SHANGRI LA

     So, we find ourselves in McLeod Ganj.  How did we get here?  Well...

     Goa was much of a muchness.  We had a great time, but did nothing of interest to anyone but ourselves.  Still, a couple of things.  The Russians are a bunch of arrogant pricks who look down their noses at the Goans, as if they're some kind of subspecies that barely deserve acknowledgement, and certainly not any display of decent manners.  They don't talk to anyone other than themselves and are a fucking pain in the arse.  The nearest we got to speaking with any of them was when a couple of big, bearded gay Russian bears flicked water at me and waved coyly, waggling their fingers.  I think that they had plans for me and had they wanted to, they wouldn't have had to take no for an answer...  The money that the Russians spend is clearly welcome, but their unfailing rudeness most certainly isn't.  And they dress appallingly, too.

     Pedro told Danny about the drugs scams the police prefer these days.  Blokes who the coppers pick up for dealing or possession or whatever are told that they can go free if they agree to sting other poor sods who are looking for a couple of joints' worth of hash.  Thus, the dozy berks are obliged to either pay a nice fat baksheesh or become embroiled in the scam themselves.  Nice.

     Cape Town Bar in Baga is the seventh circle of Hell and should be avoided at all costs.  Full of Russians ignoring everyone else and not dancing.  The Indian people we talked to were nice enough, but it didn't feel very comfortable.  We also saw the only sharks in Goa there; a pair of Cockney Wankers, button up Fred Perrys, knee length denim shorts and greased back hair were on the prowl.  I hated them on sight, more when I heard their patter; "Alright, Russian, yeah?  We love Russian birds."  They left alone and I hope that they STILL haven't got laid.  

     Still, the beers were cold and the sunsets utterly delightful, so it was far from arduous.

     An early start on Thursday to Dabolim airport, where Aeroflot have their own desk - make of that what you will; long queues of Russians, all wearing expression suggesting that they'd just been condemned tio execution - and up to Delhi.  The flights were as dull and incident free as one would hope, although on the second flight, from Mumbai, there was a blonde, female body builder at whom I couldn't stop staring.  I wasn't the only one; as we left the airport, security guys were queuing up to have their photos taken with her.

     Once out of the airport, we dropped our bags at the train station and wandered aimlessly for a bit around the local area.  We walked through a park where we were considered exotic enough to be photographed regularly by the myriad furtively kissing couples.  I reckon that locally, it's known as Fingerbang Park, but there's no way to be sure.

     My build and tattoos attracted a lot of attention on the train.  I kept banging my head on a light fitting when I climbed into my bunk, much to the amusement of an old Sikh bloke sitting below.  A prisoner, chained to two armed escorts was in the compartment opposite.  I wondered what he had done for a while until I realised that I would never know.  Still, he and his guards were chatting together amiably enough, so fuck knows.  The train was so cold that I had to break out my trousers, top and another tee shirt.  It arrived in Amritsar two and a half hours late which, all things considered, isn't too bad.

     The Hotel City Castle in Amritsar was adequate, but the super deluxe room it claimed to providing us with was complete and utter bullshit.  It was basic and not too bad, really, but not worth the cost, not by a long shot.  So, we left their almost immediately and somehow found our way to the Golden Temple.  After washing our hands and feet and adorning some very sexy bandanas, we entered.  Holy fuck.  Like the Taj Mahal, the Golden Temple does NOT disappoint.  Photos are no good, not really  In the middle of a tank of holy water, water filled with huge carp, it sits, twinkling in the sun while pilgrims queue to enter.  It's remarkably quiet, unobtrusive music plays and there's a lack of "guides" getting on your nerves every five fucking seconds.  Amritsar is a very friendly city and we found the people we spoke to to be warm and welcoming.  Not so bad, that.

