Author Archives: Mark and Sarah - MASTERS!

MARK AND SARAH:  During our first 10 days in India, we have been very fortunate to meet some lovely people.  But our thoughts are always never far from home. So rather than bore you this weekend with more copy and further tails of “how to wash whilst travelling”, we have selected a number of photos from the clicks we have taken and hope they speak a thousand words. Please “click” on image to enlarge.

As our travels continue, doubtless we will have many more moments where we say “ah such and such a person would like this…” More photos for more of our friends as we come across them.. Happy weekend!  M and S.

Joe Bailey

Alastair Black

Ian Prescott

Dennis Barnard

Joy Bailey

Phil Whitby

Andy Hamer

Judith Whitby

Yousef, Sophia and Ray

Grace Baker

Steve Elliott

Suzy Green

Stuart Bailey

SARAH:  Having left the emotional “stuff” to Mark my brief for this trip has been to focus on the more practical elements… As Mark has been writing his blogs, my role has been to ensure the security and well-being of all our worldly possessions, which essentially entails packing, unpacking and washing… So, I thought it worth sharing the all-important issue of how to wash clothes whilst you are constantly travelling on the road.

In fairness, there is not a lot to wash.  In my “wardrobe” I have, six pairs of knickers, three bras, five t shirts, three shirts, two pairs of trousers, two sweat shirts, three pairs of shorts, one pair of jeans (a very good last minute decision) and two dresses.  I managed to wear my newly purchased Montane trousers for seven days in a row and nobody seemed to notice, because here in India nobody seems to care what you wear or what you look like.  At least we have clothes to wear!

My theory is that if you keep your body clean, then clothes tend to stay “fresh” that much longer.  With temperatures ranging from 30-40C in the first week, that wasn’t easy as one does tend to perspire a little more…

By the time we reached Amritsar, we decided to wash some smalls and some t shirts in the basin and hang them to dry on a washing line we brought with us, which when stretched, is about 3m in length.  At both ends are two hooks and two suction pads which work fine if there is not too much weight. Improvisation is the order of the day as the photos show.  After about a day, the clothes are dry – job done.

Amritsar bedroom becomes Chinese laundry

The bras hit the fan – great drier, but only on slow spin speed!

Mark meanwhile thought he would use the Hotel Hong Kong Inn’s (Amritsar) laundry service for his trousers, a bargain at just 30 Indian Rupees (30 pence).  They came back cleanish, not my quality clean, but good enough.

At Shimla, the former home of the British Raj in the 1920s, more washing and for the first time in 27 years of married life Mark actually did some hand washing.  Not a pretty sight I have to say.  Mr B in the shower sporting a pair of black pants, scrubbing away in a bucket, bras, knickers, T shirts and socks.  Sadly a photo I took was censored by the Blog Police.

Got to say he ain’t a great washer my husband.  When dry some of the clothes failed the “smell test” and Mark now realises what standards are required if he is not forced not to do it all again…

Must say I have not been at all impressed with Cotswold’s bio degradeable washing flakes, which cost a rather expensive £2.50 for just 50 flakes.  So today rushed out and invested 20 Rupees on a massive soap bar which has washed the trousers much better I’ve found and the soap bar will probably last us until we get to Malaysia in three months’ time.

Gets the job done – the Tide has turned as Mr B found out…

I am going to explore the possibilities of full laundry “outsourcing” when we get to Goa in a weeks time as rumour has it the whole lot can be done for a couple of quid which sounds a bargain.  After all, I think I deserve a bit of sun and relaxation after all this travelling.

Any laundry top tips welcomed.

NOTE:  We were both so sad to read of the deaths of the two British tourists who died just outside of Kalka.  It hit home for us even more as we had travelled the same stretch of line just a couple of days before.  Our thoughts are with the families of those who died and were injured.  Mark and Sarah – 13 September 2015.

