Xuanzang's Silk Road journey

Re-reading Sally Hovey Wriggin's The Silk Road Journey with Xuanzang after coming back from Nepal and India last November felt a bit different for me. It just wasn't history anymore. Some of the places mentioned in the book had already been treaded by my feet.

The journey of Xuanzang is usually told as something vast and almost unreal. Sixteen years of deserts, mountains, bandits, kings and monasteries. But when I’ve been to places like Lumbini or walked through the ruins of Nalanda University, the story shrinks a little not in importance, but in distance. I start to see that this wasn’t some abstract pilgrimage. It happened on real ground, the same ground that I’ve just been on.

Wriggins made a good job of making that connection. She took Xuanzang’s old records and lined them up with the modern map, so I could follow him step by step. And when he moved through Kapilavastu into Lumbini, it suddenly felt familiar. When I was there, the place had this quiet serenity about it. Xuanzang saw something similar, though in his time many monasteries were already in decline, half-abandoned and fading. 

From Lumbini, he went on to the other key sites, places that now formed the standard Buddhist circuit. Sarnath, Nalanda and eventually Bodh Gaya. When I visited Nalanda, what struck me was the scale of the ruins. I had walked along those long brick foundations and tried to imagine thousands of monks living and studying there. Xuanzang didn’t have to imagine it. He saw it at its peak, with thousands of scholars in residence, studying everything from logic to language to philosophy. 

What I also realised after my trip, was how observant he was. He wasn’t just ticking off holy sites. He was noticing details, how many monasteries were active, how many were abandoned, what people believed, how they lived. Even his route through what is now southern Nepal, into northern India, matched quite closely with what we now called the Buddhist pilgrimage trail. He wasn’t following a travel guidebook. In a way, he was writing the first one.

And then there’s Nalanda again, which kept coming back as the centre theme of his story. Not just a stop, but a place where he stayed, studied, argued and learned. We can stand there today among the ruins and still get a faint sense of that intellectual energy. It’s not hard to imagine why he remained there for years, working and going deep into the texts he had come all that way to find.

What I found myself thinking, re-reading Wriggins after the trip, was how much of Xuanzang’s journey was about persistence. The distances were one thing but even at the key sites, he was often arriving at places already in decline, trying to piece together what remained. It was not so different from what we saw today. The stones are still there, the outlines are still there, but I have to do a bit of work to imagine the rest.

By the time he made it back to China with his load of texts, the journey had already done its real work. Not just collecting manuscripts, but connecting places, ideas, traditions. Reading about it after having been to some of those places myself, it no longer felt like a distant legend. Everything felt real and almost within reach.

And that, I think, is what Wriggins got right. She brought Xuanzang down from the pedestal a bit, not to diminish him, but to place him back on the road. The same road that still runs through Lumbini, Nalanda, Bodh Gaya and the rest.

To read about my experience on the Buddhist trail last year, click here.

Nepal-India Day 5: Lumbini to Shravasti

Dateline: 25 November 2025. With Lumbini behind us, it was time to begin the long overland journey around northern India. After an early lunch -- many in our group decided to revisit the Mayadevi Temple in the daytime but not us because we had already done so last May, we waited outside the Buddha Maya Garden Hotel to board the bus. Our Indian guide, Pankaj, had already cautioned us that the Sonauli border crossing could be unpredictable, and that delays were common.

The warning proved accurate. We watched with some perplexity as neighbouring queues formed and appeared to move faster than ours. Immigration formalities dragged on, and by the time everyone had cleared the Indian checkpoint, more than two hours had elapsed. From there, the road stretched westward for another 7½ hours, carrying us deep into Uttar Pradesh towards Shravasti. Our sole reason for coming to this otherwise unremarkable town was to visit the ruins of the Jetavana monastery, but by the time we arrived, darkness had long since settled. There was nothing left to do but head straight to the Tulip Inn Hotel, where we finally pulled in close to 11 o'clock at night.

