No, I wanted New York, not New Jersey

Kolkata (Calcutta) November 30^th

I am in a nice hotel in the Salt Lake area, and unlike Brigham Young this isn't the place.

This area was planned to be the a adjunct to Calcutta proper. It was planned to be the business and technical hub of the city. Unfortunately for me as a tourist is it about forty-five minutes to an hour from Kolkata proper. To make matters worse I reserved for 3 nights, expecting to be in the heart of the city. I guess I am in the heart of the city, just not the city I had planned. The hotel has really been very solicitous, we shall see what we can work out tomorrow. For now it's comfy and secure.

After I last wrote I did decide to stay on the hotel property and just relax the afternoon and evening away. Wrote a scathing review of the Hilton and a not so flattering one on the hotel I was staying at for TripAdvisor.com. Scoured the world wide web for air connections from Mumbai to here and did the same for hotels. The plane one worked out perfectly, and the hotel worked out imperfectly.

I fought sleep though the afternoon and at seven went down for dinner. Thai sounded good for a couple reasons. One it wasn't Indian curry and two maybe it was spicy enough to get things back in normal working order. Time zone changes and dehydration kind of upset the normal routine of things.

The Thai restaurant in the hotel was the fanciest, swankiest Thai restaurant the world, or at least I have ever seen. At home Thai restaurants are mostly come as you are. This one business casual wouldn't have been out of place. Maybe even desired. White linen napkins placed on your lap by the employee who seated you. I have never understood this action. Do they think I am too lazy to pick up a half ounce piece of cloth or that I am too socially inept to figure out why they would have a handkerchief on the table. Either way it does make me a little uncomfortable.

Then came the 10 page wine list. Ten pages of wines in a Thai restaurant? What happened to the 4 choices of beer and maybe some Saki ? I gave in to the theme and ordered a Shiraz, which came cold from the refrigerator. Chilled red wine, this too was new to me.

An Amuse Bouche was presented along with four kinds of dipping sauces. Running from mild tomato, to spicy mustard to a very hot chili honey. I was diggin' on that last one.

Some soup and the old standby of Pad Thai and I was dining in style. It was as good a Thai meal as I have ever had. The price though was expense account prices. Meaning “Someone else is buying, so lets go expensive”. Or what I call a Credit Card meal.

On the way back to my room a western woman nearly ran me over. If I hadn't stopped abruptly she would have sent both of us on our respective asses. I said in my most sarcastic tone Excuse me for being in your way”, she said with that nose in the air that the French have perfected to high style “Par'don?. I didn’t pursue it any further. Americans are know for being loud and overweight, French are renowned for being rude and she epitomized her country men and women perfectly.

Got to sleep close to ten and again with the weird dreams. German food? Maybe French, maybe Mexican, but German food? I'd almost rather have English food. Well maybe that is pushing things too far. Anyway slept until almost 5 am. Got up, checked mail, did the shower thing, tried to get my plane ticket printed. Eventually about 7 had breakfast and checked out for the airport.

The airport was about what you would expect, no actually it was better. International airports are generally show pieces of that particular country, domestic airports 500 meters away from the same International airports are generally dumps. Mumbai's domestic airport is beautiful. Nicely set up, clean, where everything seems to work. Of curse there were the lines and some controlled shoving, but I would put it up against most International airports I've been to and it would win hands down.

The concourse is lined with high end shops and there is even a food court that had names familiar to me. Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC), Domino’s Pizza and Subway sandwiches. I should have gone up and had a look for myself, just to see who was staffing the Subway. In the US most of the Subway's in my city are owned and staffed by immigrants from India. I wonder if the ones in India are staffed by Anglos?

The flight was two and a half hours of reasonable comfort. My row was three across wit the middle seat empty. The yowling future head of the household only yowled and screamed during take off and landing, and his feet were to short to kick the back of my seat.

All was good and easy until I tried to get a taxi an couldn't remember the name of my hotel. Sonata? Sonesta? So … something. It was in my email and I was in a Wi-Fi free zone. Not a free Wi-Fi zone. Give me your phone book and I'll find it. The taxi company didn't have a phone book. Is there a place where I can use a computer to look at Trip Advisor, I'll find it right off that way. Down that way to the communications center.

The communications center was a six by six cubical with a mobile telephone and a dial up internet connection. For my dollar and a half, I got 4 minutes on the inter web and the name and address of my hotel. The Sonnet.

