Last part of the journey: Northern Borneo and return to India.
Sarawak: Kuching, Bako and Kubah National Parks
Borneo happens to be the third-largest island in the world (this could turn into valuable knowledge during a pub quiz some time), comes with a very comfortable amount of human inhabitants (around 20,000,000, again: pure bliss compared to India) at roughly 743,330 km² and is home to one of two species of the orang utan (the other one native to Sumatra). It is split between the two Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah (in the north-west and north-east respectively) and Indonesian Kalimantan to the south.
Ever since I was traveling through Jawa, Bali and Nusa Tenggara in 2007 I eagerly wanted to step foot on Borneo and now eventually had my chance. When reading Anthony Kiedis' biography Scar Tissue in 2010 I came across his account of catching a tricky and quite uncomfortable disease while attempting to trek through the island (was it malaria? I don't quite remember), but that just made it more tempting if anything. It doesn't actually seem to be too easy to contract serious tropical diseases if you're not just dying for it; just use a good amount mosquito spray containing DEET in the evenings.
However, I lacked both the time, necessary preparation and trustworthy travel companion (slash good friend) to do anything as elaborate just now on this trip. Some other time; possibly in Kalimantan then - with the perspective of paradise jungle beaches on Sulawasi as some sort of reward (interested?).
Malaysia for now. After some 30 hours without sleep, lots of caffeine injections instead, various lovely short-talks, free biscuits, hanging out in some executive, high-class arrival hall with superb wi-fi and three consecutive flights I arrived in Kuching, the very likeable capital city of Sarawak, on November 27. Took me a while to escape the airport, though - there is no direct public transport connection, so the only reasonable ways are a shared (overpriced) cab or trying to catch a hitch. After failed attempts of the latter (and talking to many spiritless people) I finally managed to catch a taxi with some Malay kid from the mainland who was vaguely heading the same direction. After finding my way to Carpenter Street (Kuching's minor equivalent to Kolkata's Sudder St or Bangkok's Khao San Rd) I opted for the top shack on the list of Lonely Planet's 2007 copy, some backpacker's hostel which clearly has seen better days, but I was exhausted, it was cheap enough and (since I was the only guest) I had all bunks and mouldy toilets for myself. I actually managed to head out again for a little stroll, sleep-deprived as I was, and ended up buying weird souvenirs for friends - on the first day. Argh. Then I discovered a much more tempting and quite enchanting hostel alternative in the same street for the same price and still had a room for myself; I moved there right the next morning and headed off to explore. Two rather peculiar facts about Kuching:
- In the local language the city name translates into "cat" - hence you'll actually find various cat statues spread around the streets and they even put up a cat museum (obviously I didn't bother going inside; the statues, though, are certainly worth a picture - or ten).
- For some inexplicable reason shops, foodstalls and also the visitor's information centre are either closed throughout the weekend or open and close at utterly random times; one can never be sure - for once I was really keen for proper government-office information and couldn't get any.
Kuching waterfront.
Still, Kuching is a very amiable place to hang out; I was positively surprised. Walking along the waterfront is good for starters, then there are many crimson-tiled Chinese temples, very neat and clean parks, a superb museum that features a longhouse replica and good information on indigenous people and their culture (free entrance). Don't miss out on the Bahagian mosque in the early evening (the light creates a very inspiring atmosphere). It took me a while to find an internet café to properly edit the last travel notes about Sumatra, but the one I did find was owned by a Bosnian entrepreneur who delivered great underground knowledge about town. Shortly before returning to the hostel I met two Finnish girls and had a drink with them. They planned to see Bako National Park the following day - according to various sources Bako NP is supposed to be one of the most spectacular in the whole state; and even better: it's real close to the capital. Since it was on my little to-do list, I decided to join the two.
Before meeting the girls I had the most delightful breakfast in what was to become my favorite veggie restaurant on the whole trip (another big factor in my likening of Kuching): reasonably priced meals, creatively prepared and in a highly atmospheric environment. If you happen to end up in the city: let me know and I tell you where you find it.
