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! 

People on the train

One of the first things you noticed about India is the sheer amount of people. Considering its such a big country, it feels packed to the rafters.
I'm again writing this blog on a train, this time on the way to Pushkar. Every seat is full, as are the aisles, and a few peoples' laps. There is a boy who is casually leaning a centimeter from my head and the woman next to me has her hand on my knee.
In my polite Britishness I don't tell them to move. Besides..there's no space for them to. Anyway, the man next to me is unashamedly reading every word I write so I'm certainly boosting my readership. I hope you're enjoying this sir.
Perhaps this lack of space is the reason everyone seems so affectionate here. So tactile. If you spend your life in small spaces with lots of people I guess it isn't weird to have a stranger lean on you.
Actually having just finished reading The Jungle Books, and with my head full of wolf packs, man-cubs and The Spring Running it almost seems a little odd that at home I have a whole room to myself..plus the run of a barely inhabited house. When we were jungle people, living in caves the idea of that much space would have been laughable.
And here in this jumble of limbs, where strangers demand your personal space but offer you biscuits in exchange, you suddenly see how unnatural the London Underground is. Often just as packed but with no one touching anyone and everyone staring transfixedly at a poster for car insurance just above their eyeline.
But here in Animal India there are much more interesting things to see..and we all stare. At the rolly-pollying child who jumps up with hand extended. At the rude man, sprawled next to his beautiful, glittering and pouty wife: someone struck lucky in an arranged marriage and by the look on her face... At the transvestites who just walk onto the train, clap their hands and all the men throw money at them, uncomfortable and obviously not wanting to be confronted with such..unnaturalness.
A man spits onto the filthy tracks.
But back to the affection. And I'm talking about a specific kind of affection that you don't see at home: bromance. Men holding hands, lying on each other..it's quite a common thing here. You would think they were gay if they didn't casually say things to you like: "sex, you interested?" Perhaps it's because before marriage male-female relationships don't happen here? I don't know..
So a lack of Western reserve and anything resembling privacy has allowed people here to be very easy with one another. And for us, we try to throw ourselves into the culture but I'd rather not do that with a strange man's head on my shoulder. He obviously hasn't enjoyed the read as it appears to have sent him to sleep.

Touring with the Boys

So I last wrote trapped in a hotel by our fear of jewel smugglers. You'll be pleased to hear that we escaped pretty sharpish, travelling 1000km north to Shimla where some friends of ours we arriving that day on their motorbike tour of the country.

Dear Phil and Roy! Considering this was a quite unexpected destination for us, it has proved to be a bit of a highlight. There' s nothing like a bike to get you off the tourist trail and seeing real life here. If I wasn't so spacial- awareness challenged I'd get my CBT. 

But for the last couple of days we have been "biker chicks." We got matching silly helmets and have been whizzing through the mountains behind the self- titled "Gay boys on tour." All the fun and none of the work...I was gazing at the stunning scenery and thinking about (of all things) The Flintstones, while Roy had to look out for potholes. Ha! But a BIG thank you to them both for looking after we damsels in distress so well. We love you :)

And the men got me wondering, at the end of our trip, will Kirsty and I be as much of an old married couple as Roy and Phil? Or are we now?

As I write my travel wife is also diary- ing. We have companionable writing time every evening. This morning we spontaneously had a dance around, sit- ups and (pathetic) push up (attempt) session. The other day on the freezing sleeper bus we had survival spoon.

When we meet people we tell them we are married...We have quite highly developed storylines by now....but are we actually married to each other? Probably.

Anyway, our bikers are going to do a tour of Thailand next year...wife? Are you busy?