Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Monday, 3 August 2026
Friday, 10 July 2026
Saturday, 21 February 2026
Saturday, 14 February 2026
Friday, 5 December 2025
From Nepal to India, Indian Customs, 1985
Taken from my book "Back to the East, India, Nepal and Kashmir" 1985
Please give the facebook page a like, even if you don't buy the book!
23rdApril
Wewere up at 5 AM ready for the bus back to Delhi, but a problem getting breakfast or a taxi from the Hotel Eden after we ordered both last night. Eventually we got to the Hotel Withies to board the bus.
This time we had good front seats.
The journey down the valley was smooth with some good scenery, although the driver seemed to think he was on a race track. Nobody on the road seemed to want to get out of anyone else’s way. The rule here was simple: “Might is Right”.
It now seemed that many Nepalese and Indians like playing head games, so when when we said chai, char, tea, we were met with blank stares. Then, if you shouted, like barking an order, they suddenly understood. Maybe they were all just stoned.
We reached the border with no problem and the customs came and took all our passports to inspect whilst we sat on the bus outside the customs shed. They did not inspect any luggage.
But whilst we sat there a young boy outside spotted Lesley through the window. He obviously recognised her from when we passed through before. He was knocking on and waving through the window. Lesley waved back. He ran off and soon returned with some other boys and motioned us to open the window. They started throwing newspaper packages through the window. I opened one. It was weed. We are right outside the customs office. I through it back out shaking my head. More came in. I through them back shouting no. A couple of minutes later a guy came from further back on the bus and gave me two wraps, saying that the boys had asked him to give them to me. I threw them out too.
After a while the boys waved goodbye and left and soon we were on our way. The last thing I wanted was to get busted for weed at the border.
Across from us were two guys, one looked like David Soul from the Miami Vice TV series.They were smoking small joints and passed one to me. There was just enough for Lesley and I to have two puffs each. It was wonderful and strong Nepalese hash. They said they had trekked into the mountains to a village to get it. They made another small joint and we had another puff.
The bus took off and we were flying several feet high.
Into the darknesswe went.
A few hours down the road, the bus suddenly stopped. It was the Indian customs officers.
They came on the bus and immediatelytold me to get off the bus. Strangely, as I was holding my shoulder bag on my lap, I passed it to Lesley. They ignored that. They also ignored Starksy and Hutch. They got some people from the back of the bus too, Nepalese I think.
It was dark outside so they all had torches, about six cops. They took me to the back boot and got me to show them my rucksack, which I opened and they emptied. They took my camera, a torch (the bulb no longer worked) and a tin a sardines. I told them the camera was cheap and so I did not need to declare it, the torch bulb was no good and the tin was fish. One guy said that if the fish were inside, they would be dead. Then another guy, presumably their boss, came and said “OK, mister, what you have?” I told him camera, torch and fish. He said “Is that all?” I said yes and he said “OK, get back on bus.”
That was the end of that. They searched some other bags and off we went again, to Delhi.
24thApril:Back in Delhi Yet Again
By 9 AM it was very very hot on the bus. We were both aching, queasy and probably dehydrated.
We passed through a place called Bareilly. There was a modern looking place with some nice architecture. Suddenly, a little further on, we realised this was the dump of place where our other bus had broken down, on our way to Kathmandu. So that time we had sat there for many hours in the heat with just a tiny chai shack and our prayers and mosquitoes, whilst five minutes walk away was that lovely looking new place that probably had a restaurant.
Later we passed though Rampur, which was mentioned in the book ‘Staying On’.When we reached Delhiat about 6.30 PM. As we were getting off the coach, I looked under the seat to make sure we had not dropped anything. I found two newspaper wraps of weed, about ten grams or so. A nice surprise.
We took a rickshaw back to our regular hotel, Ashok Yatri Newas.
