Goodbye travel, for now.

And so we arrive at the end of my first stint of travelling. I have of course learnt fluent Hindi, begun to save the world and "found myself."
Except that I've done none of those things.
My knowledge of Hindi extends to Nameste and Hatcha (if they are even spelled correctly) and the ever useful head wobble...Kirsty will confirm my mastery of this spontaneous and brilliant movement..."Did you just wobble your head at me?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Stop it!!"
The world is far to big and messy for me to save in 3 months. I need at least 4.
As for finding myself, I'm not aware of ever losing myself. I still don't know what I'm doing, now or at any future point..but what is it that the Sunscreen Song says? "Some of the most interesting people I ever knew didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives at 40." Everyone knows that is the voice of wisdom. If only I'd heeded the always wear sunscreen part. Maybe I wouldn't have a peely nose now.
So what did I get out of this?
Well, I saw some amazing places. Quick Top 3:
Annapurna Trail
Khajuraho Temples
Sunrise on the Varanasi Ganges
Did some great things:
Motorbikes around the hills of Shimla
Houseboat on the Kerelan Backwaters
Camel ride in the Rajastan desert
Some not so great moments/character building episodes:
Attempt kidnap in Khajuraho by diamond smugglers
Being stalked in Ooty by a man who freely admits it "I' ve been following you for an hour...I fell over three times."
Being stuck at Patna.
Acquired some great catchphrases (including movement):
Bam! (pelvic thrust with sunbathing arms...2 bams each side)
Big Dal Bhat
Hello sir, Jeff? Kristy?
Ice cream?.....you look as if you like ice cream.
Small fat baby
(phonetically) connetichek! (Dutch for super crazy)
.....am I boring you with in jokes?
And met some awesome people. No top 3 here..you all deserve to be named :D So thanks to Jure (you are always number 1!), TomTom, Jiga, Phil and Roy (our biker boys), Drew, Ismail and Faran, David, Amrit (a wonderful guide) and Krishna (a machine)... and last but not least, Holland, card games cheaters and tellers of riddles, Tjerk and Hicham.
Boys, you all made our trip!
But not as much as one person who I not only love but would tolerate for at least 97 years of happy marriage: my travel wife. I'm already planning our next venture so start saving. And expect me to invite myself over a lot..I can't sleep alone anymore.
So I had the best time basically. Can't believe I'm returning to real life. You know I not only haven't had to work for months, I haven't even had to lift a finger..how do I make tea again? I'm back on Thursday though so pop the kettle on, will you?