Bako actually does come with two catches when thinking back of it:
- Despite it's proximity it's not exactly made for day trips: you have to take a bus from the city and then change for a boat to reach it (which in turn is dependent on the tides), so we ended up waiting for 3 hours or so. Some U.S. American lady was really keen to see the park just for the day and despite our early start (we were in the same bus) was forced to return to Kuching since she'd only have had an hour for seeing anything at all.
- You probably can't just pop up at the NP office and expect they'd have a spare bed for you. I didn't actually know about that (all damned visitor's centres were closed on Saturday), but got lucky since the girls booked a private room that came with three beds (yay!).
Once that was settled we headed off and almost got stuck in low tide - all part of the adventure, though, it's been a blast. Bako had it all: striking landscape (steep cliffs, thick rainforests, eerie-coloured rock formations that fairly looked like being from an alien planet) and a huge variety of amazing fauna and flora (e.g. the twistedly beautiful pitcher plant) which alone made it worth to come. Right after arrival at the beach we were welcomed by a huge bearded boar (which was part of a larger family hanging out around the park office/cafeteria), a bit later by various long-tailed macaque monkeys that looked both incredibly sweet and cheeky (bring plastic bags into their sight and you will soon very much regret a grave mistake).
We did three hikes in 2 days and every single one was a big success. The first was the longest one and the three of us were soon accompanied by a very adventurous looking Chilean lawyer named Antonio (I probably spoke more Spanish than German on this trip). Our goal was to reach some rather breathtakingly high cliffs and return to the camp before nightfall. While we made it to the cliffs in time to spot a huge lizard crawling along the beach below (wait, Komodo - again, right here!?) we clearly failed to avoid darkness and soon found ourselves wandering through dark rainforest - only equipped with a single torch - and I actually stumbled and fell into a dirt puddle at one point, completely ruining my clothes.
After getting some rest in the camp the four of us paid some 10 Ringgit each (~€2,50) and joined a night walk that lasted about 1,5 hours. Despite failing to see the popular slow loris I can't complain for all the other stuff we ran into (guided by two queer-humoured rangers) was incredibly exciting: a colourful curious-looking bird, giant ants and massively sized stick insects, black scorpions, various spiders (among them two tarantulas) and poisonous little frogs. One particularly frightful looking spider was busy protecting a huge egg and close-by we discovered something that looked like a wasp nest in the making; however, the guides failed to explain, but made sure we wouldn't stay too long.
For the final trip we needed to get up just before sunrise (hard enough) and started hiking to just another beach that was said to be a sure bet in spotting the famous proboscis (or long-nosed monkeys, also known as Dutch monkeys - don't ask). Good news: we saw them! (Even if only for short, they weren't especially keen to hang out with us at the beach). Bad news (for me, that was): After spending some time filming hermit crabs I suddenly realized a sudden dizzyness, intense confusion and weakness - I nearly fainted, in fact, utterly having underestimated the amount of water necessary to consume and carry around at all time. The heavy tropic air plus the sun did the rest. I yelled towards the girls (who came running for help from rather far away) and just managed to still ask them for some of their water. That quickly helped. I remained in the shade of some hat at the trek but was yearning for me, remembering a story Antonio just shared with us on a trek the day before: While in Laos he ran out of water and completely collapsed on a hike, actually remaining unconscious until being awoken and helped out with water by other hikers. Antonio is a huge guy with a real Indiana Jones appearence and I had a hard time imagining him to crack on a trek. I didn't even bother waiting for the girls and started off to get back to the NP office and cantina which by now surely would be open; I basically jumped and ran most of the way, not quite sure if this would be a senseful decision, but I made it and emptied two big bottles of water in no time.
Hermit crab at Bako National Park.