Wednesday, 5 November 2025
New Book: Heads, Hats and Tall Tales, Travels in India, Nepal and Egypt: 3 Books in 1
Memoirs of my travels in India 1972, India, Nepal and Kashmir in
1981 and 1985, and Egypt in 1989, 1990 and 2010, along with a murder
mystery and poems - includes the nitty-gritty from my previous books
"All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972", "Back to the East, India, Nepal
and Kashmir", and "Myhat in Egypt Through the Eyes of a God" - all in
one book.
It's a very different world today.
Alun Buffry
was born in Wales in 1950 and studied Chemistry at UEA. In 1972, he
travelled overland to India, with little money or support, becoming ill
in India and spending time in hospitals in Delhi, Kabul and Tehran.
After returning to the UK later that year, he became a follower of Prem
Rawat, then also known as Guru Maharaji, whom he still follows today. In
1991 he spent time in HMP for cannabis offences. After his release he
started writing his books which contain personal accounts of his life
experiences and travels, as well as poetry and science fiction..
In
1999 he co-founded the <a href="http://www.ccguide.org/lca/lca.php"Legalise Cannabis Alliance (LCA)</a> with Jack
Girling, He stood for Parliament in 2001and local council elections in
Norwich As well as many published letters, interviews and speeches, he
spoke in a debate on cannabis legalisation at the Oxford Union and
testified before A Select Committee in Parliament.
His other books are
"From
Dot to Cleopatra", a concise history of Ancient Egypt, "The Effie
Enigma, The Motherless Mothers" (Sci-fi), "Out of Joint, 20 Years of
Campaigning for Cannabis 1991 - 2010", "My Piece of Peace£, "Time for
Cannabis, The Prison Years", Inside my Hat and other Heads" (poetry with
others), "Words of Weed and Wisdom" (poetry with others), "An
Alliance-of Eyes" (poetry with others), "Damage and Humanity in Custody"
with William D Hutchinson, "If Only Suomi" time-travelling romance",
"Legalise and Utilise Commemorative Edition", "Cannabis: Challenging the
Criminal Justice System" with Don Barnard.
<a href="http:/www.buffry.org.uk/abefreepublishing.html">SEE HERE</a>
Thursday, 7 March 2024
Press Release: Norwich author has facebook group with almost 80,000 members
Press Release: Norwich author has facebook group with almost
80,000 members
7 March 2024
No Embargo
In 2014, Norwich author and UEA Chemistry graduate published his
first of many book on Amazon: "All About My Hat The Hippy
Trail 1972".
The book, strangely telling from the
point of view of a"hat", recounts Buffry's experience after
graduation and setting out eastwards in a small van with several
other graduates and little money. After several months he
arrived in India via Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and
Pakistan, meeting many people of different cultures, religions and
lifestyles on the way, a journey where drugs became an integral
part
of the experience.
Such a journey would be near-impossible
today, with many more dangers than in 1972, despite that we now
have
the likes of mobile phone and the internet, guide books and
gurus,
Alun Buffry says: "I did not set off either to
run away or to find anything but simply wanted to travel and see
part
of this wonderful world.
"Although I
ended up ill with dysentery and infectious hepatitis, penniless
and
hospitalised in Delhi, Kabul and Tehran, I would not swap the
life-changing experience for anything. Now at 74 years, I look
back
in amazement that I actually survived.
"In 2015,
after writing my memories of those days, I founded a Facebook
group
called 60s, '70s &' 80s Trails to India and Beyond. Remarkably
it now has almost 80,000 members from all over the world and
contains
a wealth of stories and pictures from people that made similar
journeys and people that live in the countries we visited."
Since
the publication of the book, Buffry has written over a dozen more,
recounting his other travels and experiences including his time in
prison for cannabis, poetry and science fiction. Having taught
himself to format and present his books, he has also offered a
free
service encouraging others to tell their own stories, most of
which
are also on Amazon and Kindle and linked though his web sire at
ABeFree Publishing.