Back to the prepaid taxi stand and after much discussion with his colleagues to figure out where this place might be, even with the address. He looked at me and said “Salt Lake !?!?” I should have gotten a clue about that time. The next clue was that it wasn't getting more crowded as we went along. If anything it became more and more open.
 

The hotel is in Kolkata's suburbs. An area designed in the 80's for business and industry. It is nice and open with beautiful new building and absolutely no character. It is an hour away from Calcutta proper and that is if the traffic is going your way. I booked 3 nights and hope they will understand that I made a huge mistake in booking. It did get a great review in Trip Advisor and it did say it was in Calcutta, just not in this part of Calcutta

From what I have seen of Calcutta so far (just my taxi ride to the hotel), I am not very impressed. Even with Mumbai's crushing poverty I didn't get the depressed feeling that I have of Calcutta so far. Maybe it was that dilapidated building we passed named the “Swastika Hotel – For working women”. (A hotel full of Nazi prostitutes?)

Regardless of first impressions, I'll know better tomorrow once I get to the real city and can walk it a bit.

Sorry no pictures today, unless you want a nice shot of a King sized bed with 4 pillows.

The Towers of Silence and the Washer women's blues

Mumbai, November 29^th

Well I stayed awake all the way until 6 pm. If I was home I probably could have found something on the television to entertain me until nine or so, but I didn't feel Ike a couple hours of SKY news or dubbed action movies.

I didn't have the best sleep of my life, several unusual dreams, but other than a few times getting re-hydrated slept through until about 3:30 am. Not too bad, nine hours. Made some in room coffee and puttered on the computer, took a shower and basically killed time until 7 when breakfast was prepared.

Breakfast was about what I have experienced in most Asian hotels. A buffet of 10 things, an omelet station, breads and fruits. Tang orange juice, good tea and so-so coffee. I ordered an veggie omelet that was a 'little' spicy. It was good, though a little more spicy than a little.

The main lobby is generally a manic ball of chaos, but early in the morning, I kind of outlined what I wanted to do with the desk clerk and asked him to write it out in Hindi for me. I got English.

I stepped outside and had one of the men hustle up a metered taxi. Told him what I wanted to see and we were off. The first stop on today's trip was Church Gate station. Everyday the man of the house goes to work in the morning. Wifey stays home and makes his lunch. She packs it into stack able metal containers maybe three or four containers high, called Tiffin tins or Tiffin boxes. These latch together and she gives them to the local Dabawalla who gets it onto a train where it is taken to this station where it is redistributed to other dabawalah's and delivered somehow magically to the right men in the right offices. This is done totally without any help from computers, just some obscure script on a tag on the Tiffin. They do this for millions of meals a day and never miss, or so they say.

We got to the Church Gate on time, and was reminded it was Sunday and no Tiffin deliveries on Sundays. Fiddle sticks ! I did wander about for a bit watching men take loads that required two other men to lift put the load on their head and calmly walk away. That was magic in itself.

A drive past the really beautiful Chowpatty beck and then up some hill in search of the Towers of Silence. I remember reading about them in a 1940 copy of Ripley's Believe It Or Not! Tall towers where the dead are placed in the open and the carrion birds pick the corpse clean. Sounded better t me to feed the crows than to cut down a tree because you died. We drove around for some time and couldn't find it and finally I gave up and old the driver to head to the next stop, Dhobi Ghat.

What the Tiffin wallahs do with the tiffin boxes, Dhobi Ghat does with fabric. Your clothes arrive in a bundle there dirty and leave in a bundle clean. All work is done by hand and line or roof dried. Vat upon vat of washing stations seem to vanish into infinity. It didn't seem too busy today, probably because it was indeed Sunday, but I could see how it could be crazy during the week. I strolled through the surrounding neighborhood. Not slums, but certainly a lower working class community. I finally got brave enough to enter the actual washing Ghat area and didn’t feel totally welcome, nor did I feel unwanted. Just another crow flying by. There were a couple kids who did know enough English to ask for candy and when that failed for chocolate and then tried their luck at money. They came away empty handed.

