India & Nepal 2023

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 blinking in the bright sunlight after our overnight flight and a crossing of time lines which meant the sun rose all too quickly and far too soon after our in-flight evening meal – partly because Air India staff aren’t exactly in overdrive when serving and it’s well past 1am by the time the meal is over.

Delhi looks different from the last time we were here six years ago. First, there’s the smart and efficient new “airport link” metro train which brings us quickly to within a kilometre’s walk of our base in New Delhi. And second, although this is unmistakably India – the sounds, the smells, the traffic, the sleeping dogs and thieving monkeys, the several million tuk-tuks all vying for our custom – this is a smarter, more westernised neighbourhood than where we stayed last time around. There is nothing like the same level of visible poverty which we saw before when based down in the old town.

This is Connaught Place, a trio of concentric circular roads around the aptly named Central Park – an area full of life, colour and all things Indian with a scattering of western influences. With great serendipity, our visit coincides with a large scale flower show within the park, featuring a host of colourful displays, floral animal and bird sculptures and intricate petal mosaic works known as pookalam. Strolling through the show is a very pleasing experience – and we must look very pleased, because at one point we are stopped and interviewed by a TV crew eager to know our opinion.

By evening the Connaught Place area is alive; the Palika market bazaar buzzing with activity as the lights of surrounding shops and restaurants shine brightly and tuk-tuks swarm around the circle like green and yellow flies. The soundtrack of the city night is exhilarating and energising, the air warm without being stifling. Delhi is only a brief call for us this time around though, just 24 hours to reacquaint ourselves with all that goes to make an Indian city before we rise on Saturday morning to make our way to Safdarjung station to board the eagerly awaited Buddha train.

Safdarjung is not a main station, but a quiet suburban stop with long platforms and few trains, an ideal base for the ceremony of arrival and boarding the Buddha Circuit Train. Walking through to the platform, we are greeted with a red bindi spot placed on our foreheads and a garland of marigolds around our necks; a group of musicians play traditional Indian music as we join other passengers on the comfortable chairs arranged theatre style on the concrete platform. A team of admin staff take their places behind a trestle table to check us all in and issue maps and itineraries. This whole process is distinctly ceremonial, and rather quaint for all that.

We settle in to our small two-person compartment and organise how we’ll best use the cramped space – after all, this is our home for the best part of the next eight days. The Buddha Circuit journey comprises eight days/seven nights, and five of those nights are here on board the train.

This first journey is the longest single one of the tour and means a hefty 20 hours on board from Delhi Safdarjung to the town of Gaya, some 700 kilometres south east of the start point. Our train manager makes occasional announcements over the PA: first to welcome us aboard and outline our itinerary, secondly to tell us that “high tea” will be served in the dining car at 3pm and lastly with mealtimes for tonight and in the morning together with all other timings for Day 2. There’s no doubting now that we’re on a “train cruise”.

Those 20 hours stretch from departure at 14:30 until 10:30 next morning, during which time the curry dinners are delightful but sleep on the unforgiving bunk is a bit like having our bodies bounced up and down on concrete. Those with back problems would not enjoy the experience! For us though it’s great rattling through the night after the daylight hours during which miles and miles of rice fields roll by, sweeping agricultural lands where crops are farmed by hand: scythes much in evidence, machinery not so.

Morning tea is brought to our compartment just after 6am and it’s back down to the dining car for breakfast a little while later. The food, delivered by a horde of young men in traditional uniforms, is so far very good: apart from anything baked, which is inedible to our taste, with all bread and pastries carrying a weird and overpowering taste of, of all things, chlorine. Bite a bread roll and it’s like swallowing a mouthful of swimming pool. Eurrrgh.

And so we finally disembark the train for our first visit to a significant site in the life of Buddha, the ancient town of Bodhgaya, a short bus ride through India’s ubiquitous calamitous traffic with everything from tuk-tuks to buses to cows gridlocking the route from Gaya station. Fun as the lengthy train journey was, it’s good to get out into the sunshine and stretch our legs.

