India to Nepal: Overland Adventure

I had a wonderful few days in Agra. I visited the Taj Mahal for sunrise which was spectacular and definitely one of the highlights in India. I actually returned in the afternoon to sit and read a book in a garden facing the tomb until sunset - quite a spectacular way to spend a day. I had been told by quite a few Indians and guidebooks that Agra was dirty and there were people hassling tourists on every street corner but in my experience it was calmer than Delhi and the open sewers didn't bother me like some of the filth in Delhi did. My second day in Agra, I ventured across the river to the Baby Taj. I departed with all my luggage and hired an auto rickshaw. The driver decided that he would rather not take me all the way to the monument and dropped me off a mile away on the other side of the river. I made the trek over the precarious pedestrian way which consisted of thin pieces of metal welded together with the occasional gap and somehow attached to the bridge. On the other side I found a slum of homes surrounding the road to the monument. I felt horrible and uncomfortable walking through the neighborhood with my pack- my travel gear encompassing more worth and goods than entire families owned. I made my way through the midday sun and brazen stares to the Baby Taj. I was not overly impressed with the monument, possibly because I had just seen the amazing Taj Mahal or due to the fact that I was carrying my bag around. I didn't stay long and found an auto rickshaw driver who would actually take me over the bridge and headed to Agra Fort. The fort was a huge sprawling expanse of walls and buildings - most not open to visitors. There was a view of the Taj from many of the buildings and the most fascinating where the emperor's harem of 500 resided.
After a delicious dinner (I splurged on ice cream to chase the spicy Indian fare), I headed to the train station by bicycle rickshaw. On my way to find my platform, I ran across a Russian couple and Argentinian siblings who were headed to the same train. The train was over an hour late (per usual) and it was nice to have people to chat with - the Argentinian had even worked in New Zealand for a year. My car was all tourists and I had a relatively comfortable night sleeping on my third berth (a little high up and shaky but a bed is a bed).
I arrived in Varanasi and went to the bus station where Mr. Kahn approached me to sell me a tour. I only had one day in Varanasi and was told that I'd be ripped off whatever I did as a boat tour and rickshaw are necessary to see the city, so I decided to be ripped off early so I'd have the entire day to explore. Varanasi is the Hindu version of Mecca (pilgrims come from all over the world) and the city centers around the Ganges river. Each street to the river ends in a Ghat which is a long staircase leading into the Ganges, typically with a temple at the top. Most Ghats are used for bathing or washing clothes but there is one that is the funeral Ghat where they burn bodies, or if it is a child or holy person, throw them into the river.
I took an amazing 2 hour boat ride down the river in my own private boat. I was able to have a little peak into the lives of residents of Varanasi in addition to their traditions around death. The city reminded me a little of an Indian version of Cinque Terre because of the color of the homes set up high along the river. The ability to walk from ghat to ghat is kind of like walking from town to town (there are many more differences than similarities but it was an interesting first impression).
From the river we journeyed to the Muslim center of town (it is half Hindu and half Muslim and self-segregated) where the silk Varanassi is famous for is dyed and woven. I was taken down a side street to a little home where I first thought they were cooking spaghetti. They had silk of an off-white shade wrapped around a long pole and they were dipping it in boiling water to extract any color from it. The silk was then measured by walking it all the way down the alley and finally taken into the house. Inside a small room lit by one light bulb were vats of dyes and a fire made hot by a manual fan turned every so often by the younger brother of the operation. The visit was even more fun because on the staircase around the corner and the doorway to the next house were women and little girls all peeking around the corners to watch me. I waved to them and they'd duck inside and then reappear a few moments later. Finally they became less timid and would giggle and wave back.
Mr. Kahn took me around the neighborhood and in every doorway families were participating in some part of the silk processing. We visited a doorway where men punched cards that dictated the patterns and a room where teenage boys used the cards to create intricate pieces - I watched a kimono in progress.