Back at the taxi I noticed a tour bus disgorging passengers and had my driver come with me while I asked if he knew about the Towers of Silence. Sure he did and he rattled off directions and my driver nodded his head and the hunt was again afoot. Back to the same place we looked previously. I wandered through nice park, but that wasn't it. We stopped and asked a man on the street and he directed us a little further down the road with a left at the corner. Then two men on the street who smiled and waggled their head. Finally a fine dressed lady told us we had passed it and to make a U-turn and go back to the corner where indeed there was a little paved street going up the hill. We drove up found the parking wallah and were immediately told that I was not allowed to enter. I never did figure out why, but he was insistent that I get along little doggie.

Back on the road to the lasts stop for the day the Vee Tee. The Victoria Terminus train station. It has been renamed after some Indian man, but if you say V.T. to anyone you'll get there. It was built in the mid 1800's with all the geegaws, gingerbread and gargoyles that Victorian England could muster. You could look at it for an hour and still miss many of the details of the building. It should be a UNESCO site if it isn't already.

It is also the location of most of the deaths in the 2008 terrorist attacks. I found it eerily creepy to see places that I had seen on the news clips where police sheltered behind pillars and were shot. If it would have been packed with people I can see how it would have been pray and spray for the gunmen. Open area limited entrances and exits. I didn't stay very long inside.

Back to the taxi and back to the hotel, total time about 3 hours and about ten bucks. A couple disappointments, but for the cost of two fru-fru drinks at Starbucks well worth it.

Back at the hotel for a Coke and I think I might be done for the day. Maybe hit the Gateway near sunset, maybe not.

Plane ticket purchased for Calcutta tomorrow, hotel reservation made.

Nine A.M. phone calls and taxi driver handshakes

Mumbai Ten thirty in the morning. Nine pm yesterday back home. Mind and body someplace in between.

The plane ride from Seattle to Paris was a dream. Little child behind me didn't bang the seat too much. Lots of legroom at a small extra cost. The food was what you would expect, not what you would hope for. I mean it was Thanksgiving, you'd have thought that maybe they would have turkey as the poultry offering Alas not, it was chicken in goop over white stuff. It tasted like all the other airplane chicken in mystery sauce over white stuff I've ever had before

It's kind of funny how if you do something nice for someone they feel that they must do something nice back to you. I gave Starbucks cards to the cabin crew. After that it was all, “Anything I can do for you?”, can I get you another something ? I tried to explain that I wasn't looking for anything else, though to be honest if they offered a First Class upgrade, I might have reluctantly accepted it. I thought they had accepted it when they gave me a thank you card signed by the crew and then at landing in Paris one of the crew came over and handed me a full bottle of wine. I was thrilled with the note, for chrissy sakes. I told her that I was going to go through Paris' TSA and they would take it away from me because of the No Liquids policy. She wasn't taking that for an excuse until he third time finally accepting that I might be right and offered it to my seat mate, who was disembarking in Paris. He and his wife were in Paris for a romantic getaway and really appreciated it.

After a short train ride to another part of the airport and a ride back on the same train to the place I started from and the theater that is airport security I found my way to the correct gate for the next leg of my trip. A eight and a half hour tip from Paris to Mumbai. They didn't have any of those extra legroom at extra cost seats on his flight. Just the normal seating for normal midgets. The little plane that flys from Seattle to Bellingham, a 30 minute flight has more legroom than Air France's Airbus 330 configuration. This was uncomfortable enough and then the woman in from reclined to the set's full setting, crashing my knees into the seat pocket and making the television screen so close in front of me that I could actually stretch out my hand, touch my nose with my thumb and my little finger touch the screen. Yes, I measured it. The man next to me had a most unusual odor. I don’t know if it was a bad odor, but it was something that I didn't find olfactorily pleasing. Eventually this scented contortion-ism came to an end and Mumbai lay just a 20 minute walk to Immigration and then another 10 minute stroll to baggage claim.

The plane arrived an hour later than scheduled, Immigration took longer than I wanted. For some reason the new fangled digital fingerprint scanners absolutely hate me. This wouldn't be a bad thing if I was a cat burglar or safe cracker, but just someone who wants to get past the bureaucrat to a bed made for a long time. Eventually the machine got a decent enough reading and I was allowed to enter the heat and chaos that is India at three am.

A quick x-ray of my luggage and Welcome to Mumbai.

I am not real happy with my accommodations. Oh, the room is nice. Exactly what you would expect for a hotel in the over a hundred dollars a night range in a major Asian city. But for some reason Mr. Hilton thought that Paris Hilton needed a new dog or something, and I should help the poor thing get her required support animal, and if I wasn't ready to do that it was time for me to move on.