BBC REPORT: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-34239177

MARK:  “Whose idea was this”!  Sarah moaned.  It was 3.45am and time to get up.  In just an hour and a half we had to be safely aboard the CSR Express leaving Amritsar for the four hour, 200 mile journey to the north Indian city of Chandigarh.  We were travelling in the footsteps of the British Raj in the 1920s, 6000ft up in the Himalayas.

It was a day I had been looking forward to for a long time, ever since I’d seen a BBC Documentary about the Famous Indian Toy Trains (narrow gauge) which go to some of India’s highest towns. The train from Kalka to Shimla is the longest trip, arguably the best – and we were going on it.

A rail car Indian style

The journey from Chandigarh proved largely uneventful, except of course the station platform changed at 0505 from 1 to 3 which necessitated a 500m dash with all our bags over two footbridges.  Then I realised they had changed the carriage configuration.  Our Second Class AC coach should have been in the middle of the 20 carriage train.  It wasn’t, it was at the end and also at the far end of the damn platform…  We made it, just, and the train pulled out right on time at 5.15am.

In our coach, there were some fit looking (Sarah’s words not mine) guys who had two enormous trophies proudly taking up a whole table.  One was for the Northern India Basketball winners and one for the Northern India Volleyball winners.  They must have won their tournament. The rest of the journey was largely uneventful and so as the train crawled into Chandigarh, we were ready for the madness of another Indian station.  With back packs front and back on, we struggled off the train and made our way to the station entrance.  Porters really miffed that two Brits had done them out of business. We did a quick deal with a taxi man to take us on the next stage of the trip from Chandigarh to Kalka some 25 miles away, in order that we could join the Toy Train known as the Himalayan Queen which was due to leave at 1210.

Two hours early, we arrived.  Chai and coffee killed some time and I went off chatting to the locals.  Fifteen selfies later, I went back to Sarah sitting on a hard wooden bench reading her Kindle.

Sarah and Kindle @ the start of the journey

The Toy Train arrived right on time.  Described as a “Toy”, this is perhaps not quite the impression to give.  There were seven coaches pulled by a smelly old diesel train, running on a narrow gauge track.  It had over 250 people aboard. I quickly identified our Coach – Coach 1 – and was relieved to see our two names on the seating reservation list complete with our ages and translation in to Hindi – see below photo.

We’re on there… Sarah, are you really that old??

We clambered on and sat down on a blue small plastic bench – seats 22 and 23.  And then suddenly all hell broke loose.  A hundred school boys aged between 10 and 15 piled on to our train.

Getting on…

Before the madness – our little carriage

They were swinging on the overhead parcel shelves, and fighting as to who was going to sit where.  Sarah’s face a picture, my mind going back a couple of weeks ago to a recent BBC Programme with Dan Snow at Mumbai station.  Suddenly a police man wielding a stick came in and they all ran out of the carriage to get in their own – thank God we could breathe again.  They were replaced by two Swiss backpackers, three middle aged French couples “doing India” and twenty local Indians.  Some families, some couples and a few single travellers.

Sarah’s face another picture when she realised we were going to be stuck in this 1930s carriage with our back packs blocking the gangway for a mere five hours 22 minutes.  We set off.  90km to go (around 60 miles) and 10 stations.  Even my O Level maths could work out that was an average speed of a little over 12 miles per hour!  But in fairness we were going to be climbing over 2000m.

As the train went round the first 48 degree corner, we narrowly missed two cows, a cheeky monkey (animal, not child) and a few locals pushing their bikes down the middle of the track, because that’s what they do here. But we were off and what a start.  The clickerty clack sound of the track like a metronome in consistency.  The 35 degree stifling heat in the carriage where only small windows gave any sort of relief through the occasional welcome breeze.

An hour in, the train was literally “zig zagging” up the contours of the mountains, doubling back on itself in order to make the steep gradient.  I had counted 17 tunnels – just another 86 to go.