The most sacred and important sites of Buddha’s life await, the mantras and teachings are poised to be imparted. Imparted, indeed, to this wandering flock of baseball-cap wearing, yellow bag-carrying sheep filing along behind their dutiful shepherd…

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 food: until a local lady, Sujata, brought a bowl of milk pudding (milk, rice and sugar), heralding the start of Lord Buddha’s enlightenment. Consequently, Sujata Garh, and its 8th or 9th century stupa commemorating the residence of this benevolent lady, are highly revered, as indeed is milk pudding.

Finding inspiration from his thoughts, the Lord Buddha undertook seven weeks of deep meditation, seven days in each of seven different adjacent sites close to Bodhgaya, where now stands the impressive Mahabodhi Temple. Upon completion of these seven weeks, the Enlightenment was complete and Buddhism was effectively born. 

Visiting all of Bodhgaya’s major sites is fascinating yet also just a little bit baffling. Many people, both monks and other visitors, sit in deep meditation, or chant solemnly in groups or alone, whilst literally thousands of visitors per day shuffle slowly past them, sometimes passing within inches of their crouched bodies. Meditation in a madding crowd. How powerful the trained mind must be to achieve such detachment.

After a decent night’s sleep away from the train in a Bodhgaya hotel, we head out next morning, by road not rail, to Rajgir, where a full morning’s activity takes in Gridhakur Hill, Bimbimsara Jail and the beautiful gardens of Venuvan, all further significant sites in Lord Buddha’s life. Gridhakur, with its sacred caves, was one of five hills on which Buddha delivered teachings to his disciples, the jail the site of one of his most caring acts, the release of an imprisoned king, and Venuvan the first gift received by Lord Buddha from royalty. 

Venuvan, as well as being delightfully laid out and a site of deep reverence, is home to troupes of monkeys – the younger ones playful, the seniors slightly menacing with their bared teeth and grating growls. Our next port of call after Venuvan is Nalanda, where the ruins of a hugely extensive Buddhist university have been excavated over a wide area of peaceful country, but for us is also where the less palatable side of group travel kicks in.

Had we been undertaking this tour independently, our time allocation would have been significantly different: Nalanda is an absorbing and fascinating place featuring many hidden inscriptions and many clues as to its crucial part in the evolution of Buddhist history, and there’s no doubt we would have spent half a day here. It’s also incredibly well preserved, having been buried beneath the ground until its 20th century re-discovery. It was here that the Buddhist mantras were turned into a way of life, where students and disciples flocked from far and wide to learn, and engage with, the high standards of personal betterment which were, and are, the pillars of the faith.

But such is the world of “sheep flock tourism” that we are hurried through disappointingly quickly, all because, as far as we can see, we spent too much time at less interesting locations earlier in the day.

Our bus passes through many places where we wish we could stop and spend a short while: bustling towns with multiple food stalls, agricultural centres teeming with activity, remote rural settings where children, goats and cows fill their day. Michaela grabs some photo opportunities through the coach window, but how good would it be to stop off and spend a little time in some of these enthralling places.

Who would our fellow passengers on this journey be, we had wondered. Most, it turns out, are older couples from other parts of India – Mumbai, Hyderabad etc – alongside only a handful of Westerners other than ourselves, all of whom are male solo travellers. Interestingly, all of them, Patrick, Bob and Kouyate, all coincidentally from New York state, and Ben from Leicester (England), are, like us, first timers on a group tour and, like us, normally travel independently.

Darkness falls as the coach heads the three hours back towards the train waiting at Gaya and the evening fires are burning now in the rural villages. As we make a bathroom stop at a remote temple in the darkness, a couple of children with pleading, sorrowful eyes hold out their hands and rub their tummies to indicate hunger. Earlier, we had each been handed a box of snack food, completely superfluous as three decent meals a day are included in the tour cost.

I suggest to Michaela that we take our food boxes out to the children. Others on the bus overhear me, and within minutes a group of us are handing out most of the bus’s food to grateful little hands. More and more children arrive and dutifully sit in line, awaiting their allocation, then feasting, chatting and giggling in equal measure. Mothers in saris stand by and smile. 

