No news is good news

At least, that's what I'm telling myself with regards to Pars Tourist Agency. Having changed the format of the scanned copies of mine and Will's passports and re-sent them, I have heard nothing.

However, I thought that although I have nothing new to post here (apart from the actual realisation of how inflexible I really am - Yoga HURTS), I would just put up some pretty pictures and draw your attention to the new link on the left. Defying my illiteracy with computers, I believe I have managed to set up a Google Maps page that should chart my progress home. I'll try and keep it updated, but will apologise now for the many lapses that will occur.


Hindi me (after visiting a temple)


The mighty Ganga (with Laxman Jhula, where I'm staying, across the bridge to the right of the photo)





I don't know which is worse...


About the only place so far that's away from the ubiquitous horn. I found this village about 45min up a steep path near another waterfall.

Stage 1 - Rishekesh

Day 1: Delhi-Muzaffarnagar (143.9km)
Day 2: Muzaggarnagar-Rishekesh (110.6km)

At 2pm on Thursday 22nd of November, 230km after setting off from Delhi, I started cycling up my first hill. That about sums up the plains of India. That and sugar cane and the incessant honking of horns.

I departed Delhi at 07.15 on Wednesday morning. It was a little later than I was hoping becuase although I had mentioned in my previous missive that my wheels were pumped, I was in fact lying. They weren't. This coupled with a mad search through all 4 of my pannier bags to find my pump delayed my leaving by about 30min. Not the start of dreams, but the type of which I am fast becoming aquainted.


After 15km I had left the environs of Delhi, but it took a full 70km of almost flawless asphalt road before I started thinking that I had escaped the smog. It was nice to finally believe that the air I was breathing was not slowly killing me and I decided to start taking stock of my surroundings. This soon became a bit tedious given that everything around me was sugarcane. In total, over the two days, I must have cycled past 150km of sugarcane fields. At one point, I thought I passed a field of maize, but I realised that it was just a trick of my mind to break the monotony; it was indeed sugarcane.


Having passed about 50 sugar refineries, I decided to stop off at just one. These were not monstrous buildings of steel, but smallscale affairs, where the cane was brought on carts pulled by water buffallo. The cane is crushed to release cane juice, which passes through three pans where the water evaporates off leaving a paste that tastes just like Scottish tablet. It is the discarded fibre of the cane that is used to fuel the fire under the pans. All in all, nearly a completely zero-carbon affair (was just one tractor powering the crusher). I was given a cup of the raw cane juice that, although making feel sick after 1 and a half cups, helped me on my way over the next few kilometres.

If the countryside was tedious, the people were not. At every village I stopped at I was surrounded by curious onlookers who appear never to have seen a bike with gears, let alone a fully laden one carrying a white guy. I get raced by kids and adults alike on their bikes and have even had payment for chai (tea) refused at a chai stall.

Arriving into Muzaffarnagar was a bit of a nightmare. I was racing the setting sun and appeared to have an inability to remember its name (this made asking for directions a tiny bit tricky). "I go Muzaf..." and just hope that whoever I was asking would fill in the gaps. I got a lot of blank faces. Even now, I can't tell people where I stayed without looking at a map.

I woke up the second day at 03.40, smug in the knowledge that although feeling well rested, I still had 2hrs 20 left to sleep. Then I realised that it was not lights on outside my room, but daylight. It was in fact 07.15; the clock I had bought not 12hrs earlier had decided to stop working. On my bike and off I went; again surrounded by sugarcane and the smell of its evaporating juice.

Just passed Rishekesh I was accosted by some Babas (some kind of holy men - they said they were not Hindi but sanskrit; I just nodded my head and smiled). Decided that a rest was in order, so lay down as one of them chanted "ohm" over me and encouraged me to expel the negative energy through my hands and feet. After 5min, I must say that I did feel quite revived. After 30min in their company I decided to decline remaining with them, sleeping in their temple and discarding all material possessions and made my way towards my guesthouse.