A late but warm dinner awaited us, the hotel kitchen kept open in anticipation of our arrival, for which we were thankful. However, there was little opportunity to unwind after dinner. A quick bath, a brief search for clothes for the next day and then straight to bed. The wake-up call was set for 6.30am, followed by breakfast, checkout and yet another day on the road. Even as we turned in for the night, it was clear that the journey ahead would allow little breaks, carrying us forward whether we were ready or not.

Next:
Nepal-India Day 16: Delhi and goodbye 
Nepal-India Day 15: Jaipur to Delhi 
Nepal-India Day 14: Jaipur 
Nepal-India Day 13: Agra 
Nepal-India Days 11 and 12: The Varanasi ghats 
Nepal-India Day 11: Varanasi deer park 
Nepal-India Day 9 and 10: Bodhgaya to Varanasi 
Nepal-India Days 9 and 10: Bodhgaya 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Nalanda 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Gridhakura 
Nepal-India Day 7: Vaishali 
Nepal-India Day 6: Kushinagar 
Nepal-India Day 6: Shravasti

Previous:

Nepal-India Day 4: The sala tree 
Nepal-India Days 3 and 4: Lumbini and Kapilvastu 

Nepal-India Days 1 and 2: Kathmandu and Nagarkot

Our guide, Pankaj, outside the Nepal Immigration Office

The long queue at the Indian Immigration Office

Nepal-India Day 4: The sala tree

Dateline: 24 November 2025. One activity that had never entered our reckoning when Nandaka Vihara was planning this pilgrimage to Nepal and India was the possibility of crossing paths once again with Sayadawgyi Bhaddanta Āciṇṇa, the revered head of the Pa-Auk forest monk tradition from Burma. When Saw See and I were first in Nepal last May, we had travelled to the Dhammadāyāda Meditation Centre in Phasku to meet him. By then, the 90-year-old Sayadawgyi was already frail and visibly unwell, largely confined to his bungalow and attended to day and night by a small circle of monks.

At the time, we could not help wondering why he had chosen to remain in such a remote monastery. The road to Phasku was punishingly difficult, and in any medical emergency, the only realistic option would have been evacuation by helicopter. A few months later, news reached us that he had been transferred to Singapore for dialysis treatment, and I assumed he would remain there for some time. It therefore came as a surprise when, sometime in October, we were told that the Sayadawgyi had returned to Nepal. Not to Phasku, but to Lumbini.

He was there to oversee an ambitious project to plant some 20,000 sāla trees. With a little luck, those of us from Nandaka Vihara who had met him months earlier might see him again. And see him, we did. On the third day of our stay in Nepal, while returning from Ramagram Stupa, we encountered him at the Lumbini Buddha Garden Resort, still frail and confined to his bed. His monk-aides surrounded him to ensure that he was not overly exposed to unwanted germs and viruses from visitors.

The following morning, we drove north of the Māyādevī Temple to a vast open clearing where the sāla forest was to take root. Thousands of saplings had already been planted, but the land stretched out so far that it seemed almost boundless. While waiting for the Sayadawgyi to arrive, we decided to plant some saplings ourselves. It was not often that we were given the chance to take part in something like this, and the occasion felt entirely fitting. 

After an hour or two, the Sayadawgyi arrived with his entourage of monks and lay devotees, and the planting resumed in earnest. As we worked, it became clear why the sāla tree had been chosen. In the Buddhist tradition, it occupies a quietly significant place. It is said that Queen Māyā, travelling through the Lumbini Grove, reached up to grasp the branch of a blossoming sāla tree as Siddhartha was born. Later, during the final phase of his life as a wandering ascetic, Siddhartha spent his last night before enlightenment resting in a grove of sāla trees. And at the end of the Buddha's earthly journey in Kushinagar, he asked that a couch be prepared between twin sāla trees. Though it was not their flowering season, the trees were said to have burst into bloom as he entered Mahāparinibbāna, their falling petals offering a final, wordless teaching on impermanence.