There are many pairs of begging hands at every turn in India, many families sleeping rough in the cities, many, many people with nothing. As you travel, you simply cannot help them all and you build a kind of emotional shield as you walk by. On occasions such as this with the children, the shield is broken and your heart releases emotions like a flood. We both have a lump in our throat as we wave goodbye to their smiling, grateful faces. They disappear into the darkness and we are gone.

And so we are learning of the Enlightenment, learning of the birth of Buddhism, and of the historic places, though as yet there has been little by way of introduction to the laws and beliefs of the faith itself – but as our fellow passengers are keen to share such things with novices like us, we are learning in stages from the mouths of the devout.

With the early days of Lord Buddha’s life behind us, we settle down in our bunk beds as the train hauls slowly out of Gaya and commences the next overnight journey. Next stop Varanasi. 

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 drains and the rank smell of stagnant filthy water, the stench of stale urine pervades every city – not altogether surprising when you consider that every stretch of blank wall and every patch of spare land is effectively a urinal. Or worse. And there is no correlation between bodily functions and a need for privacy: be prepared to witness things you never wanted to see.

Once over the culture shock, India is a huge and diverse country with which it is entirely possible to fall in love despite its idiosyncrasies. Our first visit six years ago may have knocked us sideways, yet we always knew we’d return, and there will still be unfinished business this time too, when we come to move on. India has an inexplicable hook which keeps on calling, and we’ll be back again no doubt.

Anyway, back to the Buddha Train. Our second night aboard the train sees us gliding into Benares station just after breakfast as Day 4 of the adventure commences. Benares is the ancient name of the unique city of Varanasi, on the sacred Ganges River – we will return here later in the day, but first we once again battle the chaotic roads, by bus, to Sarnath.

Around the year 528BCE, at 35 years of age, it was at Sarnath that Gautama Buddha delivered his first sermon after achieving the enlightenment at Bodhgaya, and the site where the first of his disciples were to attain their own enlightenment. Hence it was from Sarnath that word of the Buddha and his teachings would begin to spread and from here that the Buddhist following and faith began to grow in earnest.

The temples of Sarnath are now, like Bodhgaya, a mix of pilgrim visitors and curious tourists whilst monks chant beneath colourful bunting draped across leafy courtyards. And for the first time on this trip so far, Buddhist mantras are dotted around the grounds. Inside the temples the artwork is beautifully crafted and we find ourselves gazing at the walls.

From Sarnath we head back to Varanasi. Six years ago we spent two nights here, witnessing the wonderful evening Aarti on both nights, never dreaming we would be lucky enough to be here again so soon. You can find our posts about our original visit here. 

Last time, we explored the cramped alley ways of Varanasi at length: this time we see nothing of these but instead our group heads straight for the Ganges to board one of the dozens of boats out on the water. Varanasi is the city where Hindus wish to end their days, and families will hurry here with a dying relative in order for them to die in this city alongside the sacred river. 

As we board the boat to view the nightly Aarti festival later this evening, funeral pyres burn before our eyes, corpses wrapped in cloth and swathed in flower heads burning atop piles of wood. The males of the families stand around until the pyre is burned out, then send the ashes out on to the sacred Ganges to ensure safe passage to the afterlife.

It is truly remarkable that the Aarti takes place each and every night – so much of a pageant, so many spectators. There must be dozens who come to this celebration nightly. To onlookers like us, the colour and atmosphere are absolutely enthralling. Some of our group members are utterly entranced as they witness this for the first time – we almost want to tell them just what the rest of this unrivalled city is like, but, of course, we leave them to their inner thoughts.

Music chimes, incense burns, chanting reverberates. Ritual movements of lighted candles bring moving light to the scene, smoke drifts across the heads of the crowds and out across Mama Ganga. The purpose of the festival is to pay homage to Lord Shiva and all that Shiva created, and is every bit as enthralling as we had remembered from six years ago.

