Two Trains Heading North

On my way North to Delhi, I passed a total of 5000 km on trains in India. I've now ridden on every class of car within the train system as well. It is been eye opening not only on the physical expanse of India, but the great expanse within the economic means of the people. Along the journey from Hampi to Delhi, I would ride in the highest class by night and lowest by day. This was just how my luck would have it; I didn't travel in either of these classes intentionally.

The train from Hampi to Agra covered 2 nights and close to 2000km. I was still feeling a bit lost since  Goa and decided to take a nicer class of train.  I booked 2A for 1800 rupees ($40) or about 10 times the cost of a general ticket. 2A meant was that only 6 people in my open compartment. Also I'm provided with sheets, a pillow, a blanket and a bit more piece of mind.

After a full day of travel to get to the train station, my train was delayed until after 2 a.m. I sat very tired on my bag, half-heartedly reading a book and avoiding conversation with the few people on the train platform who wanted to have it.

When the train arrived, I was surprised to see a young Indian wearing a uniform greet me at the train door. He attempted to show me to my sleeping platform, which contained 6 other quietly sleeping riders. When he checked my bed, there was a man already sleeping in it. This man, awoken from his sleep, had a ticket identical to my own. We quietly left and I waited between the train cars while the worker ran off to find his boss. My name was not on the roster train either. I had no bed or official place on the train. I argued, in a beleaguered state, that they needed to provide me with a bed. It was two nights on this train and it was daunting to think about spending on my luggage between the rumbling cars.

Half an hour later I was told that I would be bumped up to First Class, a bed worth almost twice my expensive ticket. What a beautiful late night revelation this was. The first class compartment was clean, large, had wood interior and a locking door. There was one person to share the compartment with and I quickly drifted into a deep sleep. I awoke content and comfortable late the next morning and then went back to sleep again. Vendors came by in uniforms to sell chai and food. At one point, they even came for a dinner order. I had vegtable biryani and a curry sauce prepared for less than $1.

The medical student I was sharing the compartment with watched movies on his laptop all day. I stared out the window, watching a steady stream of villages and farmland. He would wake me early the following morning as we pulled into Agra, my destination. I stumbled off the train, well rested but in desperate need of a coffee.

Leaving Agra was the other side of the train experience. I decided again to get a nicer ticket for this 4 hour journey to Delhi, but none were immediately available. My general class ticket cost less than $1.50. It’s  a very good deal for a train ride but I had an idea what I was in for. People can be very pushy and aggressive in crowds here. Nowhere is this worse than on the general trains, where pushing can mean the difference between standing and sitting for a 20-plus hour journey. With my large backpack and carrying bag, this means a lot of trouble on the crowded trains.

I befriended a local, Anil from Agra, by simply asking where a toilet was.  He walked with me and pointed directly across the tracks to a white building. These tracks are as filthy as you can imagine and probably worse. A combination of garbage and human waste coats the area around the rails. However I was very short on time and I saw other people crossing the tracks. Influenced by Anil's insistence I climbed down unto the tracks, stumbled to the other side and hauled myself and my belongings up on the other platform. Anil would later tell this story to no less than 10 delighted listeners in our train car.

Anil was very worried for me, as he told me on a few occasions. He did not want me travelling in General class at all but when I insisted, he ensured that I trusted no one and kept my hands on my bags.

Anil studied animation and felt very strongly that I could provide him with animation opportunities in Canada.

We met a new friend, Amit, when we sat down. He had been sitting for over 20 hours but was still in good spirits and spoke the best English in our compartment. He translated many things for me and for the people around us.  Amit would try and include me in a pyramid scheme selling health products. After a 20 minute, reasonably impressive presentation using my pen and paper, I asked Amit if he knew what a pyramid scheme was. He didn't and continued selling this idea for a few more minutes. He didn't get my initial investment of 14,000 rupees he was looking for.