Contact Alun Buffry at
alun@buffry.org.uk or find him easily on Facebook.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0993210716/ref=nosim?tag=webbooks05
https://www/buffry.org.uk/abefreepublishing.html
Sunday, 13 August 2023
Life on the Brim: The Autobiography of a Hat: 3 books in one
Three stories in one book - my journey to India in 1972, several visits to Egypt and a fictional time travel murder mystery set in Ancient Egypt - all written through the eyes of my hat!
Monday, 3 April 2023
Conclusion: Taken from Back to the EAST: INDIA, NEPAL, KASHMIR by ALUN BUFFRY
TAKEN FROM BACK TO THE EAST: INDIA, NEPAL, KASHMIR - Alun Buffry
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1916310796/ref=nosim?tag=webbooks05
CONCLUSION
I
have made three trips to India. The first, pretty much out of the
blue because when we left the UK we had intended to travel only as
far a Turkey, in a van. There were four of us. None of us had very
much money. I had left UK with just about £60, three weeks wages in
those days. By the time we reached Antalya, in Turkey on the
southern coast, I had just £20 left. We slept either in the van or
in a tent until we reached Istanbul, where we rented cheap rooms.
After that, we slept in Turkey in the open. From Turkey Keith and I
took a boat eastwards, intending to travel to Beirut then back to
Istanbul to meet up again with the others. On the boat, however, we
were advised not to go to Beirut, so instead hitch-hiked across Syria
into Iraq and on the Baghdad, then on by bus to Tehran. Then we
headed east across Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and into India. The
main problem for me was lack of money, so not being able to eat the
food I should have been eating and staying in cheap and often dirty
hotels. I ran out of money in Kabul, a dirty city but cheap and
friendly. I sold a few items such as shirts and a compass and met a
wealthy German guy called Helmutt, who helped us get to India, by
plane from Lahore to Amritsar, one of the first passenger planes
after the end of the Pakistan-India war. In Amritsar, we stayed for
free at The golden Temple and I hitched a truck ride to Delhi.
I struggled on very little money, receiving just a few pounds in mail from the UK. Keith went on alone to Nepal. I became ill and spend a week in hospital (free) in Delhi, suffering from dysentery and hepatitis. I tried to travel back overland to the UK but became ill again and again, being hospitalised in Kabul and Tehran, from where I had to take a flight back to London, which my parents paid for. I was 22-years-old. Looking back, it’s easy to say I should have had more sense.
Yet looking back, it was a pretty dumb thing to do, although very educational and an experience that I valued. But it was hard work in the east, with such different people, customs, lifestyles, religions, languages, foodstuff, politics and the divisions of wealth and poverty.
That was a disastrous trip, not only did I and Keith became ill, but after we left Turkey my good friend John Sullivan was killed when the van crashed in Antalya; the other passenger, Mike, was seriously hurt, broken leg, broken ribs and bang on the head. I did not even find out what had happened until I was back in Kabul, months later, and by chance met somebody that I knew from Norwich, Pete Roscoe, who was on his way to India.
From the moment we had left the UK, everywhere we went, we managed to buy hash, in every country we passed through with the exceptions of Iraq and Iran. In Iran, we actually stayed on an opium farm run by a licensed farmer who also supplied it illegally. He was also the village policeman.
That tail is told in my book “All About My Hat The Hippy Trail, 1972”
What did I learn?
The
variety of people in our world.
The generosity and care we
received from people with so little.
That I had people that I
could call on to help when all else failed.
To travel with
enough money to get one through and get one home safely.
To take
more care of health regarding hygiene and diet.
So my next
trips to India, both by plane, recorded in this book, were 1981 and
1985.
By this time many places had already changed in respect of politics and freedom, and it was not so possible to travel overland.
1981 was a two week holiday. 1985 was a two month journey.
At both times I had more money, enough as I thought, being older and wiser, as I thought. Yet in both cases we spent our money faster than we had anticipated and had to write home for more.