The hotel had emailed me that for a mere $15 they would pick me up at the airport. The prepaid taxi was $4. It honestly took longer to exit the airport property than to drive to the hotel. At check in I was asked if I wanted to extend my stay and I said yes. Somehow the price jumped from about from $100 to over $200 a night. Hey, it's a nice place, but I could stay at the Taj, in downtown Mumbai with a view of the ocean for that price and it is a world renowned hotel, not some airport chain. I told her she needed psychiatric help and went to the room.

Got into bed all wired from the trip and popped a Valium and crashed into the downy softness of my pillow. I woke up at home and confused why there was light coming from that part of my bedroom, before I realized that I wasn't at home. The clock said it was 8:30. So I got close to 5 hours of sleep which wasn't too bad. I would have liked another REM cycle and awoke at ten, but it was what it was. A cup of Starbucks best instant and I was ready to face the day, almost. That was until 9 am when the phone rang. It was Ms. Reception wondering what time I would be checking out. WTF ?!? Can you be serious ? I can't think of a single hotel from a one star cold water hotel in Ethiopia to a five plus star hotel in Bangkok that has ever done that. Pretty low rent on high rent if you ask me.

Anyway finished a couple pieces of bread and coffee and now time to go find another abode.

After checking out I caught a taxi to my new hotel. Half the price, twice as manic. Once you are out of the public areas it settles down nicely. The room is nice, but is showing it's age a bit. It is one of those hotels that changed hands recently so none of the taxi drivers know the name, if you give the old name and 'Bob's your Uncle.” (Maybe I shouldn't use that phrase here, since it refers to General named Robert or Roberts who was to the Indians what Custer was to the other Indians, except Bob didn't get killed)

I wanted to see the India Gate, Mumbai's iconic landmark. The desk man said it was too far to walk, but he did give me a map and pointed “That-away pardner” I set out and immediately made a right when I should have made a left, ended up in an Army base. Did my best About Face ! And made another right when I should have kept straight. A friendly taxi driver showed me the error of my ways as he drove me there.

It was underwhelming. Maybe with better light, maybe with less police presence, maybe with fewer

Mumbai Ten thirty in the morning. Nine pm yesterday back home. Mind and body someplace in between.

The plane ride from Seattle to Paris was a dream. Little child behind me didn't bang the seat too much. Lots of legroom at a small extra cost. The food was what you would expect, not what you would hope for. I mean it was Thanksgiving, you'd have thought that maybe they would have turkey as the poultry offering Alas not, it was chicken in goop over white stuff. It tasted like all the other airplane chicken in mystery sauce over white stuff I've ever had before

It's kind of funny how if you do something nice for someone they feel that they must do something nice back to you. I gave Starbucks cards to the cabin crew. After that it was all, “Anything I can do for you?”, can I get you another something ? I tried to explain that I wasn't looking for anything else, though to be honest if they offered a First Class upgrade, I might have reluctantly accepted it. I thought they had accepted it when they gave me a thank you card signed by the crew and then at landing in Paris one of the crew came over and handed me a full bottle of wine. I was thrilled with the note, for chrissy sakes. I told her that I was going to go through Paris' TSA and they would take it away from me because of the No Liquids policy. She wasn't taking that for an excuse until he third time finally accepting that I might be right and offered it to my seat mate, who was disembarking in Paris. He and his wife were in Paris for a romantic getaway and really appreciated it.

After a short train ride to another part of the airport and a ride back on the same train to the place I started from and the theater that is airport security I found my way to the correct gate fr the next leg of my trip. A eight and a half hour tip from Paris to Mumbai. They didn't have any of those extra legroom at extra cost seats on his flight. Just the normal seating for normal midgets. The little plane that flys from Seattle to Bellingham, a 30 minute flight has more legroom than Air France's Airbus 330 configuration. This was uncomfortable enough and then the woman in from reclined to the set's full setting, crashing my knees into the seat pocket and making the television screen so close in front of me that I could actually stretch out my hand, touch my nose with my thumb and my little finger touch the screen. Yes, I measured it. The man next to me had a most unusual odor. I don’t know if it was a bad odor, but it was something that I didn't find olfactorily pleasing. Eventually this scented contortion-ism came to an end and Mumbai lay just a 20 minute walk to Immigration and then another 10 minute stroll to baggage claim.

