2 days left!

It's hard to believe that my year away is drawing to a close. It has been a rollercoaster ride of amazing highs and lows - there has been so many experiences that I've only touched on a fraction of them. I've met some truely inspiring people and feel extremely fortunate to have been able to have done this. It really has opened my eyes and has constantly reminded me of what a great life I have back home. The things we consider every day stresses are pitifully small in comparison with what a lot of people have to contend with ..... I shall try hard to grumble a lot less!

The bus experience

The bus screams along the road intimidating the tiny tuk tuks which buzz around like a swarm of angry wasps. Everyone standing sways in time with the lurches - forwards, backwards - dangling by their arms like giant pea pods ready for picking. Those lucky enough to have seats lean from side to side like riding a giant bob sleigh. The sweat from the man next me slowly trickles down my arm and I try to peel my legs off the plastic seat that I've melted to. Bus driver and conductor work in perfect harmony and the chanting of place names takes on an almost musical/poetic quality. The shouts "Haree haree" (okay - go) and "Binarr" (get down - stop) float continuously through the air. The all singing and dancing shrine- like Buddhist display flashes garishly at the front of the bus, surrounded by garlands of plastic flowers. Luggage racks are roped off to prevent bombs being left. The stop buzzer is an old fashioned bike bell attached to a long piece of string that runs the length of the bus - it works well and causes the driver to stamp on the breaks to produce an emergency stop the likes of which would impress the harshest of driving instructors. Through the windows comes the deafening clatter of the kothu roti choppers who dice the roti with two big blades and use them like they are playing percussion. My eyes hurt from staring intently out of the window, trying desperately hard to lock on to something I recognise so that I don't fly by my stop. My skin turns grey from the constant blast of dust from the street outside. As the conductor approaches me I pretend that I know the exact bus fare and confidently hand over the money, then look away....it works!

Slappers!

I am slowly coming to realise that in this life there will always be some people you don't hit it off with no matter how hard you try. One of them, by the name of Bianca (21), landed in my house. I tried not to be hasty forming my opinions and have observed her over the last month but have come to the definite conclusion that she is a bloody nightmare. It started from the first conversation I had with her over breakfast:
B: "God, sweetie, I can't believe how much you have to cover up over here it's ridiculous" (indicating to her own attire like it was the height of modesty - she was wearing a vest top so low cut the top of her bra was poking out - not just any bra, a gravity defying Wonderbra that pushed her boobs so close under her chin that I'm surprised she open her mouth to talk).
P: "Err yeah it is really quite important."
B: ".... and babe if there are any bombs I'm on the first plane out of here, because there's no way I'm risking my life, I'm an only child you see."
P: "Hmm. Why did you decide to come here?"
B: "Oh the beaches, man. I want to get really tanned."
P: "Right...well there have been three bombs in the past two weeks but so long as you don't get the bus at rush hour, there's not so much of a risk..."
B: "Hell no, I don't do public transport. I hate it back home. There's no way I'll be getting on those death traps darling".
P: (speechless!)

So there you have it and it gets worse every day. She has a devoted boyfriend back home who she has cheated on several times. She lives to get drunk and then says stuff which is so repulsive it's unrepeatable. She saunters down the street half undressed (yeah okay I am sounding like a proper old fart now!) with a fag hanging out of her mouth (it is very disapproved of for women to smoke here) wiggling her bottom from side to side and then acts outraged if any men make comments. I have tried to tell her to cover up but she takes no notice. I can't stand it. The men are challenging enough without encouragement from people like her. I got wanked at again the other day, whilst waiting for my tuk tuk in front of the nursery. The thing I find even worse than this is the incessant kissing noises that men make when you walk past - it's just so degrading. Last night we started doing evening tuition for the lads at the local cricket club. They're all late teens early twenties so it's a bit daunting. Bianca dressed for the occasion in a very very very low cut top and then proceeded to lean over the desk when addressing the boys. So that's a few more Sri Lankan men that now think white women are little slappers......great.

I quit!