The Trekking Blog

So we survived! Hurrah! I'm sure I could write ten blogs about our time on the Annapurna Trail, but I'll try and fit it into one.
And can I just say what a beautiful place Nepal is. Snow-capped peaks towering above bamboo and rhodedendron jungle. We saw monkeys and deer and a even a wolf! I was hoping for a bear or snow leopard but no such luck. Or maybe it was best...? We also managed to spot the elusive mountain goat which took on a mythical faun-like quality. I swear Amrit, our guide, made them up most of the time:
"It's there, on the mountain. By the green tree. Near the rock."
"You  just described the whole country...and it DOESN'T EXIST!!"
But him and our porter Krishna, were great. Even with all our stuff Krishna was miles ahead. Amrit stayed behind to make sure we didn't fall off the mountain. I felt we held him up, not that he showed it. But he talked incessantly to keep us going: Kirsty on the uphill, me on the down. As ever wifey and I are yin and yang. And yes, it turns out I'm afraid of walking down stairs. Must be latent fear from falling downstairs so much in normal life. Or from falling out of the top bunk when I was 2. Anyway, thanks Amrit for holding my hand. Wife didn't care. She skipped down.
Injury proved a  great equalizer however. We both fell in the snow and got identy-knee twists. Slowed Miss Green right down. She won't mind me saying she looked like a geriatric because it's true. I was of course already on pain/fear speed. Every time I had to negotiate a particularly large step down I looked like a penguin preparing to make the leap off an iceberg.
However slow we were though, we were still quicker than Holland, two guys who we passed several times and who taught us card games, tricks and riddles on the way. It's not a race....but it is and WE WON!! Bam!
During the journey we walked through the seasons. Autumn to winter to spring. The higher we got the colder and more snowy it became. The reverse on the way down made me feel like one of the Pevensie children when Narnia is thawing. Magical.
And all kinds of weather came our way. Lucky for us it was mainly sunny: a particular blessing on the day we climbed Poon Hill to see the sun rise over twenty mountains. That is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. That and the tea and coffee stand that greeted us at the summit. All mountains should have tea at the top...what a motivator.
Later we walked through an enchanted forest with frozen rivers and waterfalls made of ice. A good day.
The following day brought thunderstorms and lots of rain. I like a good thunderstorm, they are satisfyingly majestic. But we did not have raincoats because it turns out we are some of the most unprepared trekkers ever. Instead we bought big plastic sheets to cover us for the day. It looked like we were pretending to be superheroes. Rain chic. So we spent the day seeing only the inside of our turquoise wrapping, and hearing only the swish swish of it moving.
This was also the day that we had to edge nervously across a landslide. Don't look down. Don't look down.
Snow was of course the other kind of weather as we got closer to Base Camp. It was -15° by the time we reached the top. Still sunny so of course yours truly managed to burn her face, even with factor 50. How is this possible? Or fair?
But the good weather made for stunning views as we walked, and fell over, to our goal. It was like walking through a photograph...you couldn't quite believe you were there.
At the top we celebrated with Toblerone and a photo of the highest spoon ever. Obviously.
The morning that we were due to start our descent, we woke up to see an avalanche happening in the valley we had to walk through. Errrrrrmmmmm!!! What now?
We waited at least 10 minutes before going anyway. But silently and mostly up to our thighs if we slipped off the path (often) or on our bums when we fell over (also often). Poor Krishna spent most of that morning picking me up.
Food was often unexpected. If you ordered jam on toast it came as French toast. Macaroni was basically canned spaghetti. Mars bar roll and custard was quite a treat though. The whole room gasped and looked on in envy when it arrived.
The most famous food was Dal Bhat which all the guides and porters ate twice a day. If they weren't up and down mountains constantly that amount of food would surely give them a Big Dal Bhat.
We finished the trek with a visit to the hot springs, which included a dip in the freezing river first. Can we all congratulate Kirsty for putting in more than her big toe please. It was the major achievement of the trip. It made the springs so much warmer after, as did the whisky we brought with us.
After being submerged for a couple of hours we were clean for the first time in a week and a half. Still massively unattractive though, and wrinkly like prunes. Next time we go trekking we will remember to take razors and avoid looking like the Impulse ladies, or (contemporary dance in joke) Siobhan Davies dancers.
Afterwards we put on our brightly coloured fleecy trousers (passionkillers) to complete our look as stunning hotties.
Notes to future trekkers:
Remember to bring an iPod. A bit of Linkin Park (and 1D...thanks Harry and co.) really helps with a couple of hours climb.
Appropriate footwear helps. Dc Martin's don't work in snow. A point proved in the 15 minutes it took to push Kirsty up the first icy slope. If you find yourself in a similar position, socks over shoes works a treat.
Don't take any Ernest Hemingway to read. The challenge isn't worth it.
Don't take down jackets. They are too hot to walk in, too big to fit in bags, too annoying to carry. Hired ones shed feathers all over you so you look like a maulting chicken all the time, whether you are actually wearing them or not.
Pick up free bamboo sticks from the forest to help you walk. 4 legs are better than 2...those damn goats prove it.

Getting to Nepal. Disaster.

I last left you in paradise. Well, paradise progressed much as expected. We amused ourselves with beaches, books, boats and the backwaters. We made a friend who inspired and amused us with stories of his many travels and meetings with bears while peeing in orchards.
What more could you ask for? unless it was a guide who only stopped talking to himself long enough to say "Kerala very beautiful place, very coconut place. No pollution, very natural you like yes?"
We did like.
And then it was time to move on. India was so upset that we were leaving her, she slowed our journey to the best of her ability.
First our plane was delayed so we arrived at Delhi late, with only an hour to catch the next plane. We waited twenty minutes for our bags then Kirsty suggested a coffee (addict).
Not enough time.
I was right too. Couldn't be smug though. There was so little time we weren't allowed to check-in.
What??!! There's still half an hour!
No Ma'am, not possible.
Nooooooooo!!
So eight hours at Delhi airport later we finally got a plane (which was subsequently delayed) to Kathmandu. A taxi ride later through the general power cut of the city led us to the hotel that we'd already paid for, and which was locked, gated and pitch black.
Well that just takes the biscuit.
Not the best day of the trip.... Rest assured we did not spend the night homeless. Thank God for commission agents. There's never a shortage of taxi drivers with helpful hotel suggestions.
The next morning did not bring more luck though. It was when I went to get a charger out of my bag that I discovered I'd been robbed. A whole bag of chargers, adaptors, electrical stuff gone. And a (lucky empty) handbag.
If I hadn't given Kirsty an adaptor out of this bag in the check in queue I'd've assumed I'd forgotten it. As it is, Jet Airways have received an angry email. Who knew you can't trust airline employees with your stuff?
Things fortunately have improved though. Now you find us in Pokhara. Tomorrow we begin a 10 day trek to Annapurna base camp. We risk avalanches and minus degrees and we are very proud of ourselves. And already thinking we a) don't have enough clothes; b) have inflicted too heavy a bag on our porter; c) have a child guide (never seen a baby face like it); d) will collapse en route from exhaustion, cold and altitude. We will blame anything that goes wrong on the altitude.
The views are sure to be incredible though. And think how tiny my legs will be afterwards!
Of course this means no communication with the outside world for a while so excuse the following gap. When we return, frostbite, smelly but high on fresh air, they'll be the first to hear!