I had thought our train was going to New Delhi but I was wrong.  Amit informed me when our train was at it's last stop. I got up slowly, still a bit confused and got ready to disembark. He turned to me and looked urgently into my eyes, 'Mr. David. Come quickly.'

Anarchy erupted as our train came to a stop. People outside the train were fighting and climbing over each other to get in. This was before any our packed train us had gotten off. People were not just coming through the doors, but jumping over each other to get in the emergency windows. Some men angrily shook the bars over the closed windows and screamed at me to open them. I helped an old lady push through this near violence and escape onto the train platform.

We had arrived in the outskirts of Delhi, still far away from the New Delhi train station I had hoped to make it too. I would need a new train or an expensive taxi. Amit walked with me and helped direct me to what we thought was correct platform. At one point we waved goodbye to each other but as the train pulled in on the opposite track, he came running back and we jumped on.

We talked the rest of the way about arranged marriages, love marriages and girlfriends. He walked with me to the busy street of  Paharganj. He had been so helpful that I insisted on buying his lunch. He talked on his cell phone throughout our lunch but I didn't mind. The call had been from his girlfriend and they were making up.

Amit confessed to me that he had  never spent such a long time with a foreigner. He also told me he had run back to the last train because a women from our compartment was worried about me and told him he must.

So this was the second train, in the General class. You have to ask yourself, which is the better ride?

I think this trip demonstrates the appeal and downfall of backpacking and low-budget travel. If you spend the money, you never meet Anil and Amit, you never almost get trampled and you never have a whole compartment of people looking out for you. It is tiring though, especially when travelling solo. I got a bit lucky on this trip. Anil and the lady might have been right to be worried for me. If Amit hadn't asked around and shown me the next train, it would not have been a nice situation.

The budget travel is always more interesting.  If most things go according to plan, you wonder why people ever travel in the expensive class with locking doors. I know both sides; now I only have to decide what class I belong in for my next ride, hopefully somewhere in the middle class.

Navigating the Streets of New Delhi

My plans of a busy day around Delhi have diminished to a few small trips for small purchases I have decided are necessary before Rishikesh. The reason I have reverted to a pseudo shut-in state is the street out front of my hotel. I've seen many streets which obtain economic growth but suffer social decay because of tourism. Paharganj is the worst so far. Much worse than La Rambla in Barcelona,  Thamel in Nepal, the old city of Varanasi, Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and High Street in Capetown.

The street itself is dusty and very dirty. The stone is stained from so many men spitting so much red paan (dyed chewing tobacco) while they conduct their daily business. You can easily spot where a food stand was set up due to a mound of discarded plates and food waste on the ground. It's a constantly game of dodging this filth and the moving targets around you. The main obstacles (or maybe I'm the obtacle) are the sporadic procession of cycle rickshaws, motorbikes and cars down an otherwise busy pedestrian street. I've been hit a few times by cycle rickshaws but have heeded the warning honks of the fast bikes and slow cars.

This is Delhi and it's to be expected I guess. The chaos, noise and dirt represent a concentrated version of most Indian cities. The energy runs through the streets and the movement fuels a perpetual motion of economy on many scales.

The money to be made of tourists is so great relative to the local economy. This after all is a country where 25% or 250 million people survive on less than 20 rupees (50 cents) per day. The minimum wage is officially around 80 rupees per day. I spend 1000 rupees per day and I am on the low end of the tourist spectrum. Because of this massive difference, so many people come to streets like Paharganj to try their luck. They will chase you down the street selling locks, hash, maps and many more things I haven't waited to figure out. They will try to clean your ears or dirty your shoes and then offer to clean them. My blonde hair is terrible for attracting this. Touts try anything to get me to stop, “Hey I know you, we've met before. Remember me?” Reaching out and grabbing. They never can guess where I'm from, Canada isn't big enough and I don't look American. Israelis I've travelled with are always amazed when people start speaking Hebrew to them. The funniest thing for me is when I'm approached by an Indian with a fake Aussie accent, “Want to look my shop, mate?'. 