A few weeks ago I admitted defeat and gave up on teaching. I had endured six weeks and that was enough. The final straw came when I was teaching from one of their English textbooks. Not only are they at a level that completely exceeds the childrens' abilities but they are also wrong. One exercise involved matching up words with pictures of various vegetables. Instead of carrot, cabbage etc written down there was head, nose, eyes. When I confronted the teacher about this she wouldn't admit that it was a mistake and got the children to match the words to the vegetables which most resembled the body part....unbelievable and pretty confusing for 5 year olds! The older children are no better off as all they do is copy the correct answers off the blackboard with no understanding of them. One fifteen year old lad didn't even know to leave spaces between the words. It was then I realised that I was fighting a losing battle! So I am now helping out at a nursery, getting tormented by thirty stunningly beautiful children with the biggest brown eyes and longest eyelashes I have ever seen! My performance skills are improving as I am made to stand at the front of the class and sing nursery rhymes. Watching the mums and dads leaving their children stirrs up all sorts of old memories. There is always a little one sobbing and I remember the empty feeling I used to get watching my mum walk away twenty-four years ago!!

ICU - Sri Lankan style!

At the weekend I got to experience Sri Lankan hospitals first hand. I was woken at 1am by my phone ringing, it was another volunteer who was distraught. She had developed food poisoning, was feeling like death and was needing accompanying down to the hospital. Ironically she got ill from the 5 star hotel she'd decided to treat herself to for one night of luxury - sod's law. So five minutes later I found myself flying down the pothole riddled road wedged on the back of a motorbike. Now people here seem to effortlessly manage to fit a family of five onto a bike but when it comes to us westerners we struggled with three. In the hurry I'd shoved a skirt on which proceeded to billow up round my ears Marilyn Monroe style, so I was all knickers and white legs - it's certainly an effective way of stopping traffic when you don't have a siren. The hospital was a government one and it was pretty dire. I did my best to reassure my friend as she was wheeled past a washing line of gloves which were drying and awaiting being reused (some on the line, some on the floor). We went to the "intensive care unit" which was complete with cats going through the bins and home-made air con in the form of walls that only went half way to the roof - so it was open air. When we got to her bed (which incidentally had a horse hair mattress - I know this by the foot wide hole in it) the nurse told me patients had to provide our own sheets and pillows so the host dad had to go back to fetch some. Finally we got her into bed and the nurses put a drip up...this was as far as Sri Lankan nursing went. For the rest of the night it was just me and her (the host "dad" had to go as it was females only). "Both ends" were simultaneously emptying every half hour. I tried to get her through to the toilet on a few occasions but this was a nightmare as I had to stop her drip, carry the bottle with one hand, push the wheelchair with the other and perch the vomit bucket on her knees (there was no loo roll, obviously, so my friend had a grim introduction to "the left-handed way"). The nurses didn't once help and never checked that I restarted the drip or set it at the correct rate. There was a sweet little lady in the next door bed who had the night time munchies and kept feeding me bananas and crackers (I tried hard not to think about what might have been on them - thankfully the light was dim!). The lights on the ward were turned off at 2am and put back on at 4.45am, and there was a constant drone coming from a radio - it really wasn't a restful place. By the morning I realised the hospital mosquitoes had had a fantastic feed on my legs over night. At 5.30am I was given two minuscule glass jars for stool and urine specimens (brings a whole new meaning to the expression "taking the piss"). Bearing in mind that my mate was struggling to even sit up I thought this was a little ridiculous but no they wanted them. Somehow, through a joint effort we managed to get them. The nurse I handed them to even had the cheek to remind me to wash my hands which were of course covered in..... ! At visiting time we managed to load her into a car and get her to a private hospital which of course was world's apart from the one we'd been in. I'm pleased to say she's now fine and it's strange what good comes out of negative experiences. For me, I spent the whole night thinking how much I'd missed nursing and despite all the shit and vomit it's definitely the job for me. For my friend, well it's not a night she'd care to repeat - I think her experience came second only to giving birth when it comes to losing your dignity!

Thailand

I arrived back in Colombo yesterday after two weeks holiday on Thailand. Whilst I was away a bomb exploded on a train very near to where I live (my host family "brother" regularly takes the same train into Colombo). It's really very scary and where as before I managed to not really think about it, I now get pretty nervous going on public transport (which unfortunately is every day). It feels like Russian roulette - there's no way of knowing what is going to be targeted next. On the bus home from the airport I saw soldiers on every street corner and even on the bus, all brandishing large guns. Far from finding this reassuring it just panics me more. Then the bus conductor tried to overcharge me four times the actual price (I felt like shouting at him "look, I'm working for free in your god-damn country, risking getting blown up on a daily basis and I have to pay extra for the privilege!!!". What a tosser.). This morning I got thrown off the bus to work as I refused to pay the conductor forty rupees instead of the usual eight. The weather is wet, wet, wet at the moment and there is bad flooding nearby. My host family are currently stranded in the hill country after going away for the weekend and I've been sent home early from work as the kids don't turn up in the rain! The mossies are loving it and are eating me alive. Moan, moan, moan!