     We took a taxi to the border closing ceremony, a taxi for four, at most.  There were ten of us cramped in it.  Fucking horrific.  By the time we got to where the taxi dropped us off, I could barely leave the vehicle; cramped legs and my balls have only just reassumed their normal shape...  We had to leave our bags in a cafe and then walked up towards the border crossing.  A crush at the security check was a pain in the arse, but once through, we were herded to a VIP area, one that, basically, just keeps all the foreigners together.  The noise was terrific, with music playing on both sides, children dancing and the Indian and Pakistani crowds roaring at the tops of their voices.  The dancing kids dispersed suddenly and the guards came out to begin the ceremony.  Elaborate headgear and the most incredible display of goose stepping and pomp followed.  Double time marching up to the gate and a flurry of legs from guards on both sides in front of each other.  Loud stamps, audible clicking of heels, it all became a little comical, to be honest.

     On both sides of the border, men with microphones whipped their respective audiences into a nationalistic frenzy; for all the humourousness, it's worth noting that these are two countries which hate each other and have enough nukes pointed at each others cities that if it all kicked off, there would just be blank space in future maps where they used to be.  The crowds were huge, flags being waved and the noise, as I said, was incredible.  The flags were lowered, and when they touched, a huge roar rose up from the Indian side.  Perhaps there is hope for these two nations, after all.

     Not wanting to face that bollocks in the taxi again, we got ourselves a rickshaw.  It already had passengers, of course, so we were obliged to sit on either side of the driver in the front.  Knee hanging out, I was waiting to get clipped by a passing car but, thankfully, this didn't happen.  A quick dinner and then back to the hotel to watch Punjabi TV; utterly pointless.

     The bus from Amritsar to McLeod Ganj was full of Germans and Japanese tourists and was pretty full.  Still, it was relatively comfortable and got us here in about seven and a half hours.  There were intermittent and inexplicable stops, although when I nipped off for a piss, the fucker pulled away and I had to run after it, doing up my kecks as I moved.  Ever dignified, that's me...   Suddenly, it seemed, the road began to rise and hills materialised.  Terrifying hairpin bends in a heavily listing bus, seemingly inches away from precipitous drops...  Views to die for and potential plummets with much the same attitude.  When the sun finally set, it became like a video game, almost, although one with only one life...  Sunset over rivers, towns on plateaus, drivers of all kind of manic stripes, trees, hills.  I can see why people come here and nowhere else. Once we arrived in Dharamsala, we got a cab up here for Rs. 200.  It ended up costing more than that, though, as I left my fucking phone in the car.  I won't be seeing that again.  Cock, balls, arse, tits and fuck.  It was bloody freezing last night when we went out for dinner and the McLlo Restaurant is plastered in photos of Pierce Brosnan from when he ate there a few years ago.  I've eaten in the same place as James Bond.  Cool.

     The Hotel Green is just delightful, and the view from our balcony this morning was simply breathtaking.  That prize plum we met in Varanasi, Yalli, who showed us a photo of a bloke on the Delhi tube using a tablet as a mobile, declared that to be awesome.  No, Yalli, THIS is awesome, as in inspiring awe.  The sun came up, slowly, and we have a perfect view down the valley to Dharamsala.  There will, of course, be photos to follow, but I don't have the vocabulary or skill to put across the jaw dropping beauty of this morning, I simply don't.  Below, a woman stoked a fire with a pot over it, conversation, laughter, crows, kites, quiet traffic, trees, dogs, clear blue skies, my breath misting in front of me, smoke, washing lines, Tibetan flags and nothing but wonder, wonder, wonder...

     We walked to a waterfall this morning over a roughly paved path and, again, the views were stultifyingly incredible.  We sat and had tea in a little shack on get drunk on the scenery.  Horses, cattle, mountain goats, old woman climbing mountain paths - the tranquility of this place makes it hard to believe that we're in the same country as Varanasi.  I think that we're going to stay here until it's necessary for us to go back to Delhi (yuk).  The lack of strong arm sales patter from the stall holders here is very welcome, too.

     If you've made it this far, you have my admiration.  If you DID, the word to prove it on Facebook is TWONK.