The girls and I went back to Kuching that day (Antonio remained for another night), sparkling with excitement about our experiences. I decided to see Kubah National Park early the next day - also being close to the city it was still quite a ride and this time I would be trekking alone, sufficient amount of water ensured. I didn't expect to see much fauna in Kubah, but was all in for a proper rainforest experience: the denser and the less people the better. I clearly got what I wished for - according to the ranger I talked to there were no more than 3 other visitors in the park today when I wrote down my name and details in the registration book. Looking up to the sky I simply hoped it wouldn't rain and made my way down into the vast green density of a real Borneon rain forest, equipped with two bottles of water, my camera, a plastic bag, a good book and a paper map that was falling apart in my sweaty hands and pockets. The humidity was very intense, indeed, and even though I felt sort of lonely in the wild I sensed this eternal and ancient connection between all living matter down in the valleys, wandering along creeks and climbing across fallen tree trunks that must have been many hundreds of years old, I pondered. And then - not quite out of the blue - it started raining. When reaching a T-point I had two options (obviously): continue my way to a waterfall (according to both map and ranger's word there would be shelters coming up soon along the way) or heading to the only road within the park that was closest from where I was standing now. Possibly no hut, though. Just when rain poured down heavier I opted to continue my original trek to the waterfall, but even after some 20 minutes there just wouldn't come up a hut and I finally decided to head back and try the road (the "waterfall" being ubiquitous now anyway). Luckily I thought of the plastic bag that was now wrapped around my bag containing camera and book; the map meanwhile completely dissolved in my pockets. And then a shelter! - right at the road - even though the rain now came from all angles. I lasted around half an hour - and spent my time filming a single, lost giant ant that must have felt as concerned and isolated as the annoying human cameraman observing sucking sugary remains from the surface - until a ranger car passed by and picked me up; and lucky me: the guys were on their way back to town and within 2 hours I found myself at Kuching waterfront - sodden, but happy.
Sabah: Kota Kinabalu, Tunku Abdul Rahman NP, Sepilok Orang-utan rehabilitation centre
That same day (or night rather) I would be flying out to Kota Kinabalu (KK), the capital of Eastern Malaysia's 2nd state on Borneo, Sabah. Since the flight was only at some time early next morning, I was bound to spend just another night at an airport (and save money on accomodation). The original plan was to cross Borneo by land, but after some time of intense internet research and talk with other travelers I decided against spending some 30+ hours on 4 different buses and expensive taxis at the Brunei boarder and whatever else was bound to happen. Sumatra was just not far away in the past yet at that point.
When sorting my stuff (and dry clothes) at the hostel I realized that the owner was around and after some curious small talk he actually encouraged a friend of his to drive me to the airport later that evening (hooray!) - as if this wouldn't be courtesy enough, said friend also invited me to a super-tasty Indian dinner and introduced me to his younger brother who just came back from a backpacking trip in Europe.
Hermit crab at Bako National Park.
Hermit crab at Bako National Park.
While Kuching is a classic riverfront town, Kota Kinabalu is situated right at the sea - until some years after the war (it got almost completely devastated by the British when the Japanese were about to take over) the city was known as Jesselton, but the locals had trouble pronouncing it and renamed it (rightfully) after the state's (and Borneo's!) highest mountain - Kinabalu.
While it's a hundred times more straightforward to get into the city from the airport in KK, Kuching clearly hits more beauty points. Kota Kinabalu is not really an attractive town (being mostly rebuilt with ugly concrete blocks), but it comes with a highly attractive bunch of islands close to its shore, the so-called Tunku Abdul Rahman National Park. Back on the ferry to the town of Tuk Tuk on Lake Toba in Northern Sumatra I met an Italian traveler named Emanuele who lived in KK. He told me stories of camping on Pulau Sapi and said I should ring him up once I was in town, hence I was keen to see it. That first day in KK, though, I was sleep-deprived as usual and just managed to check in at some cheap hostel (20 Ringgit again) on Gaia St, the name's "Stay-in Lodge". There wasn't much wrong with the place despite the fact that the dorms were on the 4th level and the staircase looked more like a prison than a cosy traveler's lodge. I also didn't really connect much with the other guests - everybody seemed to rather stay for her- or himself, but that was just fine. After getting sorted I decided to head out and see the city despite being incredibly tired. Made my way to the ferry terminal, checked on prices and times and somehow ended up in the movies watching some new Frankenstein adaptation featuring Daniel Redcliffe which I thought pretty well made, even though not much beyond that (just fine for 10R on a day like this). When reaching the state museum I decided against seeing the 30th whale skeleton and simply spent some cash on a good selection of postcards before heading back to the hostel where I fell asleep almost instantly (at around 4pm).