Of course another problem that was easy to have forgotten, was that contact with family and friends back in the UK was not instant and easy. A phone call had to be booked a week in advance and one had to hope that the call would be answered. Otherwise, it meant booking another call. Also in those days not everyone in the UK had a phone in their house and nobody had a mobile (cell) phone.
We were lucky to have booked the holidays through travel companies that were able to help us out.
So I reiterate my advice, make sure one has enough funds and remember, cash and bankers cards can be lost or stolen (as can possessions and passports).
Delhi and Agra, had changed noticeably since 1972 since I had visited those cities.
They were more populated with more traffic, more noise, more dirt and more beggars and hasslers on the streets. Also more “richer” tourists. Kashmir was attracting people with money, staying on houseboats, often isolated and even protected from the people and poverty on the streets. Corruption, baksheesh, favouritism and bureaucracy were all more common – you will have read about our problems getting seated on planes that had been overbooked.
One of the favourite sayings of many people was “no problem”. Either they did not see a problem, did not see it as important or simply did not care. Yet paying baksheesh in advance would often avoid those problems. ‘Jimmy’, on the houseboat in Kashmir in 1985 never did post the letter that he had promised to post; that cost me a sitar.
Many Indians won’t say that they don’t know; instead they tell one what they think. An example was when we were told that our funds were at abank when they were not and had not even been sent.
I certainly would not advise anyone to drive a vehicle in India. The rule of the road everywhere was “Might is Right”. Walkers and people with carts pulled by animals got out of the way of cars, which got out of the way of buses, which got out of the way of trucks. Everyone was listening out for the loudest horns approaching them. Everyone in the cities seemed to drive using their horns more than indicators. Of course walkers and those with animal-pulled carts had no horns.
At one point in this book, you will see a photo taken from a rickshaw on a road in Delhi; you can see pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, cars, buses, trucks and even an elephant.
Of course food is another problem: you may have heard of “Delhi belly”.
The difference between western and India food and water, the way in which so much ghee is used, often the lack of hygiene, that does not cause serious problems for locals, almost inevitably causes some problems for westerners on short holidays. Often these problems are short-lived, being simply a matter of adjusting, but one does not want or need to spend a few days feeling ill especially on a short trip.
At all times, one needs to be aware of thieves and conmen on the streets. People, bot men and women, that will simply want to take advantage of you.
There are those that will simply try to pick your pocket or steal your bag; there are those that ask for money and won’t take no for an answer; there are those that will tell lies and try to mislead you for their own advantage; there are those that say they just want to practice their English and end up taking you to a shop where, albeit they are friendly and often the craftsmanship is fine. That includes foreigners as well as locals.
Of course those people are in the minority, thankfully, and the majority will be friendly and helpful or simply stand and stare. One certainly has to become used to people staring. Also some people don’t want their photographs taken and will ask for money or become very angry, whilst others will ask you to take a photograph of them with or without you.
The gap between wealth and poverty is sometimes atrocious and sickening. One can do nothing about it. In Delhi we made a quick visit to a five star hotel. Inside was spotless and elegant and a cup of tea cost about £5. Right outside the guarded gates that led to the garden from the street, was a tiny chai stall where a cup cost pennies and the street was littered with rubbish and rubble. One sees street food stalls selling hot and cold dished whilst donkey-pulled carts trundle by in the dust, dropping their crap as they go. Many people are unaware of hygiene or unable to do anything about it. Certainly it is essential to ensure that even bottled water ins restaurants is actually bottled water and not just from the tap, or to use purification tablets.
But
all that in India. That is part of the experience. But just as it
is wise to wear a safety helmet on a building site anywhere, one
needs to take care and precautions.
Thursday, 12 January 2023
Life on the Brim - Travels in India, Egypt and Ancient Egypt - two books in one
Life on the Brim: The Autobiography of a Hat (Paperback)
Two books in one. The adventures of Myhat on the journey to India previously published in “All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972” have been described as humorous and educational, whilst “MyHat in Egypt Through the Eyes of a God” takes the reader through modern day tourism in Egypt to fantasy time travel and murder mystery in ancient Egypt.