Standing there in Lumbini, planting young sāla saplings into the earth, it felt as though we were participating in a continuity that stretched far beyond us. A small gesture but still quite meaningful to us. Trees grow, flower and eventually fade away; beginnings trailing into endings, both sharing the same page. The Sayadawgyi’s presence, the quiet labour of monks, lay devotees and workers, and the open land waiting to be transformed all seemed to echo that truth. With our objectives realised and Lumbini behind us, we prepared to leave Nepal. We would cross into India the next morning.

Next:
Nepal-India Day 16: Delhi and goodbye 
Nepal-India Day 15: Jaipur to Delhi 
Nepal-India Day 14: Jaipur 
Nepal-India Day 13: Agra 
Nepal-India Days 11 and 12: The Varanasi ghats 
Nepal-India Day 11: Varanasi deer park 
Nepal-India Day 9 and 10: Bodhgaya to Varanasi 
Nepal-India Days 9 and 10: Bodhgaya 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Nalanda 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Gridhakura 
Nepal-India Day 7: Vaishali 
Nepal-India Day 6: Kushinagar 
Nepal-India Day 6: Shravasti 
Nepal-India Day 5: Lumbini to Shravasti

Previous:

Nepal-India Days 3 and 4: Lumbini and Kapilvastu 
Nepal-India Days 1 and 2: Kathmandu and Nagarkot

Nepal-India Days 3 and 4: Lumbini and Kapilvastu

Dateline: 23 & 24 November 2025. Anyone who has followed my occasional ramblings on this blog may recall a piece I wrote last year, inspired by my visit to the Mahāvana Forest near Kapilavastu in Nepal. It drew on the Mahāsamaya Suttam, which recounts how the Buddha, after intervening to prevent a war over water rights, offered spiritual guidance to 500 princes. This in turn became the occasion for an extraordinary celestial gathering. Despite Māra’s attempts to sow disruption, countless beings attained enlightenment, marking a rare moment of harmony and spiritual release on a truly cosmic scale.

Bodhi tree at Ramagram stupa

What I had not expected was how quickly those words would begin to find their way back to me once I arrived in Lumbini this second time. Our first visit was to Ramagram Stupa. When we entered the grounds, a large group of Thai monks, perhaps 80 of them, together with a smaller number of lay devotees, were already deep in meditation. Our own group settled roughly some 50 metres away, preparing to do the same. All except me. I remained alert, watching.

When the Thai group completed their meditation, they rose quietly and began walking along the boardwalk that encircled the stupa. They made three slow circumambulations before stopping and turning as one to face the shrine. Only then did I fully register the scene that had formed. My group was seated on the ground in silent meditation, facing the stupa, and behind us, an entire line of monks standing still, also facing it. No movement, no sound, just layered stillness.

The image struck me with unexpected force. My mind went immediately to the Mahāsamaya Sutta, to the account of 500 monks seated before the Buddha, surrounded by vast assemblies of celestial beings gathered to hear his teaching. I could see a parallel and it was uncanny.  In that moment, the physical arrangement mirrored the ancient account so closely that it felt less like coincidence than recurrence. The scene seemed to suggest that certain configurations of stillness, reverence and collective focus arise naturally, across centuries and cultures, whenever human beings gather around something they hold to be profoundly meaningful. Recognising that pattern, seeing the ancient narrative briefly reenacted in an entirely ordinary setting, left me awe-struck.

My second moment came at the Māyādevī Temple. On an earlier visit, the exact spot of the Buddha’s birth had never been clearly pointed out to me. I remembered only excavated ground and scattered stones. This time, a guide pointed out the marker itself. Standing there, looking down at that simple stone, I felt something quietly profound take hold. Later, as we sat within the temple to reflect, my eyes went damp not from sadness, but from a sudden, complete joy. This was where it had all begun, the first step in the Buddha’s journey on earth, and I was so thankful to be near it.

And so it led, almost inevitably, back to Mahāvana Forest and the Mahāsamaya Suttam itself. We walked along shaded paths until the trees opened into a small clearing. Today, a modest Hindu shrine stands there, marking the space where the Buddha is said to have addressed his 500 newly ordained monks. The setting was unassuming, even ordinary, yet it carried a certain weight as if the ground itself remembered what had once taken place there.