It must be worth the long shot, the constant rejection these touts and vendors receive. To be ignored and  left behind by so many people so many times throughout the day. From their perspective I must be very rude, I don't stay a word and sometimes don't even look at them.

I'm starting to rethink not giving money to beggars. How I feel about the matter really makes no difference, they either get some money for food or they don't. I've been at a food stand and refused to buy milk for a mother and her child. How can I reconcile that?

I almost hit someone who tried to put a Q-tip in  my ear. I think he got the better of me because smiled as I walked away.

This chaos and disorder is the reason why for so many visitors, India is a love/hate relationship. It is an intense, unrelenting experience. I don't love or hate any of it when I'm out there. I numb myself to the action around me and process it all later. It's been the best way for me to experience, by myself,  hectic train rides, harassment on the street and seeing many new aspects of this culture.  The downside is when I do find something beautiful, like a genuine conversation and connection with someone whose never talked to a foreigner, I have to snap myself back into the moment. There are so many interesting, beautiful and ancient things in this country but you need the right moments to appreciate them. You need to endure and bring your head up at the right moment to really take in the good experiences.

This is all coming to an end for me, at least for a few months, as I head to the tranquil destination of Rishikesh, only 8 hours North of here.

Goa

I arrived at my train stop in Goa just as the sun was surrendering to the night sky. Though the light was falling, the energy of all those disembarking the train was quickly rising. You could feel the excited anticipation of our arrival. I hastily made plans to share a cab to with two German guys, who despite their big smiles and bigger bellies were brutish and boring. A couple dressed with a distinct comfortable style asked to share our cab as well. These two Amsterdam kids were named Tim and Ayleana and I liked them immediately.

All five of us bought a big Kingfisher beer and we plied into a cab. On the ride in I tried to win over Tim and Aye. I had a good feeling about them and wanted to stay with their energy for a while. We dropped of the Germans and found a small hotel close to a rock beach. Tim and Aye were energetic, fun, caring and a bit nutty, traits they had in common with all the Dutch friends I would soon meet. 

Tim would soon introduce me to a Dutch friend of his named 'Yop'. Yop remains once of most distinctive characters I have ever met. He appears thin and like a handsome Spaniard despite a slightly crooked and protruding nose.  He maintains some scraggly facial hair and has a large, brown fro bobbing on his head.. Morning, afternoon or night, I rarely saw Yop dressed in anything but ali-babba pants and bare-chested with a vest.

For many months prior to coming to India, Yop was squatting in the top floor of an Amsterdam house. The house was constantly full of people and noise, but he had the best set-up in the top. Tim and Aye lived there for a few months after he left as they tried to live rent free around Amsterdam. Tim and Yop were close friends and fought very openly most of the time we were together. In those first few days  Yop and I shared a healthy dislike for one another. We had to make do, as we had to share a bike and eventually would share a room. I would learn over the coming weeks that while. Yop was stubborn and a maniac, he was sensitive and cared for his friends. He'd yell, shake with anger and cry.

Yop, Tim and Aye had all grown up with the Amsterdam trance scene.  With them, I went to completely different parties and places than I would have otherwise. It was all by word of mouth and a game of being in the 'know' that I realized I wasn't used to. I would drive Yop crazy when I freely admitted my ignorance of parties and places. Yop would always heard what people were talking about and would know an even better, more secretive place as well. He was good at this game and discerning what the best party would be.

In the week surrounding Christmas, we did what most other people in Goa were doing during the day. We rode around on scooters to find different and more isolated beaches. We sped through the small streets and communities of Goa which lush and full of character. I felt reminded of the Caribbean,  though the fast bikes dodging cows and dogs reminded you that you are in India. The food was distinct and I supported many fishermen with amount of prawns and seafood, cooked in Goan style curries and koftas.