As we learn more about the principles of Buddhism, there is an observation we have made regarding our fellow passengers. There are aspects of behaviour which are quite alien to us Brits and also difficult to reconcile with the principles of Buddhism. Buddhism is all about self-control, about high levels of self-respect, equality, and respect for others, but those qualities aren’t always in evidence in the day to day.

Some of the already-converted in our group seem to be rather rude and demanding to train staff, treating them a bit like servants, and at times seem to operate on a very short fuse. Arguments are not uncommon. Even our chief guide is guilty – “It’s not my job, I’m a guide” is his stock response if asked to take a photograph. Nobody takes offence though, this is clearly normal and accepted conduct, just the way it rolls here. As a group though they are also irritatingly incapable of being on time even when given specific instructions and as a result we have been late starting every single journey and every single visit – some group members thinking it is OK to finally appear up to an hour after the specified meeting time.

And then there’s the trash issue. Even the most smartly dressed and evidently wealthy of them will drop large quantities of litter anywhere- bags of rubbish in the street, plastic bottles at the roadside – without a second thought.

The lateness thing is particularly frustrating. With the exception of the Dutch couple, all us non-Indians are reliably punctual, as indeed are roughly half of the Indians, whereas the remaining half have a complete disregard for timing and a bloody mindedness about keeping so many people waiting. Everything is delayed, not just the start time, but also returning to the meeting point after every site visit. Consequently the last site visit of each day is shortened, and it often seems to be the most interesting venue: we have been rushed around some great sites and, much to the irritation of many, had to drop the crucial Buddha museum at Kushinagar from the itinerary completely.

Frustration and irritation is growing a little between the two factions, the Punctual and the Dawdlers, and we aren’t the only ones feeling frustrated. It’s kind of ironic that on a trip which is intended to be all about inner peace, some of us have rising stress levels, although we suppose there is a certain predictability about Brits being frustrated by lack of timekeeping. When it comes to being stereotypical, we too are obviously playing our part!

Those stress levels though are about to go off the scale as we cross the border into Nepal…

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 perfectly acceptable. Our nickname for Little Miss Selfie could just as easily be Mrs Munchausen. You get the picture.

Apparently the tour organisers have allowed two hours for delays at the border crossing as the process can often be lengthy – but even forearmed with that information, nothing can prepare us for the torture which follows. Obtaining permission to leave India comes first, and takes an hour. Two of our party are rejected – they only purchased a single entry visa and wouldn’t be allowed back into India tomorrow – and are now faced with spending the night in a gruesome looking Nautanwa “hotel”. We feel for them.

Next is a pointless baggage check where only non-Indians and non-Nepalis have to go through and nobody checks that every foreigner passing through the border has actually gone to this checkpoint. Nobody checks that you’ve taken all of your baggage, and you get no form of proof that you did it. What in God’s name is the point of that? 

And then the real fun starts. To obtain our Nepal visa, we have two more wooden shacks to go through, each of which has a melee of baying people in a ruck rather than anything resembling a queue, all pushing and crushing to get through the narrow doorway to the ONE person doing the paperwork. That entrance door doubles up as the exit, so the lucky ones who’ve obtained their visa can’t get out of the room – thus blocking the melee from making any progress. This is a whole new level of disorganised chaos.

Just as we get close to the office threshold, the one admin guy finally loses it, throws his pen against the wall and starts shouting angrily at the baying crowd, who must look to him like a pack of wild dogs. It turns out, he’s shouting at us all because most of us haven’t paid the fee to the man at the outside desk and got hold of the receipt which in turn facilitates the visa. Trouble is, there is no man at an outside desk. Unbeknown to his colleague, and before we had joined the ruck, he had been the first one to lose his shit and throw in the towel and has long since abandoned ship. Seriously, you couldn’t make this up.

Eventually, eventually, order is restored and we complete the process which on an individual basis takes all of two minutes. By the time we board the bus, the border crossing has taken just over FOUR HOURS. Sitting waiting on board the bus is the Indian contingent who are seemingly not required to go through this entire arduous process. Amongst them are the Dawdlers, the ones who have caused delays at every step of this trip – and, incredibly, unbelievably, they are complaining bitterly about being made to wait! What’s more, they seem to be blaming the tour operator staff, which is ever so slightly unfair, it’s hardly their fault.