The monks in our group settled into position and began chanting the Mahāsamaya Suttam. We sat facing them, chanting books open in our hands. Once again, the arrangement felt strangely familiar: monks upright and composed, lay followers seated before them, the forest enclosing us in a stillness. There was no ceremony beyond the chant itself, no attempt to recreate anything.

What surprised me most was my own response. The Pāli text should have been alien to me. The words, the rhythms, even the translations. And yet, almost instinctively, I found myself following the chant line by line. I could locate the verses without hesitation, even pointing them out to Saw See, who sat beside me, thoroughly lost. It felt less like reading and more like recognition, as though something long stored had been unlocked.

Those moments, more than anything else on the journey, still stays with me. In the Mahāvana Forest, as earlier at Ramagram, the ancient arrangement surfaced once more. Monks and lay followers gathered in the same geometry described in the texts, not by design but by instinct. For a brief moment, the present felt like a continuation of the past, and the time distance between then and now seemed to fade away.

Next: 
Nepal-India Day 16: Delhi and goodbye 
Nepal-India Day 15: Jaipur to Delhi 
Nepal-India Day 14: Jaipur 
Nepal-India Day 13: Agra 
Nepal-India Days 11 and 12: The Varanasi ghats 
Nepal-India Day 11: Varanasi deer park 
Nepal-India Day 9 and 10: Bodhgaya to Varanasi 
Nepal-India Days 9 and 10: Bodhgaya 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Nalanda 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Gridhakura 
Nepal-India Day 7: Vaishali 
Nepal-India Day 6: Kushinagar 
Nepal-India Day 6: Shravasti 
Nepal-India Day 5: Lumbini to Shravasti 
Nepal-India Days 3 and 4: The sala tree 
Previous: 
Nepal-India Days 1 and 2: Kathmandu and Nagarkot

Nepal-India Days 1 and 2: Kathmandu and Nagarkot

Dateline: 21 & 22 November 2025. The problem with most overseas travel is the unearthly hour at which one has to wake up, and our recent Nepal–India trip was no exception. We had to drag ourselves out of our warm beds at four in the morning so that our Grab driver could pick us up 45 minutes later, allowing us to reach Penang International Airport by 5.30am for our flight to Kathmandu via Bangkok. Having learnt our lesson from the May trip, we had our visa-on-arrival application forms properly completed this time, which spared the group any unnecessary delays. With all 38 of us accounted for, we were processed without fuss and soon whisked away in three hired coaches to our first stop: the Boudhanath Stupa, easily Kathmandu’s most recognisable landmark.

In a sense, we were continuing from where we had left off in May. This time, however, we climbed up onto the broad, whitewashed platform and joined the clockwise flow around the great hemispherical dome. Above us the familiar eyes gazed down, calm and unblinking, looking over the bird droppings, as they have for centuries. 

Standing there again, the structure revealed itself more clearly than it had on our first visit. From close quarters, the stupa was no longer just an iconic silhouette but a carefully layered statement in stone and plaster. The massive dome rose from the platform with a quiet solidity, while above it the square tower bore the all-seeing eyes of the Buddha, watching in the four directions, neither stern nor indulgent, simply present. The spiral between each pair of eyes, so often mistaken for a nose, was the Nepali numeral for one, a reminder of unity and the single path. As we continued our slow circumambulation, the act itself became part of the meaning: one foot placed before the other, movement without hurry, thought gradually giving way to awareness. 

Returning to Boudhanath also made me aware of how differently a place can register the second time around. In May, there had been the rush of first impressions: the sheer scale of the stupa, the crowds, the sense of arrival. This time, there was more space to notice the murmured mantras, the rhythm of prayer wheels, the mix of monks, pilgrims and tourists moving together in an unspoken choreography. It felt less like ticking off a landmark and more like continuing with an ongoing conversation that had not really stopped since we last left. 