Now with 360 pages, the reader can enjoy the best of both.
MyHat speaks: “I am a Fedora hat, but no ordinary hat, as I am blessed with the power of observation. I can see and hear through the eyes of the head that I sit on, which enabled me to travel the world and learn.
“These are my memories of my journeys with Al and later with Ed and Ana.
“I first met Al in 1972 in Greece and we travelled on what became known as the Hippy Trail through Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan to India, where Al became impoverished and ill. After several stays in hospital we returned to the UK.
“Those were remarkable times, passing through countries and cities that nowadays, in 2022, are often inaccessible and far more dangerous than in the days of drugs and flower-power.
“Later I was passed to a new head, a man called Ed, and was fortunate to visit Egypt with his lady Ana.
“We
saw Cairo and Luxor with their many pyramids, temples and tombs in 1989
and 1990. Once again we visited Luxor in 2010, and travelled 4000 years
into the past where something even more extraordinary happened.
“So these are my tales of love, mystery, history and murder on the Nile.”
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1838440135/ref=nosim?tag=webbooks05
http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0993210775/ref=nosim?tag=webbooks05
Tuesday, 14 June 2022
Life on the Brim: The Autobiography of a Hat
Two books in one. The adventures of Myhat on the journey to India previously published in “All About My Hat The Hippy Trail 1972” have been described as humorous and educational, whilst “MyHat inEgypt Through the Eyes of a God” took the reader through modern day tourism in Egypt to the fantasy time travel and murder mystery in ancient Egypt.
Now with 360 pages, the reader can enjoy the best of both.
MyHat speaks: “I am a Fedora hat, but no ordinary hat, as I am blessed with the power of observation. I can see and hear through the eyes of the head that I sit on, which enabled me to travel the world and learn.
“These are my memories of my journeys with Al and later with Ed and Ana.
“I first met Al in 1972 in Greece and we travelled on what became known as the Hippy Trail through Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan to India, where Al became impoverished and ill. After several stays in hospital we returned to the UK.
“Those were remarkable time,s passing through countries and cities that nowadays, in 2022, are often inaccessible and far more dangerous than in the days of drugs and flower-power.
“Later I was
passed to a new head, a man called Ed, and was fortunate to visit
Egypt with his lady Ana.
“We saw Cairo and
Luxor with their many pyramids, temples and tombs in 1989 and 1990.
Once again we visited Luxor in 2010, and travelled 4000 years into
the past where something even more extraordinary happened.
“So these are my tales of love, mystery, history and murder on the Nile.”
Tuesday, 7 June 2022
June 1972: Haridwar, Chillums and A Dip in the Ganges
The following morning after a breakfast of fruit, yoghurt and bread, Al took a stroll around the town. It seemed very old. The streets were crowded with people going about their days amidst the cows.
After a while he found a bridge over the river Ganges. It looked greener on the other side, with trees to sit beneath and watch the powerful currents pass.
So he crossed the bridge and turned right to follow a rough path running besides the River.
He spotted an orange-robed elderly and bearded man sitting cross legged beneath a tree, a semi-circle of younger people sitting facing him.
Al knew that they were called Baba's, as he himself had been called a few times.
“Maybe he's one of those guru teachers,” Al thought.
Back in England Al had read about the pop group The Beatles who had taken up with a Guru called Maharishi Mahesh Yogi who had taught them how to meditate and himself gained great publicity and popularity. Maybe it was something to do with that?
The orange-robed 'teacher' shouted something and motioned to Al to go over and join them and sit down. Al complied.
The elderly teacher smiled and asked Al where he was from and why he was in Haridwar, in a broken English with an almost German accent.