The plane arrived an hour later than scheduled, Immigration took longer than I wanted. For some reason the new fangled digital fingerprint scanners absolutely hate me. This wouldn't be a bad thing if I was a cat burglar or safe cracker, but just someone who wants to get past the bureaucrat to a bed made for a long time. Eventually the machine got a decent enough reading and I was allowed to enter the heat and chaos that is India at three am.

A quick x-ray of my luggage and Welcome to Mumbai.

I am not real happy with my accommodations. Oh, the room is nice. Exactly what you would expect for a hotel in the over a hundred dollars a night range in a major Asian city. But for some reason Mr. Hilton thought that Paris Hilton needed a new dog or something, and I should help the poor thing get her required support animal, and if I wasn't ready to do that it was time for me to move on.

The hotel had emailed me that for a mere $15 they would pick me up at the airport. The prepaid taxi was $4. It honestly took longer to exit the airport property than to drive to the hotel. At check in I was asked if I wanted to extend my stay and I said yes. Somehow the price jumped from about from $100 to over $200 a night. Hey, it's a nice place, but I could stay at the Taj, in downtown Mumbai with a view of the ocean for that price and it is a world renowned hotel, not some airport chain. I told her she needed psychiatric help and went to the room.

Got into bed all wired from the trip and popped a Valium and crashed into the downy softness of my pillow. I woke up at home and confused why there was light coming from that part of my bedroom, before I realized that I wasn't at home. The clock said it was 8:30. So I got close to 5 hours of sleep which wasn't too bad. I would have liked another REM cycle and awoke at ten, but it was what it was. A cup of Starbucks best instant and I was ready to face the day, almost. That was until 9 am when the phone rang. It was Ms. Reception wondering what time I would be checking out. WTF ?!? Can you be serious ? I can't think of a single hotel from a one star cold water hotel in Ethiopia to a five plus star hotel in Bangkok that has ever done that. Pretty low rent on high rent if you ask me.

Anyway finished a couple pieces of bread and coffee and now time to go find another abode.

After checking out I caught a taxi to my new hotel. Half the price, twice as manic. Once you are out of the public areas it settles down nicely. The room is nice, but is showing it's age a bit. It is one of those hotels that changed hands recently so none of the taxi drivers know the name, if you give the old name and 'Bob's your Uncle.” (Maybe I shouldn't use that phrase here, since it refers to General named Robert or Roberts who was to the Indians what Custer was to the other Indians, except Bob didn't get killed)

I wanted to see the India Gate, Mumbai's iconic landmark. The desk man said it was too far to walk, but he did give me a map and pointed “That-away pardner” I set out and immediately made a right when I should have made a left, ended up in an Army base. Did my best About Face ! And made another right when I should have kept straight. A friendly taxi driver showed me the error of my ways as he drove me there.

It was underwhelming. Maybe with better light, maybe with less police presence, maybe with fewer people (though I believe that is an impossibility) it would have been worth the look. As it was, it was cheek to jowl with people in their Saturday best The main area was blocked off so it was a ¾ stroll around the edifice and back again. I think the picture I want, the image is one from a boat or point of land at sunset. Up close it is just too big.

I walked around the area for a bit. Fended off the postcard sellers, the balloon vendors. Walked by the Pashmina salesmen, had a hard time shaking the milk scam man and baby, and demurred to the orphanage, with color pictures, solicitors.

Eventually my water bottle was empty, jet lag was tickling my heat exhaustion, so I caught another taxi back to the hotel. The price he asked was outrageous, and we settled on just one that overcharged me. When we got to the hotel I gave him the agreed upon fee and he asked for a dollar. I told him that he had charged me three times the going rate and didn’t think I wanted to add a dollar to that. He got the biggest grin, held out his hand and shook mine. Guess it was acknowledgment that I knew I was an Anglo mark and accepted my place in the Indian taxi hierarchy.

Back at the hotel, it is almost 4 pm, and I am starting to fade. Gotta power through the next couple hours before bed. Maybe a caffeine jolt from a Coke will do it.

people (though I believe that is an impossibility) it would have been worth the look. As it was, it was cheek to jowl with people in their Saturday best The main area was blocked off so it was a ¾ stroll around the edifice and back again. I think the picture I want, the image is one from a boat or point of land at sunset. Up close it is just too big.