It takes around 15 minutes to reach Pulau Sapi by boat and I highly recommend it - I rented snorkel and fins, lied down at the beach near the jetty and watched packs of Chinese imbeciles yelling around loudly while wading over the fragile corals (because they never learned how to swim). At one point a local life guard approached me and we talked quite a bit about marine life and tourists destroying it: "Europeans, good people, they know, not step on the corals. Chinese, oh Chinese, they can't swim - will not listen, always step on corals. European, heh? I like, man". Well, we do have quite a reputation despite the colonial history. However, it's a sad klischee - and one being proved real on a regular basis: Just as the Japanese hate whales, the Chinese can't stand healthy corals - they must have a somewhat ancient desire to destroy everything beautiful along the shore. Humanity, that old sucker.
The life guard also told me about a "hidden beach with only Western people and good snorkeling, best snorkeling on Sapi", so I went out exploring when I ran right into Antonio, the Chilean lawyer from Bako NP. He returned to KK because he was flying on to Autralia from here and was just about to leave. Tiny traveler's world.
Anyway, just across the rocks left off the jetty comes another beach and I only met curious and highly relaxed Western tourists hanging out there, almost exclusively young couples. When the daily rain set in I returned to the mainland and enjoyed a mango shake while watching the sun slowly set across the ocean before another fit of rainfall pouring down.
Pulau Sapi, off the coast at Kota Kinabalu.
While doing some shopping in a supermarket near the hostel I noticed a sign indicating a "restricted use of plastic bags on Saturday, Sunday and Monday". What sounds like a brilliant idea to start with (European states still lack far behind on this issue) soon turned out rather sobering: the checkout ladies didn't even bother asking customers for their choice, but simply assumed they would want a bag anyway and pay the ridicilous amount of what are 3 Euro cents in conversion automatically. Hm!
Early on the next day I took a minivan to the somewhat faraway bus station to make my way towards Sandakan on Sabah's East coast, exactly spoken: to the Orang-utan rehabilitation centre in Sepilok. What happened to be the destination furthest away from home also turned out to be one of the most exciting experiences on the trip. After I failed in Sumatra's Bukit Lawang I simply had to see orang utans this time. And chances were clearly pretty damn good. Before actually entering the bus the young conductor who spoke outstanding English suggested I might want to join the two girls who would also head to Sepilok. He indicated where they were sitting (still sonewhere outside, at the bus station) and I went there and we immediately connected. Simone and her friend Marlojein (I surely got that wrong) were coming from the Netherlands (obviously - I never before met so many Dutch travelers on a single journey; and they all were most enchanting). I had no real clue about accomodation at Sepilok and certainly didn't book anything in advance (there always seems to be a way - quod era demonstrandum); however, the girls did and since we teamed up it all turned out quite perfectly. After some 6 hours riding along tremendously large palm oil plantations to either side we got dropped at a roundabout right at the highway and not far away from a place called Uncle Tan's. I was rather shocked to hear about accomodation prices at first (50R), but since it included breakfast, lunch, dinner, water, tea, cookies, free transport to the ape rehab centre and even a table tennis set this turned out to be an excellent deal and I was happily sharing a four bed bunk room with the girls. There were two other people at the place who arrived shortly before we did: John, originally from Liverpool, and his Danish wife Trine. The five of us would spend most of our time at the rehab centre together and I was quite happy with the bunch. After dinner Simone and I spent some time playing table tennis and I got completely hooked again. Perfect day.
Basically all the orang utans that would show up at the bi-daily feeding are free to go and disappear into the forest, never to be seen again. However, most are marked with chips under their skin so their behaviour and relations can be studied and many of the orang utans here are actually descendents of those that were rescued from human slavery, mistreatment or any sort of environmental destruction and hence loss of habitat.
Great apes like the orang utan (the others being gorillas, bonobos, chimpanzees and ourselves, of course) are not to be confused with monkeys which are further-related cousins to us humans, genetically less similar. I probably just feel like mentioning this here because John used the terms interchangeably.
