Agra                  Agra-vation !

I hate bus journeys! We arrived in Agra after a long, hot journey. The bus had been the worst so far with no legroom and chronic over crowding. The driver insisted on driving around every small town until the bus was rammed as full as possible before continuing. He also drove like he owned the roads and I’m pretty sure the horn was faulty – because it was permanently on.

Agra appeared at first glance to be just a big busy town. In essence, it was just that, but with the Taj Mahal and Fort. As soon as we arrived we were besieged by touts. Being the only backpackers on the bus they really had to fight for our attention. We had decided where we were going to stay – the Siddartha Hotel - and after the usual hassle we got there. Our rickshaw driver insisted on taking a friend along who jumped out as soon as we arrived at the hotel. I knew that he would tell the hotel owner that he had taken us there himself and would be asking for a touting fee (thus increasing our room price). We soon put stop to that, and the owner offered us a pleasant room for 150 Rps – buckets of hot water were free. We were learning the tricks! We washed and then went to the Kwality Restaurant for a well-deserved pig out. I ate a mixed grill of every kind of meat I could get – to make up for my lack of it over the past few days!

The Taj was built under order of the Emperor Shahjehan as a memory to his beloved wife, Mumtaz.

This huge marble structure was started in 1631 AD and took 22 years to finish, with an estimated 20,000 people working on it. This enchanting mausoleum, on the banks of the Yamuna River must be classed as one of the wonders of the world, and is still the most magnificent building I have ever seen.

We went there early to avoid the bulk of the crowds and spent quite a few hours there just taking everything in, wandering around the pleasant gardens. It’s one of those places that is hard to describe and is quite hidden away behind the huge gates and surrounding buildings.

We stayed quite a few days in Agra. The Taj Ganj area, where our hotel was located, was quite pleasant, but moving out of that area resulted in lots of aggravation. The touts and rickshaw drivers were well used to tourists and some were quite nasty. We did, however manage to do quite a lot.

We visited the huge Red Fort, which took almost a day to get around. It’s starting to decay quite badly (typical Indian neglect unfortunately), but was very interesting. It was built in 1565 by Akbar (Sharjehan’s Granddad), and added to over the years. It contains many interesting buildings.

We also teamed up with some other backpackers and took a day trip to the ancient site at Fatephur Sikri, about 40 km out of Agra. It’s another ancient city, also built by the Mogul Emperor Akbar at the same time as the Red Fort. Built as his capital city it flourished for years, but due to a shortage of water and general unrest in the area, the city was eventually abandoned. It’s well worth visiting.

The Taj Mahal is the ultimate tribute to love. As well as the magnificence of the building itself, the whole reason for it being built and the romance surrounding it made us decide it was a good spot to get engaged.. so we did. We shopped around for an engagement ring and eventually found the one we wanted, but the shop owner was not going to sell it for a reasonable price, so the haggling began. We couldn’t agree on a price and ended up walking out of the shop. The next time we walked past the owner would drag us back in. This happened many times – each time the price would change, more tea would be drunk, and the head was shaken side-to-side.

Then, eventually, two days, dozens of cold drinks and gallons of tea later, we agreed on a price and the sale was completed. We were overjoyed. The owner was overjoyed and it seemed everyone in the district knew that we had bought the ring. People would be walking out of nearby shops or houses saying, "You got the ring – congratulations".

We celebrated that night with chow mien (!) in a tiny restaurant, beer poured from a teapot (the restaurant didn’t have a license), and the view of the Taj Mahal.

The Journey South                  34 hours on a train

We decided to head down to Bombay and get to Goa for some serious relaxation. India starts to grind you down after a few weeks of travel and we felt we needed to rest up. The best option for us was the 2^nd class sleeper on the Dadar Express to Bombay.

We arrived at Agra Fort train station at 10:30 p.m. – nice and early for our midnight departure. The station was packed full but we found some floor space on our platform and waited for our train. Every time a train arrived we enquired whether it was the Dadar Express. Indian people don’t like to say "I don’t know" so they either shake their head from side to side (something I eventually found myself doing when asked a question wanted to say "I’m not sure" or "it might be"), said "yes – this is the train" or "no – next train". It was quite confusing, but we took the majority vote (no) and stayed put. Trains came and went. None of them was the Dadar Express. We waited and waited… and waited.

At around 4:00 am our train finally arrived. Only four hours late - quite punctual for long-distance Indian trains I was told. We found our carriage and located our berths to find they were occupied. I showed the Indian man in my bunk my ticket and he tried to "shoo" me away. This was a mistake. I lost my temper for the first time in India and dragged him from my seat, along with a woman who was in Dibs bunk and another woman (who was totally innocent - I apologised profusely!).