Al explained that he had travelled overland from the UK, simply on an adventure and that he was here because he had met a Spanish man in Delhi who had recommended it as a good place to stay for a while.
The teacher laughed and from under his robes produced a chillum. The chillum was prepared, wrapped in a “safi”, a small piece of cloth that served as a sort of filter, the tobacco hash mixture poured in and the lit chillum passed around so that everyone including Al had a good puff.
Al stayed a short while and as nothing was being said and he was quite high on the hash, he said his goodbyes and left, carrying on in the same direction as before.
Within minutes he was sitting with another group under another tree, smoking, buying, smoking again.
“This is the good life!” thought Al, so high that he was beginning to feel like he was in a Holy city in India.
“By the Ganges!”
Al left the second group and walked some hundred yards before he had the idea that immersing oneself in the Ganges was supposed to purify the soul.
“Well,” he mumbled under his breath so only he (and I) could hear, “Why not, it's hot and I'll soon dry off.”
Across the river he could see a long walled building complex with steps going down to the River.
As he got closer he could see steps going down on this side too. A few steps, “I should be OK.”
The water was moving very fast. Al thought maybe he would not immerse himself, just splash himself all over. “After all, I can't swim.”
So he put down his bag, took me off his head and put me on his bag, took off his sandals, and stepped down and into the water.
With some hesitation, one step, second step, third step – then his feet were swept from under him. He felt himself falling backwards into the water which he knew would sweep him away. Too high to feel real fear, he envisioned the situation if he was to be swept down the Ganges he would have to try to float. He had to hope he would be saved, but who would swim in this? How many bodies had ended up like this. Was this really Holy Water?
As he fell he reached out and somehow managed to grab a chain that was attached to the land, maybe for mooring a boat. He grabbed the chain but the force of the water was now tugging at his body like a hungry monster and now splashing his whole body with his head about to go under. As his head went under he felt a wrenching on his arm but he pulled stronger, now his head was out, now his body, now he was clambering up the steps, drenched and coughing up Holy Water. He made it to the grassy bank and collapsed on the ground.
I felt so many emotions and thoughts and images flooding Al's brain.
“So fucking stupid! I could have died.”
“Am I cleansed? Am I saved? Don't feel any different.”
“God I'm stoned! I shouldn't have done that. What would have happened if that chain wasn't there?”
“Glad I took Myhat off!”
So was I.
Had I been in that water I would surely have been swept away for ever.
But it wasn't long before Al was dried out and sitting with yet another group smoking another chillum.
After a while, that particular teacher said that they had seen Al go into the River and now his soul was clean. That was about all he said, except he asked Al if he wanted some chai and said that “Mahatma is coming, he will take you for chai.” Al liked the spicy milky tea drinks.
Al wondered if this was the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi or maybe some local lord or lord's son, a rich man probably. Everything was so strange that Al did not know what to expect next. I was wondering about who this "Mahatma" was - maybe he made hats?
After a while a man in orange robes accompanied by a small group of Indian-looking people approached. Apparently he was the Mahatma. He exchanged words with the teacher under the tree and said to Al: “OK, you come now for chai and this evening we will do our 'Arti' parade through town and then you join us and come to Ashram maybe?”
They walked a while, crossed a bridge and entered a small chai shop where the Mahatma said something to the owner or waiter – who did not look too pleased. He was pointing at Al and the chai was seemingly somewhat disgruntled. He delivered to his table with "no charge Sir" and the Mahatma and his entourage left, saying “Join is for Arti parade.”
There was still a few hours before evening so Al decided to go and wait on his bench back at the railway station.
That was when everything changed.
I sensed that Al's head was spinning, not like it had been after drinking alcohol and nothing like the hash or opium he had smoked or eaten; not even like the blues that he had swallowed in Lahore.
This was different, not at all pleasant.
Suddenly Al jumped up and ran to the edge of the platform. He vomited onto the ground. He started to sweat profusely. He felt the need to rush to the toilet which he found just in time and his bowels emptied over the hole in the ground. He was sick again.