It's hard to say what I expected from the actual feeding situation, I probably imagined we'd get a little closer to the apes, but nevertheless: it's been an amazing situation, quite one of those mindblowing moments that come up at times and get stuck for ever: When the ropes began shaking and then you can eventually spot them, coming by one after another, gently swinging along to the feeding platform where a ranger sits with a big basket full of bananas and a mixture of vegetables (orang utans almost always live vegetarian, bugs and the like rather being exceptions). And then we got closer! One ape came swinging by all the way to the photo-happy crowds and we've been warned they'd steal anything they can grab when feeling playful.
Nothing, though, could top a little private show we enjoyed some time later: The five of us were just returning from a short hike near-by when a small orang utan decided to swing by curiously, only to miscalculate a movement and fall right to the forest ground at one point, visibly shocked by his mistake, but not seriously injured.
John, Trine and I came back for the afternoon feeding (the Dutch girls headed off to a 2-night jungle trip meanwhile) and even though there were less apes showing up, we experienced a live ape-monkey confrontation when an alpha male macaque started to boldly compete for the bananas and a much stronger (though shyer and less experienced) orang utan ducked down. Another part of the centre is some sort of ape kindergarten/training area where mothers would teach their younglings how to use their arms and hands to climb. Gorgeous and stunning at the same time really.
After the feeding - at the Sepilok Orang-utan rehabilitation centre,
Sidenote: The Great Ape Project
The Great Ape Project (GAP), founded in 1993 by Australian philosopher and activist Peter Singer and Paola Cavalieri, European author and philosopher, is an international organization of primatologists, anthropologists, ethicists, and others who advocate a United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Great Apes that would confer basic legal rights on non-human great apes: chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, and orang utans.
The rights suggested are the right to life, the protection of individual liberty, and the prohibition of torture. The organization also monitors individual great ape activity in the United States through a census program. Once rights are established, GAP would demand the release of great apes from captivity; currently 3,100 are held in the U.S., including 1,280 in biomedical research facilities.
The Great Ape Project is campaigning to have the United Nations endorse a Declaration on Great Apes. This would extend what the project calls the "community of equals" to include chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas and orang utans. The declaration seeks to extend to non-human great apes the protection of three basic interests: the right to life, the protection of individual liberty, and the prohibition of torture.
To get back to Kota Kinabalu I needed to hitch into Sandakan and take a bus from there - being quite happy when leaving that place behind again; it has a certain dodgy atmosphere to it and I'm rather glad to have directly stayed in Sepilok unlike some German/Suisse travelers I talked to at the rehab centre and who I met again at the airport in KK.
My next (and last) stop in Malaysia was Kuala Lumpur (once again) and this time I chose my hostel wiser; I can certainly recommend a place called "KL Dorms" (next to the monorail stop Imbi): beds for 30R including breakfast at a good-value Indian restaurant with excellent masalas and aloo gobi. I spent my last day in the capital chatting with an architecture student from Brazil who invited me to her temporary home in Sydney (we happened to share the same bunk bed - in a dorm otherwise filled with a pack of Germans); she had quite a range of grotesque stories in store; I vaguely remember some tale about losing her passport in Manila when being high on acid one night. "Always, always take care of your passport", were her last words.
Northern India: Kolkata - Agra - Delhi - Mumbai
Still at the airport in KL I met an Australian traveler named Kate; we actually happened to sit next to each other, quickly connected and chatted about a wide range of topics: languages, possible careers, future target places and general traveling in India (it's been her first time here and she seemed happy for any tips or advice). Suddenly the captain was speaking and explained - in broken English and with awkwardly long pauses - that we were just about to cross through Krabi and Phuket ("and on the right side... you see...Krabi. Nice place"). Good man. Made us feel like on a sightseeing trip in the sky.
Kolkata Airport wasn't as bad as I remembered it; the customs guy waved us through without further ado, but I repeatedly failed to change my remaining 50,000 Indonesian Rupiahs (still some €3,40) and finally gave up. (Makes a nice bunch of bookmarks, I reckon.) Most important, however, was that they must have turned down the air con; I definitely felt much warmer this time.