So, we got our bunks and slept for a while. We were sitting opposite an old Indian couple who were quiet but friendly. There were three bunks on each side of the cubicle and then during the day the middle bunk folded down to form a bench to sit on. The train was not air-conditioned but the temperature was Ok and the only real fault was that there was only two sinks and two toilets (a room at each end with a hole in the floor) for all 72 passengers. The toilet was disgusting.

The train passed through long stretches of countryside and I spent many hours sitting with the carriage door open, waving at children or just watching the scenery pass by. The rest of the time we read or chatted to people, or just daydreamed.

One mistake we made was not buying food. At every stop, whether night or day, the carriage would be filled with the noise of "chai chai chai" from the tea vendors or "garam garam garam" from the peanut vendors. The India tea – hot, sweet and milky, really kept me going (Dibs didn’t like it), but peanuts were hardly enough to keep us going. Every time the train stopped I would dash off onto the platform in search of food, but our carriage was at the very rear of the train and every time I got near to one of the vendors selling fruit and other treats, the train would start to pull away! The old Indian couple kindly shared some food with us, but we were getting pretty hungry. Luckily, at the first major stop at Bhopal, 16 hours or so later, the train pulled in for half an hour and we stocked up on fruit, bread and water.

Bombay              A different vision.

The journey turned out to be very long. The train travelled through the following night and half of the next day - 34 hours in total. We got to Dadar station – a suburb of Bombay, and then huddled onto a local train into VC station. Once there we took a cab – the first one we had ever used in India, to the area called Colaba. The taxi driver was quite nonchalant and turned his meter on without asking - unheard of up until now.

Once in Colaba we walked around until a tout spotted us and took us to a hotel. It was the Kerawala Chambers guesthouse. We had a double room, with a small bathroom and a HOT shower for 350 Rps. Expensive, but this was Bombay. We took full advantage of our first hot shower for four weeks, and then wandered around Bombay.

It was strange to see Indian women dressed in western clothing and such a cosmopolitan feel. This really was different from anywhere we’d been so far. We were really hungry for a good feed and headed straight to the Leopold Bar. We ate huge amounts of western food - chicken, chips and I enjoyed a jug of London Pilsner beer. Later on we ate even more (making up for our lack of food on the train), with a visit to Woodside Pizza – excellent stuff.

We milled around in Bombay for a couple of days. We did all the stuff that we wanted to do in a big city – collected our post, posted some stuff back to England, bought our flight ticket to Goa (£17 for a single) and did some banking. It was nice to be in a relatively modern environment and we did a bit of necessary shopping.

We did a half-hour cruise of the harbour and looked around Indian gate.

GOA                 Very very nice – cheap price.

Our early morning flight to Goa left on time and only took 40 mins. As we came in to land all I could see were palm trees and ocean.

We didn’t really have a plan for Goa, other than to try to rent a house for a month or so. We met up with another English guy on the plane and we all decided to share a taxi to Colva – a "resort" in southern Goa. The ride to Colva took us through palm groves and paddy fields until we arrived at Colva beach – a huge stretch of pure white beach.

As it was November there were plenty of rooms available and we took one at the Rioz cottages, which seemed quite nice. Very quiet, just out of town and right on the beach. Our first wander onto the beach was wonderful. We seemed a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of Agra or Bombay and it was quite empty. The odd hawker or fruit seller stopped to try and sell us their wares, but we just wandered around all afternoon. In the evening we walked to a beach shack and sat eating fresh seafood, watching the waves roll in and sipped the cheapest beer in India (15p for a large bottle). Luxury!

Finding a house

The next day we hired a motor scooter from a youth in Colva, and travelled round the area looking at various towns, villages and resorts.

Riding the scooter was a real eye opener. I don’t have much experience of motorbikes, and although it was easy to handle, the quality of the roads and the bad driving techniques of other drivers made it pretty scary at times. The quiet back roads and beach roads were usually OK, but the main road running North – South was a nightmare, as was driving round the capital, Panaji.

It appeared that there weren’t many houses available for rent, as was the case years ago, as most locals had converted them into rooms to make more money. We did see plenty of places though, but we decided that we quite liked the Colva area and that we would concentrate on staying there. Many of the northern beaches like Vagator and Anjuna were a bit "hippy-fied" and other areas were just tourist resorts. Colva seemed just right.

