It is a unique experience travelling by train in India but once, perhaps, is enough. We had travelled with our backpacks to the railway station in a three wheeled autorickshaw, weaving wildly through the traffic of Old Delhi. The Third Class Sleeper arrangement consisted of three tiers of unpadded bunks, the upper ones folding back during the day to provide seating. Next morning we awoke well on our way to Benares. Uttar Pradesh was flat, hot and extremely dusty. In places, as far as the eye could see through the haze, there were only dried fields without a blade of grass. We were glad we were not driving through this country. At various stops along the way, vendors would come selling chai (tea) in crude disposable clay cups. We arrived in Benares (Varanasi to the Indians) on time but spent an hour making onward reservations to Raxaul.
At the nearby Tourist Bungalow, where we could get only dormitory accommodation, we found a tour group from Intertrek - 22 passengers in Land Rovers who had come out from London in just over a month - and one of the Commer vans from the Oriana. This one had 12 aboard and was called the Hopparoo. Next morning we were surprised to meet Vic and Chris O’Connell who were en route to Delhi, coming back from Kathmandu. As we had only the day in Benares, we decided to join with the Intertrek and Hopparoo crowd on organised bus tours. The first tour left before dawn, taking us to the holy Ganges where we boarded small boats and sailed along the ghats to watch pilgrims bathing at sunrise. At the Burning Ghat several cremations neared completion and another three bodies waited, shrouded in red, yellow and blue. Benares is a maze of narrow streets and myriad temples, one literally infested with monkeys. In the afternoon we went to Sarnath, where the Buddah delivered his first sermon, to see the Buddhist ruins (insignificant after Ceylon) and the Ashoka Pillar, symbol of modern India.
We caught the evening train to Muzaffarpur, Third Class Sleeper again. We awoke next morning clanking through much greener country. Cultivation was intensive and mud huts lined the railway. At Muzaffarpur we had to change trains for Sagauli where we experienced for the first time the sardine-can Indian Third Class carriages. The sleepers were quite satisfactory, though austere, with each seat reserved. In normal Third Class the poorest people with their mountains of luggage and livestock travelled on a ‘first in, best dressed’ basis. We tried to travel in the empty First Class carriage but were soon found out. Consequently we were last into Third Class and suffered all the way to Sagauli. We changed again for Raxaul and tried the First Class carriage again, but evidently all the locals knew there was no check and so it was as crowded as in Third Class.
We arrived in Raxaul in the late afternoon and then proceeded across the border into Nepal by horse-drawn tonga. In doing so we had to stop at four check points. The Nepalese Police post consisted of a young boy of about five who handed us the required forms and passed us through. We were now in the town of Birganj where we slept on the roof of the not so Deluxe Hotel with other European travellers. We had been travelling since Benares with a German, Joachim Leckschiedt, who was headed for Australia and on around the world. We had booked on the bus to Kathmandu, a little more expensive than a truck but perhaps more comfortable. The road wound its way in a magnificent climb through endless terraced hill slopes for 120 miles to Kathmandu where we arrived in the mid-afternoon.
We stayed at the new Oriental Lodge which had been recommended by Vic and Chris. It was located in a street off Basantapur Square called Jhochhen Tole, which was later known as Freak Street because its cheap hotels were so popular with the hippie community. The Oriental Lodge achieved notoriety when two of its guests, an American and a Canadian, were found murdered outside Kathmandu in 1975, apparently victims of the infamous serial killer Charles Sobhraj.
Kathmandu was very interesting and attractive in a run down sort of way, with its ornately carved buildings and distinctive pagoda style Hindu temples. We spent a whole day just exploring the narrow streets and lanes of the old city on foot. The most interesting part centred on Durbar Square, near our hotel. The main distraction was that Kathmandu had the foulest sewers and worst smells we had ever come across. We had been warned about the local water and told that hepatitis was common. The American Peace Corps was giving free gamma globulin injections on request.
The people on the other hand were delightful. They were very friendly but did not crowd us or stare, and it was wonderful to walk, apparently unobserved, through the market place. The weather also was marvellous, pleasantly cool at night and warm at noon, and such a contrast to India. We did not want to leave. Some of the Intertrek people arrived and we found Dave and Sheila with their Land Rover for sale. Kathmandu and Kabul were the two places on the overland route where cars could easily be sold without a problem with customs.
We booked a flight to see Mount Everest and headed to the airport before dawn. There was a mad scramble for the aircraft as there were no seat reservations. It was a high winged Fokker Friendship, ideal for viewing. We passed first over steep, green terraced ridges before finally a line of white peaks appeared ahead, seeming to float in space. The sheer scale of the Himalayan landscape was striking as we made several passes back and forth along the range past Everest, an unforgettable spectacle in perfect conditions.
On returning we rented bikes, an excellent way to get around the Kathmandu Valley, and cycled to the Buddhist Swayambhunath Stupa, located on a hill to the west of the city. It was the Nepalese New Year (Bisket Jatra), so the place was crowded with happy people and a local band. The dome of the stupa is small but it is crowned with a beautiful gilded spire carrying the all-seeing eyes of the Buddha, and has become a symbol of Nepal. As Stuart was feeling unwell again, Joachim and I cycled to the town of Patan, just 3 miles away. It was a city of temples very similar to Kathmandu, with its own Durbar Square.
We were eating better food in Nepal than at any time since leaving the ship and particularly enjoyed the ‘buff steak’ (water buffalo). Our favourite eating places were the Ravispot, near our hotel, and the Camp Restaurant in Maru Tole, later known as Pie Alley on account of the pie shops found there (or alternatively Pig Alley, because of its animal population). The Tibetan Blue Restaurant was recommended to us for its hash cake. Hashish was widely and legally available in Kathmandu at this time, indeed there was a government-run Hashish Emporium and this was the principal tourist attraction for some travellers. This happy arrangement came to an end in 1973 when the Government of Nepal, under pressure from the American government, made the substance illegal.
Another outing was to Boudnath Stupa, the largest in the valley and a centre for Tibetan refugees. We returned via the Hindu temple complex at Pashupatinath on the holy Bagmati River, where there was a burning ghat. I was fortunate to see so much of the Kathmandu Valley as I then became ill with a fever and severe diarrhoea, and spent a day and a half, helpless in bed.
We had successfully booked a plane back to Delhi. It took just 40 minutes for our Friendship to reach Patna on the plains where the Ganges was impressively wide and very muddy. Stepping off the plane was like walking straight into an oven. Our connecting flight landed at Lucknow for dinner - those were the days - before continuing on to Delhi. Mrs Colaco surprised us with our own room in a better part of the establishment.
We recovered the Fiat from Premnath Motors and set about getting visas for the trip ahead. An Iranian visa was quickly issued but the Afghan Embassy was closing and they suggested that we apply in Rawalpindi, on our way through. We then only needed a road pass for Pakistan. With this done, we were free to see more of Delhi. The Qutb Minar, a tall minaret or victory tower, was interesting but the Red Fort and other Moghul monuments in Delhi were less impressive after seeing the Taj Mahal and Amber Palace.
On checking the car before leaving Delhi, we found that one of the rear coil springs was fractured and had partially collapsed. We were not inclined to delay our departure. We had heard that relations between India and Pakistan were deteriorating and if hostilities broke out, as they did from time to time, the one border crossing between the two countries would be closed. From the beginning of our trip, we had considered this to be the major risk which might interrupt our onward journey. In addition, there was always the hope that Fiat 600 parts might be available in Pakistan.
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