A while later he cooled down and felt a little better.
He returned to his bench. He was thinking that he had so little money and so few possessions but he had never set out to be a Sadhu, and people called him “Baba” too!
Nw he was ill – he had no idea where Keith was and Miriam was probably in Nepal. He had little or no contact with anyone in the UK. He didn't even really know where Haridwar was. He didn't know where Prem Nagar was. He would have to miss the “Arti” parade.
Was it the holy Ganges water that made him vomit like this, or the reluctantly-given Chai?
Now he was sick. He would have to try to get the train back to Delhi and hopefully, some money.
And that is how I, Myhat, felt, like the head, Al, thatI went with.
And felt I did as felt was part of my fabric.
Saturday, 21 May 2022
Sunday, 24 April 2022
April 23, 24 1985: From Kathmandu back to Delhi
Taken from Back to the East, India, Nepal, Kashmir
(Images found on-line)
23rd
April: Delhi
We were
up at 5 AM ready for the bus back to Delhi, but a problem getting
breakfast or a taxi from the Hotel Eden after we ordered both last
night. Eventually we got to the Hotel Withies to board the bus.
This time we had good front seats.
The journey down the valley was smooth with some good scenery, although the driver seemed to think he was on a race track. Nobody on the road seemed to want to get out of anyone else’s way. The rule here was simple: “Might is Right”.
It now seemed that many Nepalese and Indians like playing head games, so when when we said chai, char, tea, we were met with blank stares. Then, if you shouted, like barking an order, they suddenly understood. Maybe they were all just stoned.
We reached the border with no problem and the customs came and took all our passports to inspect whilst we sat on the bus outside the customs shed. They did not inspect any luggage.
But whilst we sat there a young boy outside spotted Lesley through the window. He obviously recognised her from when we passed through before. He was knocking on and waving through the window. Lesley waved back. He ran off and soon returned with some other boys and motioned us to open the window. They started throwing newspaper packages through the window. I opened one. It was weed. We are right outside the customs office. I through it back out shaking my head. More came in. I through them back shouting no. A couple of minutes later a guy came from further back on the bus and gave me two wraps, saying that the boys had asked him to give them to me. I threw them out too.
After a while the boys waved goodbye and left and soon we were on our way. The last thing I wanted was to get busted for weed at the border.
Across from us were two guys, one looked like David Soul from the Miami Vice TV series. They were smoking small joints and passed one to me. There was just enough for Lesley and I to have two puffs each. It was wonderful and strong Nepalese hash. They said they had trekked into the mountains to a village to get it. They made another small joint and we had another puff.
The bus took off and we were flying several feet high.
Into the darkness we went.
A few hours down the road, the bus suddenly stopped. It was the Indian customs officers.
They came on the bus and immediately told me to get off the bus. Strangely, as I was holding my shoulder bag on my lap, I passed it to Lesley. They ignored that. They also ignored Starksy and Hutch. They got some people from the back of the bus too, Nepalese I think.
It was dark outside so they all had torches, about six cops. They took me to the back boot and got me to show them my rucksack, which I opened and they emptied. They took my camera, a torch (the bulb no longer worked) and a tin a sardines. I told them the camera was cheap and so I did not need to declare it, the torch bulb was no good and the tin was fish. One guy said that if the fish were inside, they would be dead. Then another guy, presumably their boss, came and said “OK, mister, what you have?” I told him camera, torch and fish. He said “Is that all?” I said yes and he said “OK, get back on bus.”
That was the end of that. They searched some other bags and off we went again, to Delhi.
24th
April
By 9 AM it was very very hot on the bus. We were
both aching, queasy and probably dehydrated.
We passed through a place called Bareilly. There was a modern looking place with some nice architecture. Suddenly, a little further on, we realised this was the dump of place where our other bus had broken down, on our way to Kathmandu. So that time we had sat there for many hours in the heat with just a tiny chai shack and our prayers and mosquitoes, whilst five minutes walk away was that lovely looking new place that probably had a restaurant.