A quick dip in the Ganges and I was done for the evening. Time to relax and check internet...

"Dera Kieran
Hope to have good Day
We cant open your mail pplease4 send it for us with diferent format.
With Best Regards
Pars Tourist Agency"

Maybe not!

At least I have a week here to sort things out, start some Yoga, do some swimming, visit some waterfalls. Then it's off to Dharamsala.





Camel on road from Delhi



Buffalo carrying sugar cane to the refinery


Raddishes being washed in river






Shiva statue near Haridwar (25km south of Rishekesh)

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes/"Hi Will, Bye Will"

I'd like to say that that David Bowie song has been running through my head all day, but given the fact that I don't know the lyrics and am amusical in all sense of the word (even if it is maybe a made up word!), it has just been that little segment. However, that should not take away from the pace of change that has just occurred.

Following our disappointing visit to the delightful Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran, it was looking that we were to remain in Delhi in perpetuance. Though with just one day passed I have the pleasure to announce that my bags are packed, my wheels are fully pumped and primed, and I am departing tomorrow morning.

That is correct, the trip is about to commence.

The reason for this sudden change in circumstances all comes down a wonderful tour company called Pars Tour Agency (www.key2persia.com - that address and name is not for you back home to "add to favourites", but for any other keen travellers out there and using google that are having difficulty getting into Iran). It's a long way from being finalised, but they now have our details and should be applying to Tehran for a magic 6 digit code that they then email to us, whereupon we return to the friendly man in the window of the embassy, and he smiles warmly upon us as he sticks in a 30 day visa into our maroon passports.

That is the theory. But theory and practice can't be much further removed than they are in India.

However, whatever the outcome shall be, it will not be learned for a full 10 days. So in the interim I am scedaddling out to the mountains for some cool, crisp air. I am heading to Rishekesh - a place that is only a word to most of you, but that is about 200km NE of Delhi.

I leave at 6.30am tomorrow and am doing this leg on my lonesome. Will's bike is in Dharamsala, so upon leaving Rishekesh I shall be making it poste haste to the home of the Dalai Lama to be reunited with Will

How do I feel...?

GOOD!

Living the Alchemist's Dream

It gets harder and harder not to draw at least some parallels between the past two weeks and the writings of good ol' Paulo (thank-you Adam for bringing it up). The path is easy to begin with and gets harder and harder as one continues.

After the surfacing of a Pakistani sponsor from the depths of Delhi, and the subsequent issuing of our Pakistani Visas it appeared fate was not tempted by my previous ramblings; however, with only 20 days to cross the entire country, some might argue that he shrugged a shoulder in our direction. Those minuscule facts aside, it appeared that nothing stood in our paths between Delhi and Turkey (at the very least). Iranian visas would be a breeze. There was no state of emergency, we had our snazzy letters of recommendation from our very own embassy and we weren't British or American. Visas being a formality, we would be fleeing the smog of Delhi [as above] in a matter of days to spend the crystal clear winter days in the refuge of the foothills of the Himalaya.

With this in mind, I did an extremely brave thing (some may say foolhardy - but I prefer brave) and took my bike for a spin around Delhi. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I actually cycled. With my departure imminent, I wanted to be sure that I knew my escape route, and I figured it prudent to discover this escape route "sans baggage" (as they say in France).

So...33km later, and exactly back from whence I started, I am pleased to announce that I have:
-found the road to Rishekesh
-traveled the Grand Trunk Road
-passed two elephants traveling the other way
-become dehydrated
-been smiled at and had my hand shaken at roundabouts
-complete and final proof of myself in India [see below of me with cow]
-calculated that, to date, if I was to end my trip now, and if my sponsors did not lynch me, and instead decided that WaterAid could keep their generous donations, that I would have raised 83.36 pounds for every kilometre. That's nearly 120 euro! (So thank you all so much to those that have sponsored; and to those that wish to, there is a link to the left)

And, most importantly, I have lived to tell the tale!



