Oh me oh my did we just have a travel-a-thon adventurama, so naturally only an epic post will due!:
After a quick taxi ride to the Margoa train station we hoped on our train to Agra at 3PM, this time with no complications. The ride was going great, it had not gotten
too hot and everything was pretty chill. That evening, as John an Jenni attempted to sleep, I stepped off the train at a quick 5 minute stop to have a smoke and when I got back on the coach I found John now awake and surrounded by angry Indians. "Everything all right" I asked with a smirk? "No, these guys are taking the freekin piss" was his irritated reply. As it turns out, this lot had woken him up because his pack was under an adjacent bunk, a space that as far as we were concerned he had every right to use. Well, the group of irate locals sure did not think so and demanded that he move the bag so they could us it to store, in all honesty, what looked like bags of rice. They even tried to move it themselves but couldn't because he had hooked it onto the seat in an attempt to discourge thieves (so I suppose it worked!). We tried to explain that there was no where else to put it and even if there were, hadn't they ever heard of first-come-first-serve? I felt like shouting "WE WERE HERE FIRST YOU DAFFY ASS BASTARD BULLIES AND WE WON'T LET YOU PUSH US AROUND JUST BECAUSE THERE ARE 40 OF YOU AND WE ARE FOREIGNERS!" I decide in the spirit of diplomacy and self preservation I was not going to yell that, but rather go see if there was enough room for the bag under my bunk. In the mean time the guys were trying to get John to put the pack up in his already too small sleeper and he was trying to get the message across that no, I'm up here that bag is not coming up as well. When I suggested trying to get the bag under my cot he shot me an evil look that I would have understood even without his next utterance of "no, it wont fit and there is no way that I am moving that bag!" Just then a police officer that I had happened to have a very nice conversation with just a few moments earlier stepped on the train. Immediately the group started pleading there case figuring that they would of course side with them. What they did not know is that the big softy copper had, in all of 5 minutes befriended me and that he also felt personally invested in the quest help foreigners form a positive opinion of his country. It seems that there was no way that he was going to let this angry mob disturb this boy he happened to know was a very nice lad. I'm not sure what he told them but it did not take long for the group to disperse and surprisingly all the bags that they were so angry about not having enough space for magically found nice nooks to peacefully sit in. Rather, all but one bag. One bag was left, by accident or sheer cheek, sitting right on my bunk! I angrily grabbed the bag and discovered that yes, it was indeed a bag of rice. With a smile and noting the irony, I quickly stored the bag in a nice open space, directly across from John's.
After the lesson in packing the rest of the ride was quite pleasant. We spent the next full day and night on the train and alternated between reading, sleeping, playing cards and mad dashes on and off the train to get a few coveted puffs of a cigarette. On one such foray John, myself and a bunch of other travelers were out on the tracks waiting for the train to begin moving. Soon enough it did and in a rush everybody tried to jump back on at the same time. Of course we bottlenecked and John and I found ourselves hanging off the train by one arm waiting to get in, watching the ground shoot by at an ever increasing pace. Finally we pushed in and found that the cork in the bottle was an elderly gentleman who had plopped himself and his large bail of hay right in front of the door. I could only smile when, as we crawled over him inevitably crushing his payload, he gave
us an obvious look of irritation.
3 AM on day 3 seemed to come more quickly than even I (as someone who loves train rides) could have imagined. Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal is touted as one of the more frustrating cities to be a tourist in due to all the scams and constant pestering. At 3 AM however, the station was surprisingly deserted and we found a nice young taxi driver that did not try to overcharge and did not try to take us to the wrong hotel. We had pre booked the hotel but even though Jenni had told 2 people on the phone that we would be in at 3 am, they neglected to tell us that they would not be there to receive us. The driver told us he new a nice place not far so we decided to go and although it was more than we wanted to spend we were all tired, cranky and dedjected and we were splitting the room 3 ways anyhow. The room was not great (understatement) but it sufficed so we caught some shut-eye and at noon went to the Taj Mahal.
