to a deli with mitch a couple of days ago and at the next table was a three generation American-jewish family, student son, his mom and elegent, white-haired, smartly dressed grandmother. The boy was very much pro-Israel and defending our right to
exist in peace, the grandmother kept saying that what we are doing is not the way Jews should behave. I was tempted, very tempted to interfere, I wanted to agree with the old lady, I wanted to tell her that we should behave like the good Jews of Europe in the 1930s and 40s who did not want to arouse people's anger against them, we should let the hizbollah (I know that should have a capital 'a' but fuck them - capital letters are for proper names and in my book that is a totally improper one) kill us with impunity, we really don't want to upset the world.