Kate and I didn't need long to find a good place to sleep at the airport and it felt certainly much more secure to have teamed up. Before falling asleep, though, I noticed I must have forgotten the copy of Christie's Hercule Poirot's Christmas in the plane and there was simply no way if getting it back. Positively frustrating.
We woke up around 6am and took a bus that was heading to Howrah Station (I had a train due at 9:30), passing by Esplanade and the Central Market. The only other Westerner on it was not only Australian as well - he also came from the very same place as Kate: Noosa, Southern Queensland. His name is Paul and it's been his second time in the country; some years ago he went to Kolkata, Varanasi and two places in Rajasthan, staying in each place around a week. Both he and Kate planned to head up North towards freezing, misty, but beautiful Darjeeling.
Sharing a sleeping place at Kolkata Airport - with Kate from Noosa, Queensland.
The 35 Hours Train Ride
Finally arriving at Howrah Station (which a fellow traveler described as rather resembling a refugee camp than a railway station; Kate simply labeled it Mayhem) I noticed that my train was "rescheduled" and hence would be departing several hours late - "Hell yeah, the longer the better", I sighed. Little did I know what was still to come.
After grabbing some samosas for breakfast I found myself a sunny, yet slightly hidden corner to hang out, eat, read and watch people. I've seen guys hitting young women's butts randomly while passing by - and easily getting away with it since the girls will simply ignore it (if either of pride, indifference or fear of further molestation is hard to say).
Shortly after that I got attacked myself: one guy somewhat randomly snapped me at the face while I was sitting next to a ticket counter right outside the station. When I yelled at him and mentioned to call the cops he backed off and some other guys (or his posse?) started taking a dozen snapshots and hence making me feel like some caged zoo animal (but that's, of course, nothing new in places like Heathrow). Only worrying was the guy's selfconfidence.
After being on the train for about 28 hours I shortly jumped out at Kunpur, the largest city in Uttar Pradesh - one young, recently married Indian couple and I wanted to buy water and cookies since Agra was still some hours away. The station was so chaotic, it felt like I ended up at some Wild West frontier village, something I remembered vaguely from my collection of Don Rosa comics: middle-aged man fighting, yelling, touching each other's throats, stumbling around in circles, rushing crowds of hungry train passengers circling the only kiosk and foodstall around, people everywhere, one could certainly develop sudden fits of claustrophobia. The husband quickly got us water and peanut biscuits and I hushed back into our 3rd class AC car (see picture below) and behind my Ganesha curtain.
At Allahabad, Jawaharlal's home town, I shortly caught a glance at the Ganges and kept on reading - enough time to almost finish two books. We finally made it to Agra at 22:00 - with 7 hours delay and 35 hours in total likely the longest train ride I've ever had the pleasure to be on.
Agra
No matter how late (or early) you end up on a place you can be sure there will be enough tuk-tuks waiting for you. After a bit of haggling I was on my way to Big Brother Hostel at the East Gate Road, passing by at the famous Taj Mahal (which I didn't actually see until the next morning). The first hostel guy, who opened my door, must have been deep asleep some mere minutes ago and hence not very helpful - the second one was much more awake, immediately offered me beer and dragged me to the rooftop upstairs where I was soon part of a lively little traveler's party - a Tiger beer in one hand, a spliff in the other. Apparently they were overbooked, said hostel dude #2 - drunk and eager to score on an Hungarian girl - but I managed to find a spare bed in some dorm that turned out to be filled with coughing, spitting, noisy Chinese women that actually caused some funny nightmares in my weed-deranged head. At one point I imagined the person sleeping on the upper bunk (above me) to be some sort of twisted clownish monster with a rotten plan to rob my belongings, but well - she was merely having a really bad time falling asleep due to her nervous cough.
The roads just south of the Taj's South Gate (the area is known as Taj Granj) were a complete messy, dirty, shabby catastrophe and I wondered where all the decades of tourist money actually went to (certainly not into infrastructure and likely not into education either, sadly). People are burning plastic in the sidestreets and wild dogs, pigs and monkeys are competing for food remains in dirty piles of colourful mixed-up waste while the sun was getting up and revealed even more dirt and wicked people doing wicked things. It was so freezing cold in the morning that I actually hsd to wear my pullover for the first time since months (fair enough, I guess - it's December in the Northern hemisphere after all. Plus I finally felt justified carrying it around all the way).