Such elation; such ease; it should have been easy to see the fall. But blinded by our luck to date, we arrived at the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran with smiles aplenty only for the best laid plans of men to be shattered by a simple statement uttered in total politeness: "You can only get 7 day Transit Visa".

And so, I shall leave it there. We have irons in the fire so to speak. All is not lost. There is more that one way to skin a cat (or skin a dead cat as I used to say, until I was corrected by Ollie). Plus, you're probably bored of reading, so below are another couple of photos





I did miss the elephants, but here's a cow on the Grand Trunk Road.










And here's a boat on the Yamuna (the 2nd most holy river in India, and one that conveniently flows near Delhi).

Hhhhmmmm

I am a firm non-believer in fate; we always have a choice. But situations sometimes arise that make me look twice at things. So, do I dare tempt fate by writing about it? Of course I do.

I have mentioned before the series of events that led up to me being in India, but in many ways that pales into significance compared to what has happened over the last few days.

A couple of years ago, a boy met some Indian girls and befriended them. Another boy (Will) befriended that first boy, and so too befriended those Indian girls. We shall leave that story for now.

After mine and Will's visit to the Irish embassy on Money we were filled with a degree of hope that once again, our overland trip may still be a reality and we could make it across Pakistan. However, on Tuesday morning, those feelings of good fortune were muted somewhat when, upon arrival at the Pakistan embassy, Will discovered that he had left his passport photographs behind, and so applying that day could not go ahead. Another minor blow was that one of the criteria on the visa form was the contact details of a willing sponsor within Pakistan who would vouch for our characters if required. This looked not quite as good as it had the day before.

We couldn't return to the hostel to pick up the photographs because Will had arranged to meet one of the aforementioned Indian girls in one of the regions of Delhi, and there was no time for the return trip. So we decided to mull our situation over throughout the day, and see what came up. I returned to our hostel, while Will met Akancha for lunch.

When we all met up for dinner, Will had a broad grin spread over is face. Over the course of the afternoon he had managed to get that sponsor in Karachi. It transpired that Akancha had mentioned one place for lunch, and Will another. They settled on Will's choice and on entering the restaurant, bumped into an old school friend of Akancha. It should be stated here that Delhi is a city of 13,782,976 souls (I have just found that out on Google, so it must be true), and the randomness is further compounded by the school being situated in a completely different state; these girls did not even have Delhi in common!!

Akancha's friend was not staying in Delhi (i.e. on that day there was at least 13,782,979 in Delhi), she had arrived that day, and was leaving that evening on a flight to...Pakistan, her home country. On hearing our predicament, she gave Will the details of her father in Kerachi who could act as our contact, and invited us to stay if we go down that far. She also says that reports of the situation are blown out of proportion by the media, and it is not nearly as bad as what is portrayed.

So now we are playing the waiting game. Our passports are in, our letter of recommendation from the Irish Embassy is in, our contact in Pakistan is in. Come Friday 4pm, it is possible we shall be in posession of our brand spanking new visas. But, now that I have written that, maybe not.

(the photo is of Will having his application form typed out, in front of the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan)

Where to go? Where to go?

After 5 days in India I find myself (and Will of course) at a crossroads. Not a literal one: that would be easy, I have today bought some maps, and a cursory glance at them could easily rectify that dilly of a pickle. No, this is a metaphorical crossroads, and as such is that little bit harder to sort out.

The situation in Pakistan looks to be less than perfect. There appears to be some unrest in certain areas. Upon my arrival in India, Will and I decided that perhaps the best option would be to fly from Delhi to Dubai, take a ferry to south Iran before cycling up the length of the country into Turkey. It would be a shame since it would mean not completing a section of the journey by road, but we decided our safety came first (which of course it does).

So why the crossroads?