From Hell to Paradise

Hell:

Hot! Hoooooot! Did I mention it's hot?
Just as I write this Kirsty is exclaiming the same thing, which proves it is true. If Miss Bikram yoga is hot...imagine how Wales feels.
We are in Cochin. A city is never the best place to be hot is it? In the middle of a grumpy day yesterday a moment of happiness appeared before us in the form of Cafe Coffee Day. An oasis of air-con and iced coffee in the middle of sunstroke and dust.
Are we bad travellers? Is our delight in India's biggest coffee chain a weakness? I don't even care. The street may offer me a coconut or fresh pineapple, but CCD has chocolate ice cream sundae.
What we really need is a dip in the sea. That will have to wait until we move on tomorrow though. Off to dramatic cliffs rising from sandy white beaches for a couple of days. Kirsty needs to get some last minute tanning in. I will read and wear my hat.
There is also sea here. Stinks though. And at the shore it looks a bit like when you skim fat off a roast. There is a tide line of plastic bottles, odd abandoned flipflops and crisp packets.
Yet, in cosy embraces, couples line the sea front and gaze out at the factories and freight ships. Sooooo romantic.
Wifey and I joined them briefly, complaining about our (my) headache, and refusing to have our photo taken by random groups of men.
Look at me! I'm sweaty and sunburnt...why do you want my picture?! India makes us so attractive.
We had, however, just had facials so we were positively glowing with cleanliness. Ahhh..my life is hard work ;)

Paradise:

We did not end up on the beach. Fate declared that there were no lodgings to be had in Varkala. Instead I add this footnote just outside Kollam, from our palm shaded, hammock littered, sun- dappled Paradise of a garden, overlooking the breezy backwaters of Kerala.
Today I did nothing move than finish Midnight' s Children whilst moving from seat, to hammock, to the end of a tiny jetty. A jetty that will lead us to a final treat of a houseboat trip to complete our stay in India.
There is nothing much else to tell you so far...I just wanted to rub it in :D

A culture of shame?

Right now I am a young woman in India. Now is the time to talk about being such.
I had not mentioned the heinous crime against a woman my age, Nirbhaya, in Delhi because I knew people at home would worry. But outrage has snowballed here and spilled into the rest of the world and yesterday brought me a "be safe" message.
Because its not just Nirbhaya that is a victim, it is many women. In Delhi 1 rape is reported every 18 hours, and now that this has been suddenly leapt into the public conscience questions are being asked how this has happened?
Of course I don't have the answers to the questions. But here I see many versions of India and its baffling.
The first India is a place where we are warned to keep our knees and shoulders covered with baggy clothes. A place where our rickshaw driver keeps us out of the crowd in the line for street food because he's worried someone will touch us (I should add that we felt this an unnecessary measure). A place where men's eyes fall out if they drive past a girl in leggings.
The second India is glittering, glamorous Bollywood, where scantily clad women dance to the catcalls of an audience.
The third seems to be glimpsed in the young and progressive, in those who have taken to the streets to protest against a terrible crime and furthermore against deep-rooted and outdated attitudes.
Let me tell you about the palace at Udaipur. A daughter of the king was so beautiful and good she had two competing suitors who would go to war if the king did not pick them. The king, seeing only one solution for peace, poisoned the princess.
This act becomes even more unbelievable when you consider the fact that the women of the household where kept away from the eyes of all men...always shut away behind curtains.
To a certain extent, some of these issues still exist.
You know when you check into some hotels, women have to write the name of their father or husband, as if they aren't a valid person without a man-owner. In train stations there are separate waiting rooms for men and women.
As we have travelled around, we have found it quite a challenge to find women to talk to. When we meet a husband and wife, the man does all the talking, usually even answering questions directed at his wife. I don't know if the women are shy or don't speak english well, or we've been unlucky? But it felt for a long time that we didn't hear any women's voices.
On the other hand, our first weeks here we were travelling with a man. Now, Jure is a wonderful person...very funny and interesting, but since he left us we have not seen close to the respect he inspired. Is it because we aren't as funny and interesting? Or is it because we are single women?
So what about Bollywood? Isn't that a measure of freedom? Well, apparently not. There have been articles questioning why the films show the heroes harrassing and pursuing heroines who say no again and again...and still in the end, the man gets the girl. What message, the newspaper asks, does that give to young impressionable audiences?
I don't know if I ever believe popular culture really makes people do bad things. Its the same as rap being blamed for violence. But art mirrors life and where you see a recurrent problem in one, it is probably reflected in the other. A lack of respect of women does not come from movies, but both come from a common cause surely.
Might I also mention Suresh, our flute teacher and a respectable artist man. When we told him we' d seen the karma sutra a temples at Khajuraho, he said will never go there because he is ashamed. Ashamed of his own heritage? Ashamed of human nature? Is this culture of shame to blame?
I'm not an anthropologist, and I don't know India well enough to judge but third India gives me hope. It is an India that sees problems and demands change and I hope, for the happiness of all, they succeed.