Thailand was amazing and spending two weeks just relaxing was heaven. I went with another volunteer, Julie who is a midwife. We flew into Bangkok where I looked around wide-eyed at the enormous roads, flyovers, sky-scrapers and girls strutting about in next to nothing. An overnight bus took us down to Surat Thani where we caught a ferry to Ko Pha ngan. This is an island off the East coast where the huge full moon parties are held. The party was all a bit of a blur although I do remember spending a lot of time doing glow in the dark body painting! Before we knew it, it was dawn and we watched the sun rise from the beach which was still teeming with weary people. Unfortunately a girl I was with had her bag stolen so I spent several hours at the police station trying to help her sort it out. I felt so sorry for her as she had lost everything, even her passport.

Next stop was Ko Tao - a small island an hour North. We stayed in a very remote spot called Hin Wong on the east side. There was no beach but the water was crystal clear and the snorkeling was out of this world. I almost felt as though I was flying being able to propel myself forward with my arms, watching the fish dart around me. They were vivid colours - electric blue, yellow, football teams in black and white stripes and my favourite a large fish that had swum straight from the 80s with shimmering fluorescent yellows, greens and pinks. The coral formed amazing shapes, some looking like large brains and there were small multicoloured "Christmas trees", only a couple of centimetres high which shrank back if you ventured too close. There were also some "Nemo" fish which lived amongst the sea anemones, weaving in and out of their tentacles. One day we hired a canoe and paddled north around the coast. At one point we heard mysterious splashing all around us and joked that we were surrounded by sharks. It wasn't until we got back and mentioned this to the hotel owner that we discovered that sharks are regularly sighted around that particular headland....eek!

We got the overnight ferry back to Surat Thani, and interesting experience where I got to share my bed with fifty other people! Mattresses the width of my bum were laid side by side covering every square inch of the floor. One person looked familiar and turned out to be James, a volunteer I had met in Nepal....it's a small old world! We then headed over land to the west coast to a place called Raillay (in the Krabi province). This has to be one of the most stunning places I've seen in my nine months travelling. A short longboat ride transported us to a world of powdery white sand, warm turquoise water and surreal rock formations. The beach was completely enclosed by towering honey-coloured cliffs which had been sculpted into amazing stalactites. At night these were lit up and I floated on my back gazing up at it all. By day climbers spidermanned there way up impossibly sheer rock faces whilst I did a bit of body toasting! The sunsets were psychedelic, the sea turning to molten gold and pink clouds streaming across the sky .... a little piece of heaven on earth, one day I'll return - I have to!

Sweaty and stinky again!!!

Here I am, once again, in a country where the slightest movement causes sweat to pour off me. It's extremely hot and humid and feels very much like southern India. There are the same busy tuk tuks weaving in and out of the traffic, stinking piles of rubbish, madman bus drivers and elegant ladies constantly hidden under umbrellas because if the sun's not beating down the rain certainly is. Sri Lanka is much more lush than Tamil Nadu. Palm trees are abundant and much of the countryside is covered by thick tropical forests. The sea is warm and coconuts get washed up on the sand. It sounds idyllic and it's easy to forget that this is a country where bombs regularly explode, the two images couldn't be further apart in my mind. My host family showed me graphic photos of a recent bombing which really brought it home. I've never seen anything so horrendous, but the family viewed it with a quite disturbing morbid fascination. They zoomed in on heads lying on the tarmac, torsos with no legs and other unidentifiable body parts.