Later we passed though Rampur, which was mentioned in the book Staying On.
When we reached Delhi at about 6.30 PM. As we were getting off the coach, I looked under the seat to make sure we had not dropped anything. I found two newspaper wraps of weed, about ten grams or so. A nice surprise.
We took a rickshaw back to our regular hotel, Ashok Yatri Newas.
Connaught Place, New Delhi (photo from on line)
Tuesday, 5 April 2022
April 3, 4, 5:, 1985, Delhi, Jantar Mantar and preparing for Nepal
Taken from Back to the East, India, Nepal, Kashmir
3rd
April 1985
We arrived back in Delhi early morning. The train was very slow for a good few miles before pulling into the station. From the carriage window it was a real sight for sore eyes. We were moving alongside a shanty town and the large number of people there clearly had few facilities and were using the railway track as a public convenience; there was a long line of bare arses facing us. I could only imagine the excrement dried up every day or maybe was eaten by rats. Not a pleasant sight or thought but then again, quite funny.
Also on the journey some of our fellow passengers somehow got the idea that I could read palms. One guy gave me a piece of paper to write on; I saw it was an invitation for a job interview so told him he was about to get a new job. He seemed very pleased and I hope it encouraged him so he got the job. But that only encouraged others. I just made some positive stuff up telling them all good news or good changes were coming. Indians are a very superstitious nation.
Today, as it turned out, was the holiday day for Lord Mahavir Jayanti, although most shops were open. So after getting back to the Ashok Yatri Newas hotel and checking in, we planned to get some passport photos done in preparation for our applications for visa to Nepal.
Two people were arguing at reception because they were told they had to pay in foreign currency like pounds or dollars. For us this was to be a nuisance too, as previously they had taken rupees with an exchange chit. So now Lesley would have to change a travellers check into rupees, then change enough for the hotel bills back into pounds. In India there are ever changing rules and regulations, a bureaucratic system that wants everything in triplicate.
By now all my white shirts were either stained and dirty, so we had to get them cleaned too. It would have been cheaper to buy new shirts.
We went back to the office to see Ali and get details for our trip to Nepal and find out about visas. There was another guy there. He said “Ah, I see you have been in the desert, because you have a red nose! I have been too, you see I have a white nose!” He explained that though my nose was burned red, his was bleached white!
4th
April 1985
The visa for Nepal cost 120 rupees each, about six pounds. That was no problem for us. Ali sent somebody to get our passports stamped.
Apparently, Delhi had 50,000 rickshaws, one million bicycles, 3000 animal-drawn carts and 80.000 motor vehicles including cars, buses, trucks and rickshaws, resulting in 5000 road accidents every year.
Today we strolled along Parliament Street and Janpath area trying to find Jantar Mantar astronomical gardens and observatory, which was supposed to be just a short walk from Connaught Circus. After quite a long walk up the wrong street, we came across a Sikh Temple. Suddenly we were back on Ashok Road at our hotel. We had missed Jantar Mantar altogether! Now we learn that Parliament Street was now called Sansad Marg, which we had passed several times whilst walking back and forth. We have now learned that Jantar Mantar was just behind our hotel, on the “backside” as they say here. So off we go again.
Jantar Mantar was a collection of stone astronomical instruments built by Maharaja Jai Singh The Second about 1725. There was a large salmon-coloured odd shaped structure with steps everywhere, a huge sun dial supposed to be accurate to half a second and another triangular shape and semicircles meant for plotting the courses of the stars and predicting eclipses and predict the times and movements of the sun, moon and planets. It’s difficult to see how they were used but it included the use of shadows cast upon graduated concave plates. It was all set in a green garden patch. The word Jantar was derived from yantra, meaning instrument, while the suffix Mantar was derived from mantrana meaning consult or calculate.
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