Light at the end…

Round the bend backwards Mark hangs out with the locals

Suddenly disaster struck.  A flood of smelly effluent rushed out of the “hover toilet” and lapped all around our bags.  Not quite a sea of sewage, but whatever it was, it was to quote my sister in law Lisa, “not pleas’”.  Urgent steps were called for.  I rushed forward, tripped over the French contingents bags and managed to move up our backpacks together with the Swiss man’s bag, prior to another wave of yuk coming our way as the train went round a sharp left bend.  Bags moved, Sergio, the Swiss young man (from Zurich, Janet Elliott) was very grateful (sehr gut) and promptly lashed his bag to ours with our metal chain for security.  The British Bloke had won another friend.

Three hours in and the little train came to a stop at a hillside station – 1450m above sea level.  Cue mega clear out of the whole train who rushed out for plates of curry, water, potato cakes and anything else they could buy in 6 minutes 30 seconds before the train horn blew and everyone rushed back on.  As the train rounded a right bend at the end of the station, Indians were running up the track and launching themselves into the carriage.  All aboard!

Nearly as beautiful as Yorkshire – the view from our carriage for five hours

The scenery was stunning, the sun shone, the temperature dropped with each 100ft we climbed.  The only thing missing was a few beers like the Watercress Ale Train.  But we had Nan bread, two packets of crisps and some Bourbon biscuits which we shared with our fellow passengers.  They reciprocated and the food feast began – not impressed with the French cheese though…

Finally we could see the hanging town of Shimla, across the valley.  Hundreds, ney thousands of multi-coloured red, green and blue buildings clinging to the side of the mountain.  We had made it. The British had returned home to their Colonial Summer Retreat.  Shimla a little piece of England, 5000 miles from home – the nearest we will get for eight months.

Hanging from the mountainside – Shimla the home of the British Raj @7,500ft

MARK:  GUT wrenching, disgusting, disgraceful.  Just simply wrong, wrong WRONG!

How could a British General, yes a BRITISH General give the order to open fire on a crowd of non violent protestors, slaughtering over a thousand men, women and children?

Shoot to kill – lest we forget

I still cannot get this fact out of my head some hours after visiting Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar.  We, probably like you, had seen pictures of the beautiful Golden Temple, but had personally never heard of this brutal British massacre of ordinary people on 13 April 1919.

Under the command of General Reginald Dyer, troops opened fire in the Bagh space area, a 7 acre walled garden which has five small entrances.  Over just ten minutes, 1500 bullets were fired in to the crowd, with troops directing their aim largely towards the few open gates that people were trying to flee through.

We saw the deep well, where people jumped to their death to escape the onslaught.  We saw the red bricked walls riddled with rifle rounds.  We saw Indian people quietly walking around the park, remembering their dead, mourning their dead, praying for their dead.

Sarah and I were the only British people amongst hundreds of Indians.

I was acutely aware that this now beautiful garden complex was where less than hundred years ago my fellow countrymen had behaved in a way that was simply terrible and beyond belief.  The sort of behaviour of barbarians – yes British barbarians.

I bowed my head at the eternal flame conscious that many pairs of eyes were looking straight at me.  What were they thinking? What hatred was in their hearts?  Just who was this tall, overweight Englishman?  And what was he doing here at the heart of the atrocity?

At the wall of bullet holes I could contain it no longer.  I went up to an Indian man and woman in their mid 70s and said “sorry”, tears streaming down my face, with the salt immediately drying in the baking heat of the 40 degree midday sun.  “It was a long time ago” said the man, clearly aware of my distress.  “Now we are friends”.  I walked off, desperately hunting for a piece of hotel toilet paper to dry my face….

But before I had gone more than 100 metres around the corner a young man and woman came up to me with their baby.  They wanted me to hold their beautiful six month old girl so they could take a picture for their family album.

aHHHHHH – Grabbed this baby – long time since Joe this small…

Soon many people were shaking my hand and asking for selfies.  I obliged.  What could I do? Was this there way of saying that Britain had been forgiven?  That they had moved on?  That life moves on?  That peace is really the only way of life and that man can, and must live and work together?