I walked around the area for a bit. Fended off the postcard sellers, the balloon vendors. Walked by the Pashmina salesmen, had a hard time shaking the milk scam man and baby, and demurred to the orphanage, with color pictures, solicitors.

Eventually my water bottle was empty, jet lag was tickling my heat exhaustion, so I caught another taxi back to the hotel. The price he asked was outrageous, and we settled on just one that overcharged me. When we got to the hotel I gave him the agreed upon fee and he asked for a dollar. I told him that he had charged me three times the going rate and didn’t think I wanted to add a dollar to that. He got the biggest grin, held out his hand and shook mine. Guess it was acknowledgment that I knew I was an Anglo mark and accepted my place in the Indian taxi hierarchy.

Back at the hotel, it is almost 4 pm, and I am starting to fade. Gotta power through the next couple hours before bed. Maybe a caffeine jolt from a Coke will do it.

India part two

Five and a half years ago, upon returning from India I read somewhere that the word “India” was
actually an acronym. It stood for “I'll Never Do It Again” and I heartily agreed at the time. I came home from India after seeing wonderful and exotic sights. After seeing the Taj Mahal, a temple for rats, a cremation site that had been operating for millennia, the most elaborate evening border crossing closing and dozens of other new and worthwhile places in India – All I could remember was the pushing and shoving of people all wanting to be someplace else and I was in their way to get there.

Well, I'm going to try it one more time. I thought about going back to South East Asia and a visit to Laos, but my past three international trips have taken me to that area and it was getting routine.

I decided to give India a second try, I mean if a visitor came to the USA and only saw – say – New York city and went home and told all their friends that the USA was crowded, dirty, expensive and full of homeless people, that would hardly be fair. Maybe my experiences in India were of a similar nature.

So after finding that they now had a VOA (Visa Of Arrival) program, where you filled out an on-line questionnaire, sent a recent photograph and a PDF of your passport and a few dollars and if all went according to plan had a visa in 72 hours. I decided to give it a try. In about 24 hours I had my new eVisa in my email-box.

I am leaving on Thanksgiving day. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year, but greed overcame my desires. The day before was about $300 more and the day after about $500 more, it really was a “No brainer”.

I leave Seattle (known for 1993's Sleepless In Seattle), fly to Paris (recently know for – well you know) and arrive in Mumbai (also know for a 2008 – well you know – Slumdog Millionaire). Twenty One hours of cramped seating, airline meals and waiting in lines.

My plan is to arrive in Mumbai (Bombay for you old folks) and go to the closest hotel possible to the airport for a bed and jet lag relief. I doubt I'll remain at the airport hotel longer than one night, since the airport is around 20 miles or one hour from the actual city center. It doesn't sound convenient for wandering and exploring. A few days there seeing the sights, with maybe a jaunt out of town to see some rock hewn temples.

Then off to Kolcutta (Calcutta). I thought about taking the train and watching India pass through the window, but it is a 24 to 30 hour trip. That would necessitate a sleeper compartment which would probably need to be shared. I don't share well. If I can't score a solo compartment I think flying is the only other realistic option.

I don't know a lot about Kolcutta. I recall hearing about The Black Hole of Calcutta, but don't know if that refers to a specific location or just the city in general. They still had actual human pulled rickshaws in 2012, though there is a big push to stop them. There should be enough, temples, churches, government buildings and general sights to see to keep me occupied for a few days.

Kolcutta is also the gateway to the Sundarbans. That great mangrove swamp that spans both India and Bangladesh. Last year's ill fated trip of mine to Bangladesh to visit the Sundarbans was cut short by my poorly executed double back flip dismount at a fish market in Cox's Bazar. This year I plan on avoiding all fish markets, so maybe I'll get a chance to visit the Sundarbans. Maybe see a tiger, probably not.

Darjeeling, of tea fame is in the general area. High in the foothills of the Himalayas with the peak of the world's 3^rd highest mountain, Mount Kanchenjunga (after Everest and K2) in sight of the city.

All in all I expect the should be enough to see and do for two and a half weeks.

Got my passport, visa, clean undies, shin guards, spiked elbow pads and the 1400 page Lonely Planet guidebook. I think I'm ready to face India again.

(photos used in this are drawn from Google image search – not my work)