Indian musicians in the Patan Durbar Square

That sense of picking up on an unfinished conversation repeated itself over the next few days. At Patan Durbar Square, we found ourselves wandering through a dense and almost overwhelming concentration of courtyards, temples and palace buildings, their carved wooden struts and brick façades bearing the wear of centuries. Statues, shrines and doorways appeared at every turn, some grand and ceremonial, others small and easily missed, giving the impression of a place where history had accumulated rather than been carefully curated. Even the open square seemed layered, as if different eras were quietly coexisting in the same physical space. 

The picture of the Amitabha Buddha that eluded me
during my first visit here in May.

The Golden Temple offered a striking contrast. Tucked away behind a modest entrance, its scale was intimate, almost enclosed, yet alive with constant movement. Monks, devotees and visitors circulated through its gilded surfaces and narrow passages, prayer wheels turning, bells chiming, and offerings being made with practised ease. It felt less like a site to be admired from a distance and more like one to be absorbed from within, where ritual continued uninterrupted by the presence of onlookers. At Swayambhu Mahachaitya, rising above the Kathmandu Valley, we chose not to explore the temple itself this time. Instead, we drifted immediately to the souvenir stalls, picking out items we had noticed and mentally bookmarked during our last visit, as though even our shopping was a continuation rather than a diversion. 

All these aside, the day ended with a long, winding drive up towards Nagarkot, about 30 kilometres east of Kathmandu. As our coaches climbed steadily, the city lights receded, the road grew darker and the air cooler. Perched at roughly 2,000 metres above sea level, Nagarkot has long been valued for its commanding position. Once a retreat for Nepalese royalty and earlier still a strategic lookout over the Kathmandu Valley, it is now best known for its Himalayan panoramas and its reputation as one of the most accessible places from which to watch the sunrise over the snow-capped peaks.

Sunrise over Nagarkot

By the time we reached The Fort Resort, night had fully settled in. Set amid forested slopes and terraced gardens, the resort felt less like a conventional hotel than a quiet sanctuary. Its red-brick structures and carved wooden details echoed the architectural language of the Kathmandu Valley, standing apart from the newer buildings scattered along the ridge. Our arrival was muted rather than dramatic, shaped more by the cool mountain air and the soft plodding of our footsteps on a seemingly endless incline before reaching the warm glow of lights marking the hotel's entrance. After dinner, fatigue quickly overtook curiosity. We had, after all, been awake since four in the morning, and Nepal time lagged Malaysian time by more than two hours. Most of us turned in, content to leave whatever Nagarkot had to offer until morning.

That promise was kept at dawn. We rose early and gathered on the resort’s uppermost floor as the first light peeked above the horizon. Slowly, the shifting colours of the sky brought the surrounding hills into focus, followed by the distant Himalayan range emerging from the darkness. On clear days, we had been told, even Mount Everest can be glimpsed glimmering far away, and our tour guide had confidently predicted fine weather. So there we were, suitably layered against the cold, as the spectacle unfolded. The mountain range sharpened into view. Watching the light change over the mountains, it was easy to understand why Nagarkot has drawn people here for centuries. 

For those of us staying in the cottages, the experience felt especially removed from the routines of travel. Tucked among trees and gardens, they offered privacy and quiet without the inconveniences one might expect from an older mountain property. Even the Wi-Fi proved unexpectedly strong, a small modern reassurance in an otherwise timeless setting. 

By mid-morning, the spell of Nagarkot began to loosen its hold, and it was time to descend from the hills and return to Kathmandu. The drive back retraced the same winding roads in reverse, daylight now revealing villages and buildings, terraced fields and everyday life that had been hidden from us the night before. As we approached the city, the mountain air gradually gave way to the familiar density and noise of the valley.

We checked in for the night at the Baharai Resort. Unbeknown to us. this place was to become a comfortable pause between the calm of Nagarkot and the hectic days of travel that lay ahead. After dinner, fatigue briefly threatened to keep us in, but the urge to spend money won out. We made our way to Thamel, just round the corner from the hotel, and with that, the first bout of shopping began.....