I’m not sure.  What I am sure about, is today was a moving, emotional day.  The Golden Temple as the photos below show is a stunning World wonder.  But I’m going to let the pictures tell the story here.  My words have dried up suffice to say, people over gold and material wealth any day….

FOOTNOTE:  UNBELIEVABLE!!!  We have just arrived back from the famous India/Pakistan “Wagha” Border ceremony.  A brilliant occasion with 10,000 highly excited Indians and six Brits!  Leaving the seating area we had walked one km back to our car when I suddenly heard “Mark Mark!!!”  It was Garima and family including Grandma.  We hugged them all.  A crowd gathered round.  Photos were taken and now we meet them for lunch at their house in Amritsar tomorrow.  See end photo.  A stunning day.  A moving day.  A day to always remember. Now to bed.

Beautiful! And the wife looked cool today as well

Bob Monkhouse would have been proud of this Golden Shot.

We meet again – this time amongst a crowd of 10,000 at the Indian/Pakistan Border. Coincidence??

Mark: Time 0640 Platform 14, New Delhi Station. Crackling over the 1950s style loud speaker: “We regret to announce that train 12497 the Shane Punjab Express is running two hours forty minutes late. This delay is very regrettable”. …

We had been on the station since 0600 ready to navigate the largest station in the World. Each train consisting of over 20 carriages (500m) in length with early morning commuters literally hanging on to carriage roofs, jammed in every door way and clinging for dear life on to anything that moved.

So that was that then! The sea of Indian faces looked resigned to a long wait. “This happens all the time” said an old Indian gentleman, his head wobbling from side to side, reminiscent of the chap in the 1970s sitcom “It Ain’t Half Hot Mum”. I nodded and asked if he had ever travelled recently by South West Trains…

Next to us on the platform was a small family. A you girl, aged around 16 came up to me and explained that the train had not been cancelled – good news – but had been rescheduled for 0930. She smiled, went to her Mother and came back with two steaming cups of Chai – sweet tea consisting of tea, ginger and cinnamon. She offered them to us both. A touching moment.

And so we had met some new friends. Garima Dahiya’s family – Mother, Grandmother, Auntie and Niece were all travelling on our train to Amritsar and planning, like us to visit the Golden Temple and attend the Border Ceremony. Suddenly she started delving in her pocket. Out came a plastic cellophane bag with a friendship bracelet inside – a red and yellow wrist band made out of string and beads. “In India, sisters give special bracelets to their brothers for safekeeping. I do not have a brother. But you are now my English Brother!” She then promptly gave me her last bit of newspaper so that Sarah and I could sit on the filthy platform beside her family! There were no seats.

This family did not have much, but what they had, they shared. No questions asked, nothing wanted in return. I was embarrassed and humbled and promptly marched off to the kiosk on the station, jossled my way through the crowds of people and bought a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate, a Kinder Egg a lollipop and some chewing gum. I distributed them around the family and we had a strange, early morning breakfast, in full view of a man relieving himself off the station edge right in front of us. He was, quite literally “taking the pxxx”!

FOOTNOTE ADDED NEXT DAY TO THIS BLOG:  UNBELIEVABLE – we were walking away from the Wagha Border ceremony the next day.  The crowd of 10,000 people left.  We had been in the “VIP” Section because of our British Passports and left in the twilight.  Who should shout out, “Mark, Mark”?  Yes you guessed it.  My Indian family!  What were the chances of that?  See the end photo on this blog.

The man we had to thank for booking all of our trains in India we’d met 12 hours earlier at our hotel for lovely vegetarian curry. Mahendra is the General Manager of Trinetra Tours. It was his company that had looked after us so well on our visit to India in 2014 when we had a bit more of a budget to spend on hotels and travel. Trinetra is a superb company which puts customer service first. They are professional and just lovely people. Mahendra and his family are now our friends and looked after our Frimley friends Richard and Tricia Daw so well earlier this year when they came on holiday to India. So, ladies and gentlemen, if you EVER go to this wonderful county, I am of course happy to pass on tips. BUT do, through me contact Mahendra at Trinetra Tours- www.trinetratoursindia.com as you will have the trip of a lifetime. And irrespective of what you spend, be it £100 (10,000 INR) or £10,000 (1,000,000 INR) you will receive a superb value for money service. Trust me, I used to be a tour operator.

