The major river that has flowed from Tibet between Dhaulaghiri and Annapurna.
The formalities were simple, but time consuming.
On the Nepal side we could park and let traffic past.
We blocked the road while waiting for immigration to stamp our passports.
The line of trucks meant traffic coming the other way overtook and couldn't get back in.
The guy in the green tee-shirt in the foreground helped us through for a small fee.
We are on the northern plains.
Flat forever.
Concrete sleepers and very heavy rail.
People we'd talked to at Pokhara had stories of 12 hour days on rough roads to cover less than 300 km.
Apart from the border town we are finding progress slow on very variable roads. But importantly there is relatively little traffic, and its all moving at 30 - 50 km/hr.
Its expected. Not to be taken as offensive. Its the only way people know there's something coming.
As we've met previously, flashing headlights means "coming through regardless of the consequences".
All in slow motion, a sort of relaxed concentration, but mentally very tiring.
In the forest.
The passing locals seemed happy for us to be there.
Unfortunately the UP (Uttar Pradesh) Police had different thoughts.
We moved a couple of hundred meters along the road to an hotel.
"This is not right. It is forest area. There are lots of thieves.".
He couldn't guarantee our safety in his outside car park (and the one at the back was a bit full when I looked).
He didn't answer when asked if he "minded if we parked outside". So we did.
Our first sight of an Indian Railways train.
Our gps roughly knew the way through but not quite accurate enough.
We asked.
A few times.
Animal droppings and a bit of straw drying for fuel.
This time an Indian Oil petrol station.
To the sound of passing traffic - with lots of horn blowing.
Mostly over loaded.
Not sure what a lone road roller is doing miles from any other equipment.
Indian rivers are wide. Slowly meandering through the sand.
Police or army.
He'd just conferred with his accomplice.
The general message was that we were a little large and while Varannasi was a big city its streets were small.
Confused between "road tax" and "wait until 10 pm" I chose confusion.
Eventually we were let to proceed.
The big roads are east-west.
Unfortunately its "wedding season" and they had no car park space for us.
We ended up outside the less selubrious and more expensive River Palace.
But down to the river, a few km from cantonment to ghats.
Staples to hold the stones of the steps together. Just like the Romans.
It was 1978 when I was here last.
Ali's first time.
We haven't discovered the significance.
We had a closer look then the long row upstream against the current.
The clutch was about kaput on this one which made for some interesting driving technique.
The Turkish radiator cap had sprung a leak.
A new Indian one was available off the shelf.
I later realised that driving at less than 50km/hr in 5th gear may not be enough revs to provide sufficient cooling. Using a higher gear and new cap the problem hasn't re-occurred.
We broke a wing mirror on a passing vehicle that got a bit close. Unfortunately the "looking-glass wallah" was closed on Sunday.
The burning ghat.
Wrapped bodies are carried through the streets on a stretcher. We followed one to find our way.
Government controlled, a funeral costs about NRP5,000 (around A$100). Wood is weighed. Sandalwood costs more. A few ashes are scattered by the relatives. The remaining ashes are for the untouchables to recover the gold.
Generally no women on the ghat. Some widows.
Its also used for everything.
This is an Indian Laundry.
Couldn't decide if the groom on the horse was happy or not.