As a tourist you have to pay 20 dollars to get into the Taj (Indians pay 1.50) but I had convinced the others that not going would be like traveling to Egypt without seeing the great pyramids. They did not really buy it but humored me and in the end we were all glad we had come. There were lots of people around but venders are not allowed on the grounds and I realised, for me anyway, that when I am not getting hassled the crowds seemed to melt away. This is synergised by the Taj itself, standing in its own splendor, dwarfing the throngs of tourists crowding in its gardens and at its base. Supposedly the changing of the light throughout the day changes the look of the building and the sunset on the structure is said to be stunning. On the one day we were in Agra however, it was raining. No matter, the building is grand in any light. After, we went into the Taj Ganj, the district immediately south of the Taj which has become a bit of a slum. Here we found a rooftop resturant, drank pots of chai and took in the view of the Taj from afar. And the view of the Ganj in the three other directions. Its funny to see the juxtaposition of something so beautiful bordering something so much more terrible and wonder how two things could possibly coexist. The Taj is truely a marker of beauty; one that works to clarify the great contrast that is seen at its boundaries and serves as a catalyst to awe and wonder, as well as heartbreak and sadness. And so we are reminded that we are in India, and that in India the dichotomies of life are much more violently defined than the places we are from. And we remember just how fortunate we truely are.
That evening we packed back up and caught our next overnight train to Lucknow. Agra had turned out to be far better than we had expected and except for getting messed with by two strange guys at the station who would not leave us alone, we actually had a good time in the city. Lucknow was different. I won't go into much detail about the city but our brief glimse of Lucknow (admittedly we did not leave the area around the station) reminded us of everything we hate about India. Packed, poluted, dirty and teeming with people that want your money so badly they will argue with you about what you don't want, the city made us just about go crazy in the first 5 minutes. All the madness also turns you into a person you don't want to be as there is just no way to stay pleasant in the face of so many people trying to get something out of you. With streets packed with so may rickshaws that it is near impossible to cross the street, we hurried to a close hotel and immediately collapsed. The only trips out of the room we made were to eat; we just could not muster up the energy or desire to go see anything else in this hell-hole of a place. I'm sure that we missed out on everything that is great about the city, but exploring was just something none of us were prepaired to do.
That evening, upon Jenni's insistence we left early for the station. I was sick of waiting around for long periods at the stations but we had to find a different depot than the one we arrived at, so I reluctantly agreed. This turned out to be a wise decision and kudos to Jenni, because our ass of a rickshaw driver took us to the wrong station, I think, because he did not want to drive the extra 4 kms down tiny people and oxen choked lanes. Probably after wondering what three white kids were doing at this dung-heep of a depot a policeman looked at our tickets and told us we were in the wrong place. Another rickshaw and another 60 rupees later we were at the correct station and soon on our way.
Upon arriving in Gorakhpur we stayed just long enough to book a bus to the boarder and then on to Pohkara. What we did not realise is that the shysters who convinced us that the cheap public bus was super crowed and that their bus was roomy and nice, did not have a bus at all. We were quickly shoved into a "taxi" that was basically a range rover with no doors and had to sit 4 to a seat built for 3. I had convinced myself that this was only to take us to the real bus, but that was simply wishful thinking. So much for comfort and room. 3 hours later, stiff and cold we made it to the India/Nepal boarder, no worse for the wear but mighty pissed off.
The visa and entry into Nepal proved easy and soon we caught a cycle rickshaw to the second bus depot for the final ride to Pokhara. We were not going to be let off easy, however. Somehow Johns rickshaw driver was really slow, so Jenni and I got to the depot before him. Immediately a group of young guys began shouting at us, trying to find out where we were going. After finding out that our destination was Pokhara, a boy picked up my bag and started sprinting away. Naturally I gave chase, not knowing whether he was helping out or stealing all my stuff, but I think the kid was some kind of Sherpa track star because he booked-it and my bag is anything but light. I finally caught him at our bus as he was loading my bag on and shouting for me to join it because the bus was leaving. As soon as I stepped on to try and make sense of things the driver started to go and I had to yell to get them to stop the bus. I grabbed my pack and tried to explain that we could not leave without our friend nor was I going to leave my bag on a bus that was determined to leave with or without me. If the bus wanted to go that was fine but we would not be on it unless John showed up soon. The boy kept trying to take my bag and load it and only after riping it away from him did he give up and the bus took off. Luckily however, it stopped a short distance down the road and after finally finding John we all ran and caught it in the nick of time.