An apology

Hmmm...considering I want to be a writer I feel I'm being most ill-disciplined about this blog.
This has been brought to my attention by 2 sources in the last couple of days.
The first, my mum asked why I hadn't written a blog on the Taj Mahal?
The second, my first reading of a blog of a fellow traveller we met in Udaipur. Drew's blog (much more successfully than mine) is a daily and detailed journal of his adventures.
But I conceed defeat. A couple of blogs a week is enough for me (I'm busy don't you know/asleep very early), I hope it's enough for you reader?
So why didn't the Taj make the cut? Well, perhaps because it was so exquisitely beautiful that you must go yourself. I could never do justice to the moment it seems to grow in front of you, gleaming white, perfectly balanced, stunningly romantic.
The other reason I never wrote about it is that apart from its own glorious self, it brought the same themes I've covered before: constant requests for photos of us with a multitude of families and tour groups. As if we were an attraction worthy of competing against the Taj (Ha)!
So that is your only glimpse into our stay in Agra. So what else did I miss?
A Goan Christmas: lobster dinner, Midnight's Children on the beach, swimming in the Arabian sea. Seems a trifle smug doesn't it?
Camel safari or horse riding: yes fun to go on but I would be afraid to bore you with descriptions of rolling hill or desert sunsets. I'll simply tell you I'm having a wonderful time.
I don't want to tell you the minutae of my day to day life. Look at my pictures (well..Kirsty's pictures. Much better photographer) and you'll see it all.
In the meantime, please excuse my lack of discipline and shortage of posts. With only two weeks left in India I'd better get my eyes in focus and pen in hand for the last chances I'll get to share a little piece of this lovely, sometimes broken, but always epic country with you.

Bollywood

I write this blog from a Goan beach. I will not, however be writing about this glorious place just yet. The only things worth mentioning are the golden sand, the colourful parachutes drifting over a blue sea and my straw hat which is possibly the best thing I've ever bought.
Boring, no? And might I add...haha!
No, I will not write about a place I was looking forward to going to, but about a place I was not: Mumbai.
It surprised us both how much we liked it. We were only there for a day and a half but we met some very kind people there: a couple of sea captains who we drank coffee with as they explained what to see in the city, and gave us a lift in swanky white car to the cinema; the boy who showed us the gateway to india; the Philosopher who imparted so many words of wisdom I forget them all. My favourite was the 2 things everyone gets free in this life: the air we breathe and a trip around the sun. We all know I'm a sucker for a free holiday...and it turns out my life is one long travel!
But anyway, the thing I want to talk about is the cinema. Of course! Mumbai is the capital of Bollywood so obviously our first Bollywood experience had to be there.
So we saw Dabangg 2 and understood no words but got the general gist of the story. You should definitely see it. Very funny...not least the inexplicable breaking into song and dance. It was like one of those old Busby Berkley films, you know, but with slow-mo fight scenes featuring bare-chested men that drew the whoops and whistles of the whole audience.
And the uncontrollable laughter of us.
But you can't deny it, they really know how to enjoy a movie here. I'm not entirely convinced all the characters were relevant though. One dance scene featured a never before or after shown woman as the main singer/dancer. I think they only brought her out because she was pretty (her appearance immediately drew more shouts of appreciation).
Which brings me onto another point that I liked about Bollywood. A hundred women dancing around in croptops and not a six-pack in sight. Basically a much more realist ideal body than we have in Hollywood, no?
Kirsty and I voiced our approval for a full day before planning our Goan beach yoga and sit up fitness regime.
What? We're dancers...it's ingrained!