This visit to Lumbini in Nepal was intended to incorporate lunch, the birthplace of Lord Buddha, a visit to Lumbini town, an evening meal and an overnight stay. With all that has happened today, and an insistence from some of our party that lunchtime is not to be sacrificed, most of the daylight has passed before we even reach the birthplace. 

Inevitably, the site is interesting and meaningful and would be worthy of a much longer visit. The Buddha’s mother was walking from her own home to her father’s house when labour pains started, and the baby who was to become Lord Buddha was born beneath a saal tree, which is the reason why saal trees feature so prominently at Buddhist temples. Unfortunately the mother was to die from the consequences of childbirth just seven days later.

Twentieth century excavations unearthed the remains of a commemorative stone, and so the position of that stone is now accepted to be the actual spot of the birth of Buddha. Around this spot a temple was built, the foundations of which are still visible but are themselves now encased in a large and rather functional white building.

The surrounding gardens contain many saar trees and bodhi trees (part of the Enlightenment came beneath a bodhi tree) and a peaceful carp-filled pond. Again there is much chanting and circling of the temple, much colourful bunting strung around and across the trees, the scent of incense in the air and a hazy setting sun adding to the mystique. It’s a heavily atmospheric place when the low key chanting echoes around the hallowed walls.

We only get to see the town of Lumbini through the bus window, a great shame as it looks lively, interesting and, surprisingly given the short distance from the border, quite different from India. The evening meal we are fed is utterly delicious: with that teaser of a different cuisine and that glimpse of a tempting town, we vow to return to Nepal when we can do things…..well, properly.

Given the difficulties at the border, us non-Indians are given an instruction to rise and depart early the following morning on a minibus separate from the rest of the group. Understandable, but all in all our visit to Lumbini, and Nepal come to that, has been cut far too short. Surely the operators should either make this a 2-day excursion or drop it from the itinerary altogether.

From the place of birth to the place of death, from Lumbini to Kushinagar. A large misshapen brick built affair, Ramabhar Stupa, commemorates the spot where Lord Buddha was cremated, a place chosen by Buddha himself for that purpose. Nearby stands the Parinirvana Temple in which lays a splendid example of a reclining Buddha statue. British archeologist Alexander Cunningham had identified this spot at Kushinagar as the most likely place of Buddha’s death, orchestrating a dig which was to unearth remains of the original temple and fragments of the reclining Buddha, thereby giving credence to Cunningham’s claim. The new temple surrounding the statue and ruins, and restoration of the reclining Buddha, were completed by India’s Government in 1956.

Kushinagar itself looks to be yet another inviting Indian city as the lights come on to replace the setting sun, street food stalls start to smoke and steam and random men stop to piss in the gutter without even turning to face the wall. Everything is normal.

Discussion over the Dawdlers rumbles on and even Pretty Girl is getting agitated. Pretty Girl is a bright-eyed, businesslike young lady who has been a star of the tour so far, an interpreter between Hindi and English, helper of anyone needing assistance and finder of chai sellers whenever they are needed. We now learn that she is in fact an Indian expat living in Singapore managing a tour company there, and is here partly to see how other tour operators function. She assures us that the constant lateness is not typical tour behaviour and implores us not to be put off future tours. Well, after this, the jury is decidedly out on that one.

There’s two remaining stops now on the Buddha train, one final iconic Buddhist location and one which is India’s most famous sight.

Completing The Buddha Circuit: Balrampur-Sravasti-Taj Mahal

We awake on Day 7 of this 8-day tour with our train silent and stationary at Balrampur station, the sky grey outside and the early morning cup of chai clanking its way down the corridor. Amongst the Punctual group we have bets on how much we’ll miss the 6.30am departure time by: Lovely Malaysian Lady wins with a punt at 7:05 which proves to be out by just one minute. Thirty four minutes late. Here we go again.