On our way back through Panaji a Policeman, standing next to his motorbike, tried to flag me down. Although I had an International Driving licence I had heard so many stories that the Police will find some faults and extort money from you. So, I rode straight past him. I looked back and saw him clambering onto his (much bigger) motorbike, so I increased my speed. A car pulled up by the side of me and the passenger said "You must stop – it’s the police", then a minibus pulled up and someone shouted "Keep going – it’s the Police – be quick"!! I decided on the latter and we sped off into the maze of streets in Panaji. After a while we turned back and rode home.

The day had been very hot and I didn’t have a hat. I paid the price when we got back to Colva. All of a sudden I felt sick and dizzy. I started to sweat profusely and shiver, so we jumped on the bike to head back to our room. We only made it half way and I proceeded to puke my guts up on the roadside whilst still riding the bike (much to the anger of the fishermen who were drying their nets on the roadside at the same time!). I got back, drank a few litres of water and jumped in the shower for a half an hour. Two hours later I was back to normal – drinking Kingfisher beer and eating fresh Pomfret (the local fish) on the beach!

The following day we continued our quest to find accommodation and eventually we found a nice little house, next to a new house, which was available. The owners lived in the new house and rented us the old place for 80 Rps (£1.60) per night. This included two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. It was basic but in an ideal location. Situated amongst coconut palms it was 5 minutes walk through sand dunes to the beach, 5 minutes walk to a local bar/restaurant and about 15 minutes walk to the nearest town of Colva.

We agreed to stay for a month. The owners were very quiet, but pleasant and kept themselves to themselves. There was a Mum and Son (Anthony), the Dad was apparently working overseas, and Granny – who was a weird wiry old lady, who spent most of her time sweeping up or brewing up the local firewater- coconut fenny. We also took on ownership of a Dog – Brown Dog – who was friendly and relatively flea-free. He automatically took a liking to me and followed me everywhere, chasing wild pigs away, and guarding our door night and day. He did tend to bark a bit during the night and slobbered over us whenever we returned… but he was a good dog.

Taking it easy

We negotiated a deal to rent a scooter for a month from a young lad called Mario at 90 Rps a day.

Now we had accommodation and transport we could relax, and that’s what we did – and I can honestly say that Goa is a great place for it.

We became very friendly with the family who ran the local bar – the Rosmans’. The bar was small and friendly and Mr Rosman cooked us up fantastic food at night – usually fresh seafood (Pomfret, Kingfish, Shark or Prawns) or some hot prawn Marsala. All of this was washed down with lashing of cold Kings beer or the local Port, which was dirt-cheap at 60p a bottle. We soon befriended other travellers who were living around the area and before long we had quite a large group – usually meeting at The Rosman Bar in the evening or strolling along the beach to Colva. This group included:

John and Denise (American)

London John

Danny (from Manchester)

Sam (German)

We also met a really nice Danish couple called Soern and Melina. We were wandering across the rice fields when a group of water buffalo decided it would be fun to charge us. As we ran we saw Soern and Melina oblivious to the whole thing, so we shouted at them and they ran with us. They only had a week longer in Colva, but we spent most of the time together and had some heavy drinking sessions at the Rosman bar – even though there was a prohibition on due to local elections. On their last evening we arranged a special dinner and had the most lavish feast of Tiger prawns and other fresh seafood – courtesy of Mr Rosman of course!

Most of our days were spent relaxing on the beach and travelling around on our motor scooter. We spent a few days in the cities of Panaji and Margao – posting things or collecting mail (or doing other city type things) and we took a trip up to Anjuna flea market – which is held weekly. The market is a really busy place with a mix of Asian traders and Hippies (and would-be Hippies). Most of the stuff being sold was at inflated prices, but the atmosphere was good, the food was exciting and we tried different stuff like Yak cheese. I even paid to have my ears cleaned by a "qualified" ear cleaner (much to Dibs dismay!). it didn’t hurt and he managed to produce lots of little stones and balls of sand from my lugs. I suspect it was all a con.

The beach near to our house was beautiful and quiet most of the time, but the local hawkers constantly pestered us. Most of them were children aged between 8 and 15 and provided us with many laughs. We bought the odd item of clothing from some of them and struck up a deal with a couple of fruit sellers. Everyday, Fatima (a young bossy Muslim girl) would bring us a fresh pineapple and Reshma (a real sweetie) would bring us oranges and maybe a coconut. We would buy them food and drinks and play in the seas with them. I got the feeling their parents treated them pretty badly and they seemed to enjoy attention and a bit of fun.