From talking to other travelers (or, more accurately, from emailing other travelers) both in Pakistan and Iran, it would seem that the overland trip through Pakistan is not quite a lost cause. Everyone agrees that to do the trip by bicycle would be unwise, but trains are another story. It should be possible to get a train from Lahore to Quetta, and another one from there onto Zanhidan in Iran. Once there, we could quickfoot it out of Baluchistan (area that straddles the two countries) on the back of a bus, before continuing the journey correctly on two wheels.

With this in mind, we made our way to the friendly Irish embassy in Delhi, where we (to our surprise) managed to get letters of recommendation to enter Pakistan and Iran with very little hassle.

So, this is now where we stand. There is the possibility that tomorrow morning at the Pakistan embassy, we shall be granted Visas to enter their country. Once this happens, we have the decision to either go ahead with an overland trip, or turn tails and fly to Dubai. I guess crossroads is the wrong analogy, it's more a T-junction!

In the meantime, both to acclimatise myself to my bicycle and to make up some of those lost miles in Pakistan, I shall be doing a small loop of India. More on this to follow; I can't reveal all my secrets at once.

Just to prove that I am actually in India, and not just writing these from my hideaway in County Donegal, here is a picture of the typical Delhi road: one along which I shall probably have to cycle in about 3 days. Yay!

And, for those doubting Thomas's still out there, yes it is true that anyone could have taken the picture, but further proof shall follow. I promise you that.

Idiot Boy

It is official. Many of you probably already know this, but I am a tool! It's like I actually set out to make life difficult for myself, and I'm not even talking about the cycling aspect of this trip. No, that can wait for a bit, I overcomplicate issues just getting out to India.

You'd have thought that I would have learnt from my swift departure from Dublin. Sitting on the computer, trying to find my airline receipt, when I finally decide to actually check the time of my ferry and find out that far from it leaving at 11.30 as I had thought, it was actually 11.10 - this was at the prepared time of 10.15, giving me just 25min to get my panniers on my bike (yes, there weren't even there yet!), hop aboard, pedal the 3 miles down to Dun Laoghaire, say goodbye to mum and Eoin, and check in. I did make it, but there wasn't much standing around.

So, when I finally did manage to get my hands on my e-ticket and see that my plane left at 09.45, you might just think that I'd have the sense to check it. You would, of course, be wrong. Why check it when it's right there in front of you? Why indeed.

I was a little disconcerted and flummexed to see on arrival at the airport that there was no 09.45 plane to Delhi - only an 08.45 one...that was now closed. But no worries, things work out - they always do. So I found myself on the 10am plane to Mumbai, with a link to Delhi the following morning. Sorted.

Unfortunately, things are never that easy in my life, so I found myself standing at the carasoull at 2am watching the same 3 bags go round, and round, and round, and round. My box, and of course, my bike inside, was nowhere to be found. It was about now that I started to curse my lacadaisacal attitude towards getting travel insurance. I meant to get, I really did, it just seemed to take a bit of a back seat to all my other "preparations". But, as it turned out, after a brief altercation with the friendly Air India staff, another trailer of cargo from flight AI124 was found and there appeared my box (I was luckier than other people on that flight).

From here I then discovered from my guardian angel Max (a guy from North India, working in LA, who missed the 08.45 plane because he was pissed and so was making the same route as me) that far from the 05.40 plane being direct to Delhi, it stopped off at about 3 other locations before landing in Delhi, so we (there was actually about 6 of us making the same trip) all stood in queue for about an hour and a half, being pushed out of the way by other desperate (more pushy) travellers. Until finally, at 05.45 we secured seats on the 06.00 flight to Delhi. Of course, we still had to check in our bags and clear security, but I'd grown more confident in my queue-jumping abilities, so just strode to the front of the line, went through the metal detector, ran down to the gate and managed to pass through the gates at 05.58.

The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful: fell asleep, almost left my passport on the plane (my neighbour pointed out that it was on the ground), you know the normal kind of flight. So now, 11hrs after I should have arrived, I'm finally here. And so, after all that, do you know who I blame for all of this? Those damned lazy farmers. It was them and their daylight saving malarky that created this fiasco.

Nothing to do with me...