Of course we have some very decent people with us on this train as well as those who have surprised us with their behaviour: Malaysian Lady and Pretty Girl are just two of them but there are plenty more. Ben for instance, a highly personable young physiotherapist from Leicester who came on the trip well briefed in Buddhism and perhaps seeking the kind of spiritual experience which he definitely didn’t get. His sense of humour has nevertheless never left him and he has been excellent company.

Kuade is a quiet and obviously highly intelligent guy who is without doubt the most softly spoken New Yorker we have ever met……..indeed probably the only softly spoken New Yorker we have ever met. Bob, also from NY state and somewhat less circumspect, has been as gregarious as you would expect someone from that state to be and has clearly enjoyed meeting fellow travellers and exchanging stories. Bob too is excellent company.

And then there’s the third NY state guy Patrick, hair swept back into a pony tail with a look resembling that of a retired lead guitarist and engaging eyes which betray his Irish descent. Patrick is effortlessly genial, chatting with everyone, always happy to take someone’s photograph, unable to pass a trinket seller or a tat shop without making a purchase, and always sneaking a useful gift or a small amount of cash into the hands of needy children. There’s no doubt he would help every single one of them if he could. Of all this group on a pilgrimage, Patrick is the one who displays a character closest to the mantras of Buddhism and we wonder whether certain other individuals are taking note. Maybe they should.

Our sole destination today is Sravasti, the remains of a vast complex where a very large settlement of the Buddha’s followers must have once existed. With Lord Buddha seeking a site for such a metropolis and seeking funding for the purpose, a wealthy merchant follower purchased the land from its previous owner at an exorbitant cost said to be the equivalent of the number of gold coins it would take to cover the entire plot. Whilst we find that a stretch of the imagination – it was once big enough to be India’s capital city after all – the land obviously fetched a princely sum.

Revered by Buddhists worldwide and of great importance in Hindu and Jainist faiths, Sravasti played host to many of the miracles said to have been performed by Lord Buddha, who is thought to have spent more time here after enlightenment than at any other location.

Evidence suggests that a plethora of temples existed here, and that Lord Buddha spent the entire rainy season here amongst his followers for something like 25 successive years. Fitting then that as we wander around the complex, a crack of thunder sounds and large raindrops begin to fall, even though the rainy season is at least a month away. Muddy puddles form quickly and even the docile dogs open one inquisitive eye to see what’s going on.

On the last evening on the train, travellers and staff gather in the dining car for a hugely convivial and mutually grateful gathering where there is much talk of togetherness and camaraderie: clearly the fractious exchanges we Brits found awkward earlier on the journey are both meaningless and forgotten, leaving us doubting whether our earlier thoughts on conduct are even valid. One man’s meat etc etc.

Sravasti is the last of the Buddha connections on the Buddha Train Circuit, we have in the last week visited all five of what are considered to be the most revered Buddhist places on Earth. We pull out into the darkness with most of the adventure behind us for a final overnight journey to Agra, home of one of India’s, maybe the World’s, most iconic sights.

As with Varanasi, this is the second time we’ve visited the Taj Mahal, and it looks even more splendid this time around as the gleaming white marble reflects today’s bright sunlight. Normally one’s first ever sighting of such a beautiful and recognisable monument is the sighting which lives with you for ever, yet this second visit is every bit as thrilling as the first. This place is just beautiful.

Built on the instruction of Shah Jahan in memory of his favourite wife Mumtaz Mahal, this is one of those places with huge tingle factor, recognisable from childhood text books all those years ago and a fixture in our minds as a result. As ever, the place teems with visitors today, but nothing can detract from the sheer gleaming beauty of this “monument to love”, as it is known. Behind the palatial mausoleum, the River Yamuna rolls by with its own brand of majestic beauty. The Taj Mahal is more than just a UNESCO World Heritage site, it is a World icon.