As the high seasonal population grew, it became dominated by Russians and Indian tourists. The Russians largely were not backpackers but package tourists on a 2-week vacation from their middle class jobs. They were too easily spotted as skinny girls in tiny bikinis and men with short hair and often big bellies. It was not high-class Russian tourism, Goa was very much a affordable winter escape.  The Russians would drink all day and didn't speak much English Indian tourists were a huge range from cool kids from Mumbai who smoked chillum to groups of men that could easily get 'excited' from seeing how the girls were dressed. You have to see it to believe it.

We were in the centre of it all in Anjuna beach. Walking down from our hotel along the beach was a strip mall of  loud, bright parties. Some were so packed that you could barely walk along the beach. My favourite time was always after midnight, when the tide would come in and reclaim the beach, washing it clean. You could walk come dodging the waves and sneaking through skeleton markets which were abandoned for the night and would be hectic the next day. 

After 2 weeks, the natural dispersion of travellers began to happen. I was sad to see these people leave and it took me a few days to shake a lonely, aimless feeling. I have shaken that feeling now and am far away from Goa in many ways.  I sit in Delhi now, 2500km away; it is right now a chilly, dusty, repressive city. I haven't had a drop of alcohol, a cigarette or even any meat since I left Goa about 2 weeks ago. I'll take care of business here (a Visa extension is looking very unlikely) and head up to Rishikesh where I hope to exist happily and healthily for the next 3 months. It demonstrates the great constrasts and contradictions of India that you can move between these polar places from week to week. It is a comment on my own meandering nature that I choose to move around India in such a way.

3000km to Goa

I've just gotten up after the sleeping through the night on the train from Kolkata (Calcutta) to Mumbai (Bombay). This journey takes me from the east to the west coast of India. I'm moving south as well, though not as dramatically.

From early yesterday afternoon until late tonight, I'm in a 2.5 m by 4m compartment with 7 other Indian passengers. We all sit together during the day and in the evening thin, sleeping platforms are brought down. I was supposed to be on the bottom berth, but happily switched with an quiet, older lady who fed me fried roti last night. On this leg of the my train trip, we'll cover 1968km together.

I've bought a ticket in 3AC (air-conditioned) the class above the cheapest, sleeper class. Although it's 3 times the cost of sleeper, it still costs under $40. I know that if Jackson was here we'd be back in the slightly more hectic, dirtier, sleeper class.

At every station, vendor's come through yelling 'Chai, chai, chai, chai' 'Pani, pani, pani, pani' 'Samosas...samosas' and many other words I don't recognize. Chai costs under 15 cents and water is around 35 cents. It's likely I'm the only foreigner on the train. I was scanning the hectic, pressed line when the train rolled in. I played the good ol'game of gringo spotting but it didn't yield any results.

A small cockroach is crawling on the wall beside me and most surfaces are pretty grimy. In the washroom, you can clearly look down to see the tracks rushing below.

I like travelling on the train. It has a consistency and enters a peaceful rhythm as it creeps from station to station. I'll get off to rest and stretch in many stations; then chase down the doorway with many others as it starts to pull away. I escaped the compartment at points so sit by the open train door. Farms, villagers and oxen whir past me and I'm happy with where I am in the world. I going completely across the country of India and I could barely imagine a way I could be more free.

Most of the my time in India so far is spent watching, talking and trying to simply live day to day. It seems that more time should be just like this: feeling my freedom and satisfaction that I am doing exactly what I set out to do. In reality, these moments are intermittent and fleeting. Happiness is an impermanent state like this and needs to be recognized and appreciated in the same way.

Meanwhile, the train rolls towards Mumbai, one of the most metropolitan and dynamic cities in India. It would be good to some travellers on the next train down to Goa. The best part about arriving will be trading train station food and crackers for prawns and fish curry.

Voy a la playa.

Calcutta - A Walk in the Parku

I have found it difficult to do very much in one day. It's best to make an excursion out of the hotel room a couple of times a day. Over 5 hours in the streets of Varanasi or Calcutta will leave you drained and tired. There is a constant energy and background activity in even back alleys that makes these Indian cities unique.