Next: 
Nepal-India Day 16: Delhi and goodbye 
Nepal-India Day 15: Jaipur to Delhi 
Nepal-India Day 14: Jaipur 
Nepal-India Day 13: Agra 
Nepal-India Days 11 and 12: The Varanasi ghats 
Nepal-India Day 11: Varanasi deer park 
Nepal-India Day 9 and 10: Bodhgaya to Varanasi 
Nepal-India Days 9 and 10: Bodhgaya 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Nalanda 
Nepal-India Day 8: Rajgir Gridhakura 
Nepal-India Day 7: Vaishali 
Nepal-India Day 6: Kushinagar 
Nepal-India Day 6: Shravasti 
Nepal-India Day 5: Lumbini to Shravasti 
Nepal-India Day 4: The sala tree 
Nepal-India Days 3 and 4: Lumbini and Kapilvastu

Nepal-India interlude

So finally, we’ve returned home from a 17-day jaunt through Nepal and northern India. It was a journey that carried us along the Buddhist pilgrimage trail and then onward to some of India’s most famous heritage sites, the sort of places I had long read about but never quite imagined visiting in a single sweep. We moved from the bustle of Kathmandu to the chill of Nagarkot, then down the plains to Lumbini, Shravasti and Kushinagar, before looping through Rajgir and Bodhgaya and ending with the more familiar tourist circuit of Varanasi, Agra, Jaipur and Delhi. 

For the pilgrimage part of the trip, we stood at the very spots where the Buddha was born — and I felt especially privileged and emotional to have visited it twice within a year — and where he attained enlightenment, then walked the grounds where he delivered his first sermon. We also made our way to the places associated with his life, his passing into parinibbāna and his cremation. Each site made more meaningful by the slow rhythm of travel and the shared sense of purpose among the group.

The heritage section of the tour felt like stepping into another story altogether. We found ourselves gazing at the perfect symmetry of the Taj Mahal in Agra, wandering through the great Amber Fort in Jaipur and looking up at the centuries-old Qutub Minar in Delhi. Much of the time though, we were on the move. Long stretches in bus coaches and a seven-hour train ride from Varanasi to Agra. 

Travel days blurred into one another, but there were moments that stood out. One morning, before sunrise, we boarded a boat for a dawn cruise on the Ganges. The river was already alive with activity. We saw cremations taking place along the ghats, the smoke curling into the sky, and further downstream, Hindus stepping into the cold water to perform their ritual cleansing. 

At some point I hope to write more fully about our experiences, but for now I should say that the hotels were generally very good, with only one or two that were less than ideal. Still, each added its own stamp on the journey. 

We were careful with our meals, eating mostly in hotels or well-established restaurants, keeping an eye out for anything that might upset the stomach, and guarding our drinking water like treasure. Before we left, we’d dutifully gone for our influenza, typhoid and hepatitis jabs, so at least we had some protection. Even so, we weren’t spared entirely. Somewhere along the way, the coughs began. It turned into a chorus because it wasn’t only us but almost everyone on the bus. The only people who seemed completely unaffected were the local guides and drivers, who moved through the dust and pollution unbothered. They rarely wore masks and breathed in the city smog as though it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Still, despite the coughs and the long hours on the road, it was a marvellous journey. One of those trips that stays with you long after the suitcases have been unpacked and the laundry sorted, and already I find myself wanting to shape the memories into something more permanent on this blog.

Important hygiene factors

Together with friends from the Nandaka Vihara, we shall be embarking on a Buddhist Trail to Nepal and India later this month, and I thought it might be useful to share a few general tips on hygiene expectations—especially for the India sector, which, if we believe the horror stories from past travellers, could be quite an experience.

Our route this November and December will take us through familiar names from the Buddha’s life: beginning at Lumbini, his birthplace, and crossing the Nepal-India border to Shravasti. We shall travel on to Vaishali and Kushinagar, sites of his final teachings and Mahaparinirvana; to Rajgir and Nalanda, those ancient centres of learning; then to Bodhgaya, where enlightenment came under the Bodhi Tree; and finally to Varanasi and Sarnath, where he preached his first sermon. Ideally, we should visit these sacred places in the order of the Buddha’s life, but travel logistics seldom allow such perfection. There will also be stops in Agra, Jaipur and Delhi, each with its own rhythm and pace. Some towns are bustling, others half-asleep, and it’s in this mix of the urban and the rural that we shall learn to adapt.