By just after 6.30pm we are back in Delhi, disembarking the train which has been our home for eight days, and bidding farewell to those we have met on this changeable journey, this slightly offbeat experience. Final conclusions? Well, we have of course visited some wonderful places, some of which we would probably have never seen without joining this tour, but the constant delays blighted the week and did little to enhance our opinions regarding group travel. We never did feel completely comfortable with the brusque attitudes of the higher caste Indians, either, nor get used to the lack of symmetry between their Buddhist beliefs and their daily conduct.

It’s been an experience and has absolutely had its highlights, but as we step out into the noisy Delhi evening, it feels as if we’ve thrown off the shackles.

The Chaos And Joys Of Delhi

It feels good to get the backpacks unpacked as we settle back into Delhi – the first time we’ve been able to unpack in the ten days since we left England. Coupled with the sense of freedom now that we are once again independent after the confines of the Buddha Train experience, it feels positively liberating to wander out into the lively streets around Connaught Place. Gulping a first beer in eight days feels pretty good too. Even if it is Kingfisher.

After majoring in Buddhism, touching on Hinduism at the Aarti in Varanasi and Islam at the Taj Mahal, our first port of call back in Delhi is the Sikh temple of Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, covering our heads and baring our feet in order to experience its splendour.

There’s more than 1.4 billion people in India, a fact which is brought home just about everywhere you go. There were a lot of staff on the Buddha train; there are a ridiculous number of tuk-tuk drivers; every railway station is bursting at the seams; every bus is rammed full; every temple bustling; every walkway a heaving mass. There are just so many people, everywhere.

And on this Sunday morning the iconic India Gate, the surrounding parklands and the vast War Memorial grounds, are all places which take the adjective “busy” to a whole new level. Interesting to note that the huge war memorial remembers not the World Wars or those lost therein, but instead commemorates the numerous battles fought with neighbouring Pakistan throughout the 20th century. The narrative is predictably partisan, real hero-versus-villain, good-over-evil stuff which firmly casts the two sides in their respective roles.

India is a vast, vast country, and all of our comments and opinions are of course based on the places we have seen for ourselves. One person said to us that travellers should view India as a continent and the different states as individual countries, such is the diversity of cultures found in its various reaches. We will be leaving here vowing to discover more of this for ourselves.

Delhi is a mad, chaotic city, yet within this there is some semblance of order within Connaught Place, which is not only very different from everything else we’ve seen in India, but even different from the rest of Delhi. Here in Connaught Place there’s a Starbucks and two KFCs, there are numerous restaurants which look just like a restaurant does in Europe, and there are genuine, distinguishable bars, something which we never saw at any time during our last visit to this country.

So as a last farewell to Delhi, and India, we head back into Chandni Chowk, the city’s oldest merchant quarter, just to get a flavour of the old Delhi. My God this is a crazy area, so utterly rammed with people and activity that you could be forgiven for thinking that most of those 1.4 billion are milling around these little streets today.

“Chowk” sounds a little like “soukh”, and there are distinct parallels between the two – but don’t be fooled, Chandni Chowk makes Marrakech look like Marks & Spencer. We were told the other day that Mumbai is India’s busiest city which really takes “Indianism” to the extreme, but as we battle and barge our way through these choking streets, it is hard to imagine that anywhere in the world is more frenetic, manic, noisy and chaotic than Chandni Chowk. The senses are not so much assaulted as beaten to death.

There are bicycle tuk-tuks for carrying people and those for carrying produce, mopeds weave between people holding towers of goods on their heads, horns blare, people shout and all the while cows wander (and shit) amongst the frenzy. Every now and again you have to step over a sleeping form which is sometimes a large dog and sometimes a comatose man. In the spice market section the smell of cumin is so strong that it makes us sneeze.

Chandni Chowk is all facets of an Indian city wrapped up and squeezed into one tight area. Fantastic, terrible, exhilarating, harrowing, hilarious and claustrophobic all at once.

And so our time in India ends and we move on to Hanoi. Vietnam is of course where we were when COVID hit the world (you can find that story here) and our memories of that first visit are not great. We have some ghosts to lay as we leave India behind and head into the next stage of this adventure.