My plan for the day was to walk around to Moiden, Calcutta's version of Central park. It was a very large area providing ample space for cricket of various levels of organization and even a polo field. I walked around slowly for a while, moving towards the impressive but illogical Queen Victoria memorial (Queen Victoria never even visited India and it was completed 20 years posthumously).

Generally when I would stop, people would come sit or stand near me and eventually ask me where I came from. I sat under a tree and bought a chai from a roaming vendor with a pot and contained fire. He mixed milk powder and filtered the spices through a handkerchief. The chai was small, hot and satisfying. Two young men came and stood by me, staring and smiling. They were thin and dusty, particularly their shoeless feet. These Bengali brothers asked where I was from and after a few minutes one asked if he could sit beside me. I put down my book and said yes. We didn't understand each other well but had a slow conversation with minutes of silence breaking our respective questions.

The younger, 19 year old brother told me they were very poor. Working as housekeepers, they earned 15 rupees (35 cents) per day. They lived with their parents in a village (slum) not far from where we were sitting. He offered to take me to his house, which I declined. He told me he was not happy, mainly because he did not have enough to eat. He and his brother had never been to school and he discovered I had gone to school for Engineering. The moment that followed was quiet and weighted with our gross inequity brought to light. I tried to break it by stating the glaringly obvious fact that I was lucky.

He looked off across the field, after a minute he turned back to me and said that he was unlucky. He complained that his body wasn't working well for him and I thought I heard that he had hepatitis. I had no answer or wisdom to offer, I could only agree that I was lucky and he was not. He requested that we meet up again and wanted to give me his mobile. I didn't have a pen so he recited his number while I pretended to memorize it.

I got up to leave and gave him 100 rupees which he had not asked for. I told him to go with his brother and eat. As I walked away, I felt physically sick and thought I might vomit. The gaps of our lives were clearly shown to both of us. My wealth felt so repulsively excessive. I was planning to take out 10,000 rupees to cover my costs for the next 2 weeks. This money means nothing to me, because I have an excess of it.

I think that broken conversation humanized some aspect of poverty for me. It was one thing to know it exists, even another to see it but hearing the pain and frustration in this boys voice was an acute reality.

As I walked across the field in a haze, a cricket player shuffled over with a big smile to shake hands. I continued past a baby crying, sprawled on a blanket in the sun. An old man with a large white beard was beside the baby and he smiled and waved at me. It comforted me as I walked out of the park, back unto the busy streets of Calcutta.

This evening I was walking with a British lad I'm sharing a hotel room. I told him I don't think I could view India as anything but a developing country. A well dressed Indian man overheard me and joked that India was stronger than China. We kept the banter going and I asked him to recommend a Bengali restaurant for us. He insisted on coming with us and ordering the food. He works for UNICEF and with street children around Kolkata. We had good conversation, mostly about the Indian elite and cricket. We wanted to hear each others impressions about the $1.3 billion dollar (that's right, $1.3 billion USD) home that's been built in Mumbai. Mumbai is well known for it's sprawling slums, as depicted in Slumdog Millionaire He answered many questions for me and wanted to know our impressions of the city as we walked around. After chatting and walking for several hours, we sent him home to his wife who had been calling.

All in all, I've been out around Kolkata for 7 hours today. After what I've written about here and the omitting several other stories from the day, you can start to understand why it is more than enough time. Great, great city, people and travel.

Varanasi and the Bomb

It wasn't long after we abandoned our rickshaw and walked into the old city that we noticed ambulances and police cars rushing by us. Police were loosely trying to block access down the main street and a young boy tried to stop me with a stick as I walked through.