Colva was the main local town and we often popped down there for a beer or supplies. One evening we decided to eat at quite a "posh" place called "Joecons" – right on the beach. It was packed and we ended up sitting with three very friendly English lads. Our entertainment was provided by a woman (who obviously used to be a man), who turned up wearing a scanty little red bikini. I don’t know which was more funny – the "woman" or the looks on the Indian waiters faces!

Dibs treated herself at a local Beauty Parlour one afternoon. She had about 3 hours of pampering for a couple of quid.

Crash

One day we biked into Panaji to check our post, get a few supplies and do some banking. Everything went pretty smoothly, but on the way home we had an accident. We were driving down a hill, and when we turned a bend we were greeted by a slick of oil, which some truck had just spewed out. The bike just flipped – we didn’t have a chance to do a thing. Luckily there were no vehicles around and we were driving fairly slowly but we skidded down the hill. I was fine – just a few cuts, but Dibs was cut up and shook up pretty badly. Some friendly locals appeared for nowhere and helped us out, and calmed us down. One guy sprayed Dibs with Soda Water, which seemed to sort her out, but she still, puked up – shock I suppose. The locals were all pretty cool about it – I’m sure they are used to accidents.

The bike was bent up a bit but we managed to straighten it out and ride back home.

The first aid stuff, which my Mum gave me, came in very handy that afternoon, and we managed to clean Dibs up without visiting a Doctor (which was our main fear – most people who went to the Doctor or Hospital ended up in worse condition).

We decided that we’d hand the bike back. The roads are just too risky.

That evening, as I was sitting outside the Rosman Bar, Mario (the lad who I had rented the bike from) turned up. Somehow he had heard about the accident and wasn’t too pleased. I told him I didn’t want the bike anymore. We walked down to get the bike and assess the damage and all of a sudden a mate of his appeared. He wanted lots of money as "compensation" but I just told him to forget it – I’d pay the price for the repairs (which were minor – I’d already got a mechanic to have a look). He got really upset and shouting ensued. He kept threatening me with his big brother and even a little bit of a scuffle started. At that moment, my trusty mate, Brown dog, appeared and got stuck into them. For a while I thought Brown Dog was going to rip them apart, but he only sunk his teeth in a bit and they scarpered. Brown Dog returned, wagging his tail and looking very happy with himself!

Later on, Mario returned and I paid him 350 Rps. This, in addition with the money in advance I had already given to him (plus a full tank of petrol) was easily enough. He mumbled and moaned and went off looking unhappy, but that was the end of that.

Dibs injuries healed up fairly quickly and we soon started to laugh about the whole thing. We spent the days swimming, eating fresh seafood and reading. In fact we were getting through so many books that we were struggling to find good ones.

Christmas

By now it was a week before Christmas, and people were starting to arrive for their holidays. A good friend of ours, Nick, had arranged to come and see us, and a week before Christmas he arrived. We picked him up at Dabolim airport in a Rickshaw. It cost 170 Rps for the round trip – which seemed reasonable. It was great to see him and after settling him into his new home for the next few weeks we headed straight to the bar to chat over a few cold Kingfisher lagers.

After a few boozy laid-back days with our new gang of friends we decided it was about time we did something, so we took the bus into Old Goa. I was very surprised at how nice this place was – quite a few Churches and Cathedrals, including the very impressive Basilica de Bom Jesus – which holds the body of St Francis Xavier. We were really lucky that this year they were holding the festival known as "The Feast of St Francis Xavier", which only happens once every 10 years and involved bringing the body of poor old St Francis from his tomb for people to see! He was quite a sight after so many hundreds of years. Accompanying this spectacle is a big festival, so the town was extra busy with stalls, food, beggars and general religious stuff.

On the 23^rd December after another not very strenuous day doing nothing, London John and I decided we’d have a bit of a piss-up. We did this – touring the bars on the beaches in Colva and stumbling back to our house sometime in the early hours of the morning. Not being used to drinking so much I struggled for most of Christmas Eve, but we had a great Christmas Eve night. The whole gang and a few others met up at Rosmans bar and we all ventured into Colva. We had a good laugh with the local Kashmiri traders – pretending we were going to buy stuff from their stalls when they pestered us (as usual) with "Come and have a look – nice things". They saw the funny side of it though.

We visited quite a few bars on the beach which had set-up little discos & apart from the odd rowdy bunch of Indians on holiday from Bombay, we had a really good time.

At midnight all the local Goan’s disappeared to Midnight Mass, and then returned to a big tent which had been set-up in the town centre for a "dance". We went in and watched the locals doing their thing for a while. The music was really weird – ballroom dancing one minute then "rave" music the next! What a laugh.