The Buddhist Trail in northern India is more than just a string of holy sites. It’s a slow, sometimes dusty, always fascinating journey through places where history and belief still live side by side. Hygiene standards, though, can vary widely from one stop to another, and a bit of common sense goes a long way towards keeping us healthy and comfortable throughout the trip.

Good hygiene starts with simple habits. We’ll keep a small bottle of hand sanitiser handy and wash before meals or after using public toilets, especially at roadside stops. We’ll drink only bottled or filtered water (even for brushing our teeth) and remember that ice can be risky. We’ll eat freshly cooked food whenever possible and save the raw salads and street snacks for when we’re feeling both adventurous and confident about the stall’s cleanliness, which I don't think is possible under any circumstances. Above all, no fish dishes if they’re caught from the Ganges or other rivers where the dead are cremated and their ashes scattered in the waters! Public toilets can range from acceptable to best-forgotten, so it’s wise to carry a bit of tissue paper, wet wipes and hand sanitiser.

Most hotels along the route provide decent bathing facilities. The water in urban areas such as Varanasi and Bodhgaya is treated and generally safe for showering. We just take care not to swallow it. In smaller towns, the supply might come from wells or storage tanks; fine for bathing, but not for drinking or brushing teeth. A quick-dry towel, a bar of travel soap and a pair of shower sandals will make life easier. As mornings can be chilly, a warm layer and a good cup of tea become small blessings.

It’s also sensible to carry a few medical basics. Vaccinations against Hepatitis A, Typhoid and Influenza are worth updating before we go. We should bring along a simple first-aid kit of antiseptic wipes, plasters anti-diarrhoeal tablets and oral rehydration salts are usually all we’ll need. Travel insurance that covers medical emergencies provides peace of mind, even if we never have to use it.

Cleanliness, of course, isn’t just about staying free of germs. The Buddha himself spoke of personal hygiene as part of spiritual discipline: an act of mindfulness and respect for the body that sustains our practice. To wash, shave or brush our teeth regularly was to honour both the teaching and the self. Seen this way, the daily routines of travel - bathing, keeping our clothes tidy, washing our hands - become small meditations in themselves.

The weather during November and December is one of the blessings of the journey: cool, dry, and pleasant. The only nuisance is the dust that hangs over some parts of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, so those with sensitive lungs might find a face mask useful.

In short, we should travel light, travel clean and travel with patience. The Buddhist Trail may test our comfort levels at times but will reward us with moments of deep peace and wonder. The rest is simply part of the journey.

India, Nepal next

After months of waiting and wondering, I finally hear that the Nandaka Vihara meditation society in Bukit Mertajam has decided to go ahead with a pilgrimage tour to India and Nepal this coming November and December. It’s something that’s been hanging in the air since that first exploratory trip we made to Nepal last June. The handful of us who went returned with our hearts stirred and our imaginations alight. We told stories of standing at Lumbini's Mayadevi temple where the Buddha was born, of visiting Kapilavastu where he spent his childhood and youth, and of walking through the Mahavana forest where he once preached to hundreds of thousands of beings. These were not just casual tourist stops but places alive with memory and meaning.

It was no surprise then that the feeling among the rest of the regular visitors to the Nandaka Vihara grew stronger: they too must go, they too must see these places for themselves. The request to the Nandaka committee became something of a gentle chorus. Persuasive at first, then heartfelt, and finally irresistible. And now, at long last, the wish has taken form. The pilgrimage is happening.

This time, though, the itinerary stretches beyond Nepal. It sweeps into India, touching the very milestones of the Buddha’s life. At Kushinagar, we shall gather at the site of the Buddha’s parinibbana, the serene reminder of impermanence and release. At Rajgir, we’ll walk where the first Buddhist council convened to safeguard the teachings. Bodhgaya will surely be the highlight: to sit under the Bodhi tree, but not the original tree, to connect with the enlightenment that changed the world. Then there is Varanasi, where the Buddha gave his very first sermon. Each of these sites promises not only history but a chance for reflection and inspiration.