We had just finished 25 continuous hours of bus travel which brought us from Kathmandu to the bustling city of Varanasi. Coming to the riverbanks of the Ganga river in Varanasi feels like being thrown in the deep end of India. In the alleys of the old city there are bull cows, sadus or holy men, hindu pilgrims and armed police. Escaping the old alleys often means ending up at a ghat, where deceased Hindus are burned on a funeral pyre. Following this their body is to a rock and put into the Ganges river, upon which the city is based.

At the Dasaswamedh ghat, there is an nightly ceremony on the steps by the river. This is where a small bomb was put in a waste bin the night which I and two Israelis arrived. I was told that in the seconds before the bomb exploded, it caused a disturbance with the stereo system. This cyclic noise was broadcast and then the small device went off, killing a small child and injuring some 30 others including 6 foreigners. I've talked to some locals who were at the event and shaken up. More often people did not seem to pay the event any mind and would continue to try and sell me hash or silk. The bombing was on the 4-year anniversary of a explosion which killed 16 people in 2006.

We continued until an area where even the ambulances could not move any farther. There was enough noise and apprehensive crowd that I knew we had arrived close to the epicentre of some large event. We ducked back into the alleys and began looking for a guesthouse to stay for the night. When we stopped in one restaurant, the staff were watching the news. It was broadcast live from 100m away from us. I thought originally that 40 people had died and that it would be international news. I've since had to search on BBC News to find coverage of what had occurred.

BBC After Coverage of Varanasi Bomb

The ghat and evening ceremonies have been shut down for a few days. Besides that, Varanasi seems to be functioning at capacity. Funeral processions lead steadily through the alleys, carrying a covered relative down to the fires. Pilgrims and mourners with shaved heads move in packs. In the heavily contaminated river, people perform puja, bathe and wash clothes. We hired a boatman to row us along the banks. Varanasi is an incredible contrast of everyday life and beautiful temples against the sights like deceased babies, sadus and cows, which are put right into the flow of the river.

I find it to easy to use the word 'crazy' to describe what I see around. Simply statements like 'This place is insane.' It's not insane but some of it is very difficult to understand. A long description of the funeral pyre tradition was given to me by a Dalit or untouchable caste worker. It's helped a great deal to understand the rules and religious rational.  
Info on Hindu Cremation Practices 
You can see and feel Hindiusm everywhere around you here. Varanasi is a pilgirmage city.

I like it here and will stay for a few more days before heading off. I'll should wait for the first day I can truly navigate the alleys or am tempted to take a dip in the river, then it will be time to go.

Bungee Jumping and Bhote Kosi

Tress was slowly convincing the group to bungee jump over a 160m gorge and I was pushing for them to go rafting afterwards. I won't write much about the bungee jump because while it was high up, I think a bungee jump goes exactly as you expect it to.

There were some very nervous people, some fearless Israeli girls and some people who would not jump at all and demand their money back.. The suspension bridge was around 50 stories over the gorge and it made some potential people nervous just to walk over the bridge. After minutes clinging to the platform or staff, some people would not jump off.

I remember feeling impatient more than anything as I waited for 10 to people jump ahead of me. I waited and was very ready as I stepped unto the platform. I didn't really imagine what would come once I jumped. It was the feeling of falling headfirst, untethered and unrestricted. The sides of the gorge around me blurred as I quickly fell towards the bottom. My free-fall on this jump was 3-3.5 seconds but it felt much faster to me. It stays as a vivid 1 second video clip in my mind. I understand it more now, the allure of that freedom in the air. However, the real fun and adrenaline was still to come.

We caught a ride down to the Borderlands Resort, where we could camp within meters of the rushing Bhote Kosi. As I understood it, it would be an easy first day to train the rafting crews and then a intense, long second day on a section that had just opened up for rafting.

I talk about rafting because there was no plan for the kayakers, we were just like safety kayakers that didn't pay have to pay attention to the boat.

I was happy when we were gearing up the first day to see 2 other foreign kayakers, both from Great Britain. I admittedly started sizing them up as soon as we got on the water.

