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Birth, Death & Border Horrors: In And Out Of Nepal
The wheels of the Buddha train are still rolling as we finish breakfast and wander back to our compartment: evidently there has been some sort of delay overnight and we finally trundle into Nautanwa station about two hours behind schedule. Nautanwa is the end of India’s railway line, the border with Nepal just a few miles away. In spite of the extra two hours to prepare, and in spite of strict instructions to disembark quickly, about ten of the Dawdlers are late, and finally – finally, after 30 minutes waiting on the coach – Little Miss Selfie, the most incorrigible of the Dawdle group, bowls up as if it’s all…
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Absent Karma On The Buddha Train
The culture shock of India is nowhere near as powerful second time around, it’s that first time in the country which really knocks you sideways and shifts your understanding of what constitutes normality. This being our second time, we knew what to expect. Indian cities are cacophonously noisy, an endlessly discordant soundtrack of car horns, motor bikes, revving engines and raised voices. While the ears get battered, the assault on the eyes comes from the constant chaos and manic overcrowding, but the sense of smell suffers at least as much as any other part, so much so that just inhaling is an occupation fraught with danger. Never mind the putrid…
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In The Footsteps Of Lord Buddha: Bodhgaya-Rajgir-Nalanda
Fittingly, our journey through the life of Buddha starts where it all began, in the revered town of Bodhgaya. It was here that Buddha experienced The Enlightenment, meditated at length to define the principles of a life “free from ignorance, craving and suffering” by attaining a state of nirvana through meditation, and set in motion the path which was to become Buddhism. It was in this modest town that Siddhartha Gautama, Lord Buddha as he was to become, troubled by the direction of his life, sought solace by taking some time out to think things through and rationalise life, the universe and everything. This period of contemplation incorporated abstinence from…
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A Taste Of Delhi, And On To The Buddha Train
“Please wear this for your identification”, he says, handing us a white baseball cap with the Indian Railway Company logo emblazoned on it. “And carry this too”. A bright yellow pouch bag. Classy. Now, we’ve always smirked at people on cruises being shepherded around sites with their colour coded labels or whatever – now here we are setting off on this adventure with uncharacteristic white headgear and an even more uncharacteristic yellow bag, all for the purposes of being in that very type of herd which we thought we’d never be part of. Well, there’s a first time for everything. But before all this, we arrive in India’s capital city…
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Seeing The Light?
When Matt the weatherman peered out of our TV screen and into our living room the other day, we pricked up our ears to pay attention: we’d heard the s-word. Snow. Now that’s a complication we don’t need when we’re heading to Heathrow on Thursday. Matt, though, doesn’t scare us too much, because although it’s going to turn colder everywhere (“Arctic freeze” according to those sections of the media which are incapable of understatement and love the odd shock tactic), the snow is more likely in the North. By Sunday, both the forecast and the messenger have changed. Matt has become Darren and the cold down south has become “mild…
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What Do We Miss About Home?
Funnily enough, it’s not usually the very first pint of English ale which goes down a treat and makes me realise what I’ve been missing: no, it’s more often than not a few days after we’ve returned and we’re now settled in a pub somewhere, absorbed in chatter whilst quaffing beer and scoffing peanuts and saying to ourselves, “yeah, this feels good”. That’s the moment. These days though, we don’t miss much about home when we travel, and it’s with a little sadness that we say we don’t miss too much about England either. Since we left these shores on our first post-retirement adventure in January 2020 we’ve spent over…
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Ancient Homes And Shifting Sands
After the stillness of the last few days, today feels a bit more like old school February, the coastal wind bringing a chill factor which makes a nonsense of the official temperature figures, cutting in via the rib cage and exiting the body somewhere just south of the shoulder blades. In any lee-side location, the lukewarm sunshine teases with a kiss: turn a corner and your body braces involuntarily against the cold. The dark afternoon clouds bring tiny hailstones which dance across the ground like mini ping-pong balls, darting into corners where they threaten to drift but then melt away quickly without a trace. It was incredibly cold up by…
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February Days In England
The stillness of a windless February day in England is a stillness unlike any other. Even the most stirring of places becomes a sensory underload, sound deadened by the absence of birdsong, colours diluted like too-thin water paints, no breeze to carry scents, no leaves to decorate the woodland. Gorse splashes its yellow blotches on to the clifftops but carries no fragrance, its delectable musk scent absent yet for another month or two. Gulls’ cries sound forlorn and lonely, the occasional rasp of a jackdaw only serves to accentuate the stillness. If a skylark takes flight, its song is truncated, a burst of panic more than a trill of joy.…
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It Dropped Into My Inbox And….
Our 2017 trip to India incorporated an overnight sleeper train journey from Agra to Varanasi, and for reasons we can’t quite explain we have never unsubscribed from emails from the India railway company. Recently, one of their emails landed and I did one of those double takes. “Michaela, listen to this……” Now, anyone who knows us, knows that we don’t like to be organised by others, we like to travel completely independently and sort things for ourselves. It gives us freedom, and of course it’s hugely cheaper. It’s also true to say that neither of us are what you would call spiritual, and we’re certainly not religious. So why would…
- Europe, Independent travel, Outdoor Activities, Photography, Switzerland, Transport, Travel Blog, Walking
From St Moritz To Zermatt On The Glacier Express
The White Turf course and its attendant marquees stand silent now, dormant until the next race meeting in a week’s time, while the rest of the town blinks its eyes as the morning sun bounces off the white snow and dazzles those emerging from their slumbers. It’s sunglasses at dawn here. It’s not just the brightness which makes the eyes water in St Moritz, it’s the prices too – make no mistake, this is one seriously expensive town. A couple of nights here would buy a three-week trip to some parts of the world. It feels considerably colder this morning as we stride along the platform towards the waiting Glacier…