I was wondering how I had gotten so lucky to pick such a great and honest tour guide when he took me to a home of a neighbor of the silk dyers who he said wanted to meet me (I knew something was up but what could I do). We went up a narrow staircase and reached a small living room where one woman was sewing and a few others were sitting around, one with a small child. Mr. Kahn told me that the old woman was a widow and the four girls were her daughters who had no money to enable them to get married. I was served chai and chatted with the girls (14, 17 and 19) through Mr. Kahn for a while. I have to say, I really enjoyed the experience until the ask and subsequent handing over of money at the end.
The final destination on the trip was the silk cooperative market - someplace I imagined that I could walk around and admire the final products of the labors. We entered a small shop with no windows and I was asked to leave my pack and shoes in the entry-way and was then ushered into a back room where there was a long bench, of silk, and a tourist couple. I was asked to sit on the bench and my 'personal shopper' began to unravel bedspreads by the dozen, saris and bags galore despite my protests that I just wanted to browse the scarves. Soon I was sitting in a pile of silken goods with no escape in sight but to make a purchase (or be regaled with another layer of goods). I chose an item and made it out of there with my shoes, pack and self intact.
Mr. Kahn and I parted ways and I headed to the bus station for my overnight bus to Sunali (the border of India/Nepal). I found my bus - a rickety POS that makes Fung Wah look like first class- and got the last window seat. Instead of the typical four seats across, there were five and very little room for luggage - most of which ended up in the aisle and my bag was on my lap - making cramped into immovable. The window next to me wouldn't close all the way and it was in the high 30s/low 40s outside with so many fires burning in the small towns that smoke and chill filled the bus for the entire ride. Luckily, on the first part of the journey, I sat next to Amit, a man with a jewelry shop who spoke passable English and was very keen on practicing. He was very nice and came from a "very small" family with just him and one sister. After Amit departed, a larger man who most definitely didn't fit in the seat, and most definitely didn't care if he slept with his head on my shoulder and feet in my small amount of foot room, replaced him. The bus which had been huffing a puffing down the highway finally puffed to a stop on the side of the road. 45 minutes later we were fixed and on our way only to breakdown again. We exited the bus and stood on the freezing side of the road until another bus came to pick us up. The seats were already filled and the standing room was sparse but the man taking tickets (they call him el conductor) witnessed my attempts to navigate a space amongst the elbowing and pushy men and gave me a seat. It was 2:30AM and we were on our way again!
We reached Gohrapur, a town just 3 hours from the border and were directed to disembark and board another bus that didn't even have standing room left. One man spoke a bit of English and let me know what was going on. He said that another bus would arrive shortly and about 20 of us were stranded on a road in the middle of the night. A bus finally appeared 45 min later and we were transported through the crazy can't-see-the-nose-on-your-face fog to the border. There was some navigating of cycle rickshaws, a visa fee that had increased, 4km to an ATM and I finally made it! I decided to skip the local bus and take the tourist bus to Pokhara. I splurged on a ticket and boarded a fairly nice minibus with a tv playing Bollywood music videos at volumes that should not be allowed. I was the only tourist and soon discovered that the bus stopped at any person along the road to see if they needed a ride (and charged them a fraction of what I paid). I had a seat for my bag and the bus remained in tact for the entire journey so I counted it as a luxury ride.
I arrived in Pokhara in the dark only to discover that the town had no electricity (turns out this is a very common occurrence). I found a hotel with a generator that promised hot water - took a quick, icy (hot water, hah) shower and returned after dinner to a hotel with no lights. In the meantime, I found a nearby restaurant and joined three other backpackers for a drink and some momos - so nice after not running into many travellers in India. The next day I strolled the streets, ate by the lakeside with views of snow covered peaks and relaxed. The town is backpacker's paradise and is littered with hostels, internet cafes, restaurants, tour agencies and shops selling either trekking equipment or handmade clothing/jewelry. It is the slow season so there aren't as many travellers as expected and I often have restaurants to myself.
I have been trying to coordinate a trek and was lucky to run into Jo, a British girl, at a bookshop. Anapurna sanctuary has avalanche warnings and she was heading out on my second choice trek - as was a girl we met on the bus who is from Brookline, MA! The three of us (who all happen to be redheads - what are the chances) hired a guide and are off to the mountains tomorrow!