The older paddler, named John, was confident, competent and I would learn had lots of experience. He was at the end of a 2 week kayak trip including the Karli Candaki and Bhote Kosi river trips. The younger paddler was a surf kayaker. He could move the kayak and had a solid roll, but had limited practice with river reading.

The first day was nice and relaxing as we cruised down a section of the Bhote Kosi before the dam. The sun was shining and the water was cold. There were a couple of class 3+ rapids but nothing to write home about. I just felt happy and free to be out in a kayak again. The younger kayaker went over a couple times and the rafts just bumped down the rapid. I was joking a lot with the Nepali safety kayaker, he was 22, tall for Nepali rapids, ripped. He was always smiling that first day.

After 4 hours on the water, we took off and headed back to camp. I started talking with John about the next day. He had decided to raft instead of the kayak because of the technical and committing nature of the river. I think he was hesitant about me running the section. We were both sure the surf kayaker was going to be in trouble but he was set on it.

When we started the next day, it was 10m down from our tents. It was directly into consistent Class 3 rapids, which isn't bad but means you need to hit the ground running. I had some nerves but was feeling good and ready to go. I awkwardly got into my boat and was happy when my skirt was on and I was prepped. I peeled out and moved downstream as locals and rafters watched from shore. 

There were 2 Nepali safety kayakers, one for each raft. The older one was a great boater and had been working for 12 years. He ran both Class 5's that day, Frog in a Blender and The Wall. I stuck with the 22 year old safety boater, who I would end up rescuing later on.

The surf kayaker had a rough swim within 200m of the put in. He was out of the boat for about 75m of rapid before a raft picked him up. We started to cruise down the river and the rapids were fun and continuous Class 3. Lots of boulders and enough flow, but easy to find clean line down.

Not to much farther down, he had another rough swim down a steep section. The river opened up afterwards, he got out and his boat got pinned. The whole Nepali Ultimate Descents team got to work and I got out to take a quick video. That was the end of the kayaking day for that guy. He made it about 45 minutes of the easiest section of a 5 hour run.

The rest of the day was a most fun and full on kayaking run I've done so far. Just like riding a water roller coaster that doesn't stop. I had it dialled in so I felt confident, capable and aware the whole run.

Some memorable moments included a nasty rapid called, 'Fake left, go right'. Talking it over with the Nepali boater meant yelling the words left and right and gesturing with our hands until I decided to go. I turned left where it looked right to me and came over a cascade off nasty looking rocks I ended up getting spun around on. I bumped down, super scared for a minute but ended up just fine. I was just yelling and swearing as I paddled out of the rapid. The other boater just gave me a thumbs up and a smile, apparently I had taken the right line down.

He warned me about a rapid called 'Midnight Express' and we headed down ahead of the rafts. There was one big, bouncy class 4 and then another even bigger. We eddied out and I asked 'Which one was Midnight Express?', he said 'It's coming.' I just started laughing.

When we put in after the wall, I went over for the only time that day. I blew my first roll in the big water which was not a good feeling. When I came up, I saw the other kayaker was over, he rolled up at a bad spot and went over again. I ended up T-rescuing him and tossing him his paddle just before we headed down the next set of rapids.

We ran ahead of the rafts, so after some big sets I would look back and see John with a huge grin and thumbs up from the raft. He was kayaking vicariously through me. In the end, he says he was happy he didn't run it but wanted to come back. I hope he'll send some footage/photos from the raft that I can put up. Tress, Emily, Paul and Jaume were all fired up and ecstatic from the rafting. I've read Bhote Kosi is considered 1 of the 10 rafting trips in the world and I can imagine it's true.

Before I ever went trekking, I was offered a safety kayaking job with Ultimate Descents for an American school running the Bhote Kosi. In the end however, I'm happy how things worked out. Though I had to pay a good deal for gear rental and accommodation, I got to go down the river with my friends and with another kayaker who knew the river well. I've run into a few young Europeans safety kayaking, earning anywhere from $4-$20 per day, but that is a different story all together.