Trains, lanes and badass monkey's

After thirty hours, we peeled from the seats as the train pulled into Udaipur. The city holds the obvious wild Indian noise; full of surprises, beauty, colour, smiles and smells, and just enough reckless madness that makes every day exciting, but not so much that makes it annoying. Another mad tuk tuk driver darts in front of a bus to our woops of worry, but with a cheeky grin in the rear view mirror and a not so extortionate fee for the ride. Its right on the cusp of chaos.

The next day I woke early and sat on the street with a chai. A working day was rousing. People rubbed tired eyes beginning their day with sloth like urgency. Shop shutters rattled up, only the chai man moved quickly behind his stall, filling little glasses with flare for a gathering of chatting men. Cows plodded the waking streets and I bought a bundle of fresh grass off a man I figured was shouting "coooooww" and fed it to a lucky one. It gave a quick sniff and waddled off.

Swept clean these wandering lanes roll and twist down to the lake. A crown of lumpy mountains encircle the sprawl of cream block buildings, leaning tall and keeping the cobbles below cool. Crooked arcs of blue sky penetrate between tight roofs above streets dizzy with tuk tuks.

Udaipur is an incredibly lovely place, I could be here for a month, if not longer. But we head north again, to Bundi.

A seventeenth century abandoned fort overlooks the crumbling building's of Bundi. Its a place where time seems stuck, like the land has been owned by cows and monkeys and cheerful faces forever. Open sewers run either side of the dusty road, birthing nasty stinks that liven on the wind and sneak up the nose without warning.

Following a path up to the fort, we found the gate barred by a row of grooming monkeys. Fearlessly, I went to edge of the gang of bouncer chimps as Gayle pulled at my sleeve. A few feet away a screeching big lad sprang to life, bearing its teeth with a grasp toward my trouser leg. It was enough to send me running, backing off to where Gayle stood looking ready to climb a tree - not the recommended procedure in monkey safety.

We shouted to the guard "can we borrow your big stick?" He obliged and scattered the lazing monkeys by blowing down a horn before we trekked on up. A maze of stone steps and passage ways lead through empty chambers, cool and cloaked in dust. It was eerily silent and when we lost each other for a moment, our shouts echoed through rooms and doorways confusingly spooky.The view from the top look out point spread for miles in lush green fields.

When the heat of the day faded and the land became blissful in heat and colour, the monkeys came home. We watched them graze back to their temple, climbing down the step well and hanging off branches to scoop up a drink. The empty carved walls crawled with them and still slightly on edge, Gayle passing me the stick when a big one neared, we watched in awe for a while. Baby's somersaulted and pulled on mum's tail as she napped. It felt like intruding in someone's home, the fort was owned by the monkey's and probably always will be.

Empty rooms echoed with King Louie's gang in Jungle book and apparently, so Gayle says, Rudyard Kipling wrote some of it in Bundi. I like to think that he sat writing within the shady walls, inspired by the thriving life. We sang "I wanna be like you" all the way home.


Six weeks later.

A night train arrived in Varanasi around 3am. Boundless hours suspended in Indian delay, crouched on our bags in the florescent lights of the station and we climb the train half broke on the hunt for sleep. We shared a bunk, top to tale to squeeze into the narrow quarters and fell into rest as the train rattled into the dawn. I usually find that life feels longer in travel, but the past months riding the rails of India have cruised by on Gayle's organized schedule. Maybe that's why travel feels longer to me when I'm alone, muddling from one panicked situation to another. But here we were, at the edge of India already, cities on the map now etched with faces and memories. Now we knew what India could do, we wondered what Nepal would bring and climbed the steps of an old bus with another long nights travel ahead.

And it was a long night. The bus weaved into the mountains and we twitched and squirmed all night, heavy with exhaustion but only ever dipping a toe into the river of sleep before something shook us awake. One kind but annoyingly weird man kept tapping my arm and pulling me from a nearing slumber, asking me if I was okay or if I needed a drink or something. Later on in one of the lengthy stop offs at a roadside restaurant, I saw the same man fighting with another passenger. The last thing we needed to make a horribly long night even longer. At 5am we arrived in the dark streets of Kathmandu. I hung in a half dead drunk and rattled on the gates of hotels until a tired eyed worker gave us a cheap enough room. Walls scuffed brown and a duvet old with dark fluff and we were happy enough. The clamor and hassle of India was hidden behind the Himalayas and a sleeping Nepal felt very different in the pale light of a reluctant morning sun.