The rest of the journey will be a mixture of city-hopping, visits to temples and shrines, and long hours on the road. Covering so much ground in just 16 days will not be easy. There will be stretches of bus rides that test everyone’s patience endurance. It won’t just be buses: to save time, the group will fly from Kathmandu down to Lumbini, sparing themselves what would otherwise be a long, bone-wearying ride. Later in the trip, there’s the added adventure of a train ride from Varanasi to Agra.

The weather will play its part too. In November and December, the summer heat will have long gone, and the monsoon rains would be over. Days should be mild, sometimes even cool, especially in the mornings and evenings. As it can get surprisingly chilly once the sun goes down, jackets and shawls will come in handy. I'm hoping for clear skies, especially in Nepal where I hope to see the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas in the distance.

Still, for all the planning, schedules and travel logistics, the real meaning of the trip lies in what we hope to bring home within us. Some may be looking for a sense of closeness to the Buddha’s life, walking where he once walked. Others may seek inspiration for their practice, to sit quietly at Bodhgaya and renew their commitment to the path. And for many, it will simply be the shared experience of travelling together, enduring the discomforts together and collecting life-long memories. I have to admit that I'm in the third category.

And just before the journey draws to a close, there will be one final stop in Agra. Here, we shall wonder at the splendour of the Taj Mahal, one of the world’s most celebrated testaments to love and loss. The white marble mausoleum gleaming in the winter light will stand in striking contrast to the brick ruins and sacred groves we visited earlier. It is not a religious site in the Buddhist sense, yet its grandeur will still leave an impression. In its own way, the Taj Mahal shall remind us that beauty and impermanence, devotion and grief, exist in all human experience.

 

Nepal 2025, Day Seven (II. Thamel)

For the first time during our Nepal trip, our Nandaka Vihara group was left to our own devices after lunch. Bhante Dhammasubho had decided to return to the Gokarna Forest Resort on his own, which meant we were free to explore Kathmandu however we liked. And really, where else to go on our final full day but back to Thamel for some last-minute shopping?

Yes, we would be flying back to Penang tomorrow, so this was our last proper opportunity to walk the streets, soak up the buzz and see if there was anything else worth cramming into our suitcases. 

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, we wandered the streets of Thamel, quite possibly retracing the same routes over and over, going round in circles, but not really minding it. We weren’t looking for singing bowls this time. That had already been sorted two days ago. Somehow, there was always something else to catch the eye. Like, bumping into an unexpected Nepalese wedding. The bride and groom, dressed in their finest on their most momentous day, had alighted the car and escaped down a side road to attend to their function.

I lost count of how many times we passed the Little Buddha Restaurant. It became something of a running joke. By and large, we stuck to the well-trodden tourist paths, but at one point we did stray down a road less frequented by outsiders. And perhaps it was there that we saw a little more of the “real” Nepal: narrower streets, grittier and gloomier, more dust and dirt, goods that looked a little less polished, but all the more authentic. It was, oddly enough, quite refreshing.

Later in the evening, we met up with our guide again, who took us to a Chinese restaurant for dinner. This was our second Chinese meal in Kathmandu. We'd all agreed that we’d had enough of Nepalese food for now. Last night’s dinner had been pretty good, but tonight’s was nothing worth mentioning. Still, it scratched the itch for something familiar, even if the taste didn’t quite hit the mark.

As we left the restaurant, for the first time during our trip, the rain came down. It started as a drizzle, light enough to be ignored, but picked up just enough to get us wet. Saw See always have her umbrella ready, so she and to a lesser extent, me, was spared the full water works. By the time we reached the hotel, though, the rain had already stopped. 

And so this marks my final jotting from Nepal. The next morning, we checked out of the hotel at eight, headed to Tribhuvan International Airport, and caught our flight home. Everything went smoothly, and by just before midnight, we were back at our doorstep. Feeling very pooped and tired, but grateful for the experience.