In Malaysia, I relax when I realise that there are women on the streets. I see them with or without the headscarf, with or without the burka, with or without children, accompanied by their husbands or on their own.
I get on an old bus that brings me to Ayuthaya. I'm kicked out on the side of the highway. My map informs me that it's an hours walk to town, two hours to my hostel. But of course, a number of taxis are available.
Kunming is a big city. Not in the eyes of the Chinese, of course. It has only 6.7 million inhabitants, after all. This is common in China. Once more I marvel at the relativity of all things, size in particular.
It's late evening when I arrive in Bakhtapur. The sun has already set, and the streetlights illuminate the old cobblestone streets. To get into the old town, I have to pay a hefty entrance fee. Converted its 15USD. That's a lot of money in Nepal. Grumbling, I reach into my pocket.
I only come to Varanasi because I get on the wrong train in Delhi. Train journeys in India bring a lot of pitfalls. I get on the train, which is on the right track at the right time, carries the right train number and still drives to the wrong place.