As I shook Mahendra’s hand to say good bye, we promised to return again one day and repay his generous hospitality when he comes to England whenever that may be. Namaste!

My Indian Sister and my new friendship bracelet

Team India! Sarah’s on the right…

We meet again – this time amongst a crowd of 10,000 at the Indian/Pakistan Border. Coincidence??

MARK:  Delhi residents were today suffering from a triple wammy of bad news, reports Yorkshire Post Senior Correspondent Mark Bailey.  An outbreak of the deadly Dengue fever (mosquito mayhem) has resulted in 980 reported hospital cases of fever like conditions in just two days.  Public and low paid workers today (Wednesday) went out on strike to try and raise their minimum wage from 7,100 Indian Rupees a month (£71) to 15,000 INR (£150) – AS PER STEVE ELLIOTT EXCHANGE RATE 13/9/2015 AMMENDED.  And high pressure in Northern India has created a dense smog cloud over the centre of the city. Health Authorities have issued a severe health warning and believe conditions will only improve when rain is forecast next week and Mr and Mrs Bailey have left town.

Welcome to India Mark and Sarah!

These and other stark headlines greeted us over breakfast on our first morning, as we scanned our free copy of the Hindustan Times. But hey, we’re Brits and we weren’t going to be put off as we headed through the back streets into the middle of Delhi from our hotel near the main railway station.

It soon became clear though, that near 40C heat mixed with car, lorry and bus fumes do mess with your breathing and make you cough all the time.  So we decided to flag down a Tuk Tuk and head off to Chandni Chowk the notorious central market where quite literally anything goes.  We agreed a price of 100 rupees (£1) for the three mile trip.  But after no more than 300 metres, a “smart guy” jumped on the front of the TT by the side of the driver.  We set off again, only for the TT to mysteriously “break down” just 200m down the road…

It then dawned on us.  Our Tuk Tuk Driver was a strike breaker. Mr Smart Guy was a “Union Convenor” who had spotted two pinkies literally being taken for a ride.  But that was it.  Our TT was going nowhere and we were left in the middle of a three lane high way on a bridge over the main railway.  So time to be creative and flag down a passing rickshaw driver who did not seem to be affected by the local strike and who was happy to do a deal.

I felt a bit sorry for our peddle boy who was sweating like a pig under the sweltering sun.  But it did give me a great opportunity to take a few shots of some beautiful children – see BELOW.  Plus we saw what looked like the “Child Catcher’s” van from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  This red barred vehicle had six children aboard, with their school bags on top.  Delhi – mad and crazy we loved it.

Next up Amritsar, the Golden Temple and the chance to see the strutting Army peacocks at the night time ceremony at Wagah – on the Indian/Pakistan border.  That is of course if we survive the seven hour 40 minute train journey tomorrow.

SARAH:  This is our second visit to Delhi, but I was still amazed by the smells, the noise, the dirt and this time the full on heat which leaves you very tired after just a couple of hours tramping the streets.  This time, on our own DIY Trip, our hotel although perfectly clean and serviceable is in a distinctly dodgy area. Without the comfort and security of the guide and driver we had last year, we both have to admit to feeling slightly more vulnerable.  We were given the run around at Delhi Station yesterday, but realised these were scammers trying to say our train had been cancelled and that we had better rebook!!! You need eyes in the back of your head.  Had to laugh though when a local Indian immediately identified Mark as being from Yorkshire because of his accent.  He then tried to rip us off for an expensive tour, wanting to charge £65 – when we knew we could do it for £6.50.  Methinks his decimal place slipped accidentally on purpose.