(by guest writer: Frederick)
I was young and keen to explore the world. Living in Belgium at the time, the plan took shape to organise a trip to India, where I would meet my younger brother from Australia. My mother, who was recently divorced, wanted to join us for part of the trip, so her and I decided to fly to New Delhi, where we would meet my brother.
Apart from traveling and living in a Kibbutz for three months in Israel, I had never travelled outside of Europe and was very naïve about what to expect to encounter in other parts of the world. In the eighties, travel was very different from what it is now. No mobile phones with instant information about anything you want, so we had to rely on Lonely Planet travel guides to find hotels, book air and bus tickets, and other vital information. A backpack would include a passport, printed air tickets, lots of money in cash and traveller cheques (worn in a money belt on the body and concealed under clothing), a camera with film, clothes, a padlock and an address book to contact friends and relatives while being away.
Communication took a long time, and one had to rely on aerograms, consisting of a flimsy thin blue sheet of lined paper which you could fold and glue together, write the address on the outside, to mail it at the nearest post office box. The recipient had to wait between 10 days and three weeks to receive the letter, and if he or she wanted to answer, you would have to give a PO Box address of the general post office of the city where you expected to be in 2-3 weeks’ time, to collect your mail. Landlines were the go for reservations, and coin fed phone booths were a common thing, unless you could ring for a charge at your hotel.
Travel was immersing yourself in the experience, without much chance to tell your adventures to others, and dealing with many unexpected things along the way. Backpack travellers would pass on information through word of mouth or via notice boards at youth hostels or cheap hotels where they were staying, and television and newspapers provided the rest. People would be without contact for weeks to months, and there was no expectation to constantly check on the safety of friends or loved ones.
As westerners we attracted a lot of attention, especially a mother with her two sons was something that generated a lot of questions and popularity, in a country where family is so highly valued. Many times, this resulted in wonderful spontaneous contacts with Indians who offered us chai and wanted nothing more than a chat about where we came from etc. Judging people’s intensions was a real art, because many also wanted to offer us something in return for money, and we were travelling low budget. We travelled for three weeks together, including going to Kathmandu in Nepal and a short mountain trek from Pokhara into the Himalayas with a mountain guide. Nepali people are far more relaxed than their Indian counterparts, and it was a relief to have a break from the hustle and bustle of Indian cities.
When we arrived at our summit destination after a solid day of mountain hiking, I got altitude sickness and fever, felt very weak, and decided to stay up there in the hotel to recover for a few days, while my mother and my brother headed down again the following day. I recovered after two days, and set out to descend the mountain back to Pokhara, from where I caught the bus back to the same hotel in Kathmandu, where I joined my travel companions.
The next part of our trip took us through Rajasthan, where we visited Jodhpur (the blue city), Jaipur (the pink city) and Udaipur (the yellow city), named after the colour of the houses. We decided to take a three-day trip through the desert, under guidance of a camel herder. Being away from cities and people, and sleeping under the stars, was an amazing experience. During the day, we were riding camels while our guide walked next to us; at dusk he would pick a camping spot and send us in search of firewood nearby. He would then cook us a very tasty meal of vegetable curry with chapatis and chai, leaving us wondering how he managed to do all this from the simple content of a linen bag.
After three weeks of adventures, we ended up in New Delhi where each of us was going their own way. My mother returned to Belgium, my brother wanted to see wildlife in Indian National Parks, and I was interested in visiting temples, so from then on, I was travelling on my own. I first went to Bodhgaya to see the famous tree under which Buddha received enlightenment. At that moment, a Buddhist religious festival was happening there for a few days, and I wanted to stay for more than a day.
I had not reserved any tent accommodation, and everything was booked out. I was unsure what to do, but some Tibetan people offered me a small corner in their tent and I was immensely grateful for receiving shelter and relative safety, free of charge. It started to rain, and a dry spot was more than welcome to stay out of trouble. They also shared some food with me. They didn’t speak much English, so we were not able to make much conversation, but they certainly kept me safe. What struck me at this religious festival was that everyone had a lot of fun: there was music, chanting, dancing and praying. Buddhism was a real celebration, where people were happy and not taking themselves too seriously. What a refreshing attitude!
Next, I went to Varanasi, the pilgrimage place of Hindus who want to bathe in the holy river Ganges, named after the Hindu goddess Ganga. The view of thousands of Hindus gathering along the riverbanks is a spectacular sight. I witnessed not only people bathing, but also several funerals, where the deceased are placed on a large pile of wood, and then the body is burnt in the open air. It was an impression hard to forget: sadhus meditating, people chanting, young and old bathing in the river, against a backdrop of steps and temples, incense and music. I stayed in a small hotel not far from the river, in one of the back alleys. I had arrived late the day before and had to trust a stranger who was guiding me to the hotel. In the narrow back streets, you never know what might await you around the corner, but I arrived there safely, checked in, went to bed, without taking too much notice of the name of the hotel or its exact location. My local excursion to the riverbank was never a problem, but the day I went to the train station to buy a ticket for my next destination things didn’t go to plan. As I had done before, I took enough money to pay for the ticket plus some extra change for catching a rickshaw in case I needed it, and left the rest of my belongings in my hotel. I set out by foot, and after a long walk I reached the central train station. I purchased my ticket and reserved my seat. After that, I wanted to return to the hotel, because it was hot, and I was tired. But…. what was the name of my hotel again? I had no idea. I tried hard to remember it, and conjured up a name that I thought must have been it, and asked a rickshaw driver to take me there. The man set off, so I thought it must have been the right name. But when we arrived back at the Ganges, he stopped and asked me where to now? I panicked. I decided to get off there and then, paid him for his fare and started walking along the river, hoping to find some landmark I could recognise once I would be close to the hotel. I walked for a long time in the right direction, meanwhile wondering if I had locked my travel bag and my room, which made me feel even worse. All my money was left behind, possibly unprotected. Finally, after 2 or 3 km, I found the hotel and went to check my belongings. Although my bag was left unlocked, luckily everything was still there. Stayed out of trouble once again, thanks to a good dose of luck.
Travelling in India alone was never easy, and there were many times when I didn’t feel like leaving my hotel because there are constantly people engaging with you to try and sell you something. A steep learning curve as a first country to go backpacking! After Varanasi, I went travelling south, by train or bus, and had many more interesting adventures.
India was quite a learning school to stay out of trouble: culture shock, unofficial money exchange, bargaining, illness (in Nepal), finding (and remembering) accommodation places, avoiding drug peddling, and of course food and drink precautions all the way along and taking activated charcoal tablets as a prevention when I felt some tummy rumbling coming on. A love and hate trip of extremes for three months with many adventures still etched in my memory today. But I managed to stay out of trouble!
Frederick
P.S. Pieter will publish the next post, “John Lysaght Australia” on Sunday morning, 20 July.
Nice story! Traveling certainly was much riskier back then.
Kind regards,
Bjorn