Beware: The Taj is an Islamic mausoleum after all and is therefore being closed to the public (meaning: non-priviliged non-Muslims) every Friday. I read about that only after I arranged my train connections in October, but I also didn't calculate with a 7-hours delay. Still, even if you can't get on the actual grounds there remains plenty to do and explore in Agra: visiting and getting lost in the impressive Agra Fort and strolling along the opposite side of Yamuna River in Mehtabh Bagh to get a perfect view of the Taj, at the same time beating the masses; in many ways possibly the better picture (but I can't be sure since I wasn't inside). I kind of ended up with my own private rickshaw driver, some 66y-old dude who drove me from the Fort (where I walked to) over the river to the gardens opposite the Taj and made him gain some small commission since I let him drive me to one of his connected souvenir shops - I just got some more postcards and some loose masala tea for real cheap; likely win-win situation.
Delhi
After Agra there was only Delhi left on my pre-set itinerary through Northern India and I really didn't want to miss on the capital even if I'd only have 2 days that I decided to spend rather well.
I took a bus early in the morning, being awake enough to continue reading Burroughs' Junkie and - possibly a bit high on caffeine - imagined how it would be to trip on Alice right here, right now. That surreal idea didn't last long, however, and I was ending up completely sucked into the wicked world of William Lee.
A mere 4 hours later I was in Delhi. Some dude at Big Brothers (the hostel in Agra, mind) labeled it "the ultimate shithole", but I figured it could always be worse (say Jakarta, Nairobi or even Tegucigalpa). Still, it's been pretty bad, at least in the suburbs and in the markets around Chandni Chaw and the Red Fort. That said, I quickly adjusted to the capital spirit and actually started to positively like the city.
If it just wouldn't be for the honking - neverending, ubiquitos, utterly terrifying (even the metro trains actually honk when entering the station; and they, they are loud. Bill Burroughs writes about New Orleans, it "is inordinately noisy. The drivers orient themselves largely by the use of their horns, like bats" (Junky, p.57). I kind of wish I'd hear his thoughts about just any Indian city in the 21st century.
Once in town I made my way to a place that got pretty sweet reviews on Trip Advisor; the name is Moustache Hostel and it's situated South of New Delhi, hence rather decentral, but in a very green, easygoing, almost relaxing neighborhood: Kailash Colony (on the purple line) that appeared to be a bit like Delhi's version of Berlin's Prenzlauer Berg or Schöneberg. I felt comfortable and was quite happy if it wasn't for the hostel price; they take a shameful 700Rs for a bunkbed a night and became my most expensive place in the whole of India (with only the first hostel in KL beating it pricewise).
It's been a Saturday, so I did some shopping before any serious sightseeing: bookshops at Khan Market, another brilliant bookstore somewhere near Green Park, yummie food in between and delightful conversations with amiable locals in and out of the metro. The day after - I couldn't be in any better mood that morning, my last proper day in India - I visited serene parks around the Bahai Lotus Temple, got lost around Connaught Place and tested my nerves around the Fort before having some last authentic Indian lunch at Kailash and taking a rickshaw to Nizamuddin Station, sadly missing out on both Humayun's Tomb and Qutb Minar. It's worth to hang out in Delhi at least a couple more days. I regretted leaving it so early, especially since the Metro system is straightforward and quite fun to use. It's certainly not a shithole, but full of highly educated and very polite people - next to thousands of insane lunatics, as extreme as the whole country.
The last step of the trip was as easy as can be - the train to Mumbai came and arrived on time, the only exciting incident was me badly cutting my shoulder climbing on a much too narrow upper bunk. A sweet family in the same compartment fixed me up with band-aids and I happily fell asleep with images of junkies skinning, hitting veins, kicking habits, starting a new life.
24 hours later I was back in good old Berlin.
Back in London: Heathrow Airport, shortly before the flight to Berlin.