On Christmas day we went to Rosmans bar for a great fry-up Breakfast and then met up at the Aguar guesthouse with the rest of the gang for a self-prepared Christmas Buffet – which was basically a huge "Prawn fest". I don’t know how many kilos of fresh prawns we ate or how many glasses of local plonk, but everyone was in a merry mood the following day. In the evening we phoned home and spoke to our parents.

New Year

During the week between Christmas and New Year we worked out our various on-going travel options and tried to pull ourselves out of the relaxed life we’d been living for the past month and get back into travel-mode. Nick had to be back in Bombay for 8^th Jan so we didn’t have much time.

After looking at all the options and finding out that lots of planes and trains were booked solid; we decided we’d take a boat from Goa to Bombay. We were initially told everything was booked solid, but after a little baksheesh, options became available to us. We booked the boat – a fast Catamaran – for 6^th Jan and also a flight from Varanasi to Kathmandu on the 18^th Jan. Sorted!

The New Year celebrations in Colva were very busy and quite impressive. Lots of people flooded into the resorts and discos were set-up on the beach and in the dunes. We had another mega "Prawn Fest" with our friends and generally had a lot of fun. Dibs, unfortunately, stayed in with a bad case of the runs.

On New Years day we went to a Bullfight in the field next to where we lived. All the locals seemed to be there and we didn’t really know what to expect. It turned out to be very exciting. The fights are bull versus bull or water buffalo versus water buffalo. The beasts are led into a ring (which we were also penned into) and released, usually after their owners had "excited" them by ramming their fist up their arse! They usually ran straight at each other, sometimes hitting each other head-on at high speed with an ear-splitting crack. They wrestled with their horns until one would give up. The proud winner would then chase the loser around the ring, which was when it became very dangerous. Hundreds of people running around whilst two bulls went on the rampage. I freely admit that after a couple of fights I was so scared that we retreated to the Rosman bar for a very large drink!

Back to Bombay

The day we packed and left Goa was a sad one in many ways. We’d made so many friends and had such a good time. On the other had, we were moving onto new things and most of the new friends we’d made had already left to continue their journey, or were leaving soon. The day we left, Friday 6^th Jan 1995, it started to rain. The first rain we had seen since leaving England two and a half months ago.

We took a taxi to Panaji for 200 RPS and arrived at the Damania shipping terminal with time to spare. When we "checked in" we were told "fare increase – please pay another five dollars". I couldn’t believe it – they had increased the fare and wanted us to pay extra – even though we’d already purchased out tickets. What a cheek. I wondered how many countries in the world they would get away with that! After a good argument we decided it was either a case of pay up or stay in Goa. So we paid the extra.

The Boat trip was good. The Catamaran was very smooth and well equipped and we followed the coast for about ten hours up to Bombay. I even saw a whale about 50 yards from my window. Dibs suffered from seasickness for most of the way.

On arrival we were disorientated and tired and took a taxi to the Colaba area to find a hotel. The taxi driver and his colleague wanted a massive 200 Rps for the five-minute journey, which we refused to pay. They tried every trick in the book and got very abusive. Dibs – who wasn’t in the mood for this after her sickly journey – lashed out in Hindi/Punjabi and English and eventually a crowd gathered, most of which took our side, and the angry taxi driver and co-pilot eventually left with 50 Rps. This was still a good fare I reckon, but obviously they were used to ripping off unsuspecting tourists. They weren’t happy and made threats to "come back and get us"!

It was now quite late and all the hotels we tried were full. In the end a young boy took us to the "India Guest House", which is a run down and fairly grotty place. The rooms are divided by thin walls – which are only half the height of the ceiling, but it was OK and at 260 Rps per night probably the cheapest we’d get in Bombay.

We spent a couple of days in Bombay with Nick before he departed for England. We sorted out our onward train tickets, collected our post, posted parcels and all that kind of stuff. We also visited the Prince of Wales Museum, which was really good and has a great natural history section. We even found out what the small frogs in Goa were called (I can’t remember now) and that they were poisonous!

In the evenings we ate well and celebrated good times and friendship with plenty of alcohol. One bar in Colaba – the Voodoo Bar – was a real eye opener. I wasn’t sure if it was a gay bar, or whether the lack of women and the amount of alcohol the men were drinking was turning them that way!

We left Bombay on the 10:30 p.m. sleeper train from Victoria Terminus (VT) station to Aurangabad. V.T. station is huge and was heaving with people. Total chaos, but our train left on time. The 2^nd class sleeper carriage was clean and seemed to be full of friendly people, who offered us food and conversation.

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