This last leg of our epic journy was fun, beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. The road to Pokhara is either bumpy as all hell, curvy as all get out or both simultaneously. It also is very narrow in some places and skirts dangerously close to huge ravines. The experience is best described as an 8 hour roller coaster on crack. The view however, is stunning and the people that you meet along the way are amazing. After only being in Nepal for a few hours we already felt more at home and at peace than we had since leaving Hampi. Finally we arrived in Pokhara and took a taxi from the bus stop only to drive around and find out that our hotel was directly across from where we entered the taxi. The driver had not known where it was and even after bringing us back exactly where we started he had the gaul to ask for more than our agreed fair because he had to wait for us while
we found
him directions and a phone number to call! I could not stop myself from rudely telling him that it was not my fault that he did not know where the hotel was and turn and walk off. It did not strick me until later that if we would have seen the hotel he never would have had a fare to begin with.
We have now been here for only a full day and already the three of us love it. Pokhara is beautiful, remakably clean (after India) and full of friendly people who don't hassle you much. Today we got our trekking permits sorted out and soon the other 4 Americans we met in Thailand will arrive to meet us. Then John, myself and the 4 others (Charlie, Rich, Jewels, and Katie) will be off for a splended 25 day trek around the world's 10th highest mountain, encompassing 250 miles and 15,000 feet of elevation gain. Jenni has decided to stay behind and live in the hotel owned by a friend of the family and plans to do some volunteer work. It should be great fun on all accounts and certainly my most challenging adventure to date. I can hardly wait.
Pictures soon I hope, so check back every once and a while to see if they have posted. I will try my hardest, I promise!
The temple on main street Hampi (bazaar side of the river). In the background you can see one of the boulder fields we visited regularly. 
Hampi is full of pilgrims, boulders, boulderers and ruins. Plenty to keep you occupied throughout your stay.
A ruined bridge, North of the river (aka Hampi Island, aka Hippie Island).
This shot of the vast boulder fields was taken from the Hanuman Temple. Although this may look overwhelming it only shows a small fraction of the boulders. There are said to be 300 square kilometers of boulder fields in Hampi. If you can, imagine this scene, only the same across 360 degrees and extending to the horizon. That's Hampi.
Because of the way the rock was hewn for use in buildings, there is an abnormal amount of aretes in Hampi that are actually man made. Of course there are also natural ones and here we see John warming upon one of the made by nature variety.
The Goan Corner. Natural (I think) 7b+ (approximately v8). This is a super sick line that is a Sharma first ascent. I tried it. Twice.
Sunset beta.
This doggie has the right idea. Man or beast, when midday comes you head for the shade. This is the Baba Cafe boulder; you can see our crash pads behind the pup.
Amy gave me these little climbers for Christmas and here they are sending a sick 5.14a multi-pitch. 
Jenni on the beach in Benulim, Goa. West coast of India.
The really funny thing about this scene is that John was looking down at his camera and had no idea that 2 guys and a bull ran right in front of him.
This is a scene that you encounter often in India and it causes an ethical and moral conundrum. On the one hand, your heart goes out to all the people that need help and being someone that is much more fortunate, you want to help as much as possible. On the other hand we don't have much money ourselves and you certainly can not give everyone something, even just a little bit. On top of that, encouraging begging breeds a negative cycle and poor relations with tourists and foreigners, especially considering that beggars target tourists strait away. Some say that if you really want to help it is much better to give nothing to beggars and then contribute a larger sum to a charity when you get home. Others think that as charity to the needy is a part of Indian culture it is only right to participate as well. However, in practice I rarely saw Indians give money to beggars. In the end, I am still torn on the issue. I did give this boy a bit of money because I thought it was the right thing to do after he let me take his photograph (it was taken during a train stop from the window of our coach). I felt bad even taking this picture but I wanted something that really showed the sadness you encounter in India and I think this does a pretty good job.
John pretending to be asleep on the bus ride. I say pretending because even if you actually fell asleep, 3 seconds later you hit a bump so big you can taste your anus. That's true, by the way.