I live in Panadura, on the coast south of Colombo. It's noisy and dirty but has good amenities. Rubbish is a big problem, as it was in Nepal and India. Huge piles line the road, mangy dogs salvage what they can from the rotting food and every now and then the rubbish is burnt sending acrid smoke everywhere. I was walking home last week when I came across an enormous heap of used syringes. There was blood visible in them and all the needles were exposed. They can only have come from the hospital - it's hard to believe they dump them on the pavement. There was even a balloon amongst them. I'm sure it was only a matter of time before an inquisitive child stabbed themselves. My host family are well off and I even have a washing machine (my clothes don't know what's hit them after 7 months of me trying to thrash the dirt out of them by hand!). Each morning I get the bus to Pinwatta school (I'm getting good and running and leaping - it's called a bus STOP but they don't!) where I spend the morning trying to teach English to children between the ages of 5 and 16. I feel this would be no easy task for a teacher let alone a nurse. The children are from poor families and have very little grasp of English and I, of course, speak no Sinhala. The boys are particularly naughty and see volunteers as easy targets. The cane is still used in Sri Lanka, and whilst I'm not an active supporter of child beating a little threatening works wonders (I know I know I'm a terrible person!). Progress is slow but they now gets their books and pens out of their bags (one small step for the boys, one giant leap for the sweaty white girl!) and will pay attention for about 20 minutes! Health and safety is hilarious as I arrived today to find the boys wielding hockey stick-shaped machetes which were used to cut the grass and inadvertently any small child that ventured too close. From upstairs I can see the sea in the distance and hear the waves. The school was completely destroyed by the tsunami (the building was thankfully empty as it was boxing day) and was rebuilt by a German charity. It is only small and pupils have been slow to return as families fear the same might happen again. I had a very interesting conversation with the English teacher who explained that before the tsunami local people believed them to be fictional things. There was an old story of a bad king who was punished by a giant wave and to stop it happening again he sent his only daughter away to sea. When the tsunami hit no-one realised what was happening - as the seabed was exposed by the giant undertow people even ran out to make claims on the new land. It must have been terrifying. Everyday when I see the sea I try to imagine what it must have been like, but of course I can't.

Sri Lanka

08/04/08

Yesterday was somewhat eventful. After squeezing every last thing back into my rucksack I headed off for the airport. As my turn came to check in I started to feel rising panic as the man behind the counter thumbed his way through my passport, stopped, stared and tutted. "Madam, do you realise that you need an Indian visa to enable you to make your transfers?". I spluttered back at him that I had been informed that I didn't, but it was to no avail. One month ago I had contacted my organisation to ask about transit visas and was told that I didn't need one. I was hopping mad! I was left with two options, neither of which enabled me to catch my flights. I could either go and spend hours at the notoriously slow Indian embassy and then try and change my flights or book a completely new flight that avoided the visa problem altogether. I opted for the second and landed myself a flight via Bangkok with Thai airways (preferable to Jetlite or Jetshite as I've re-named them!).

So today was like ground hog day as I once again went to the airport. As an afterthought I realised that flying a day late meant my Nepalese visa had also expired. I told my sob story to the sympathetic immigration officer and dropped in that I was volunteering and he let me off. Thai airways was deluxe with free drinks, mini pillows and real orchids in the loo - not bad eh! They should, however, have censored their complimentary newspaper as the front page read, "High danger: Qatar Airways plane has both engines fail 6 km above the earth"! Not exactly relaxing reading so I turned over to, "Men soon to become redundant as scientists develop artificial sperm"..... god help us.... I gave up on world news and looked out of the window instead!

Bangkok airport is space age and immaculately clean. Huge stainless steel arcs form the roof and there are windows everywhere reflecting people scurrying around busy on their own adventures. I like people watching. I see business men/women with their smart suits and whirring wheelie suitcases, briskly clip clopping along and wonder what it must feel like to be so professional and poised. Even if I had the right attire I don't think I'd carry it off - I'd break a heel or a wheel would come off my suitcase and I'd end up head first down the escalator! There are lots of people like me, fresh from Nepal, clomping around in their walking boots.

I arrived at Colombo airport at midnight and finally made my way to the exit by 1am to find no sign of the person that should have been meeting me. When I did track him down he cheerfully tells me that there was a board with my name on (under his desk!) and he misread my arrival time as 2am. My taxi driver was lovely but not particularly well suited to the job as he had to stop three times to ask for directions and was crawling along the road so slowly that the police pulled us over for suspicious behaviour! I eventually made it to the hotel and never have been so glad to sink into bed.

MSPN

MSPN is the organisation which I have been placed with in Patan. It is a charity which supports children (usually under the age of ten) who have HIV. Up to 16 children live at the home along with a parent or relative. Here they receive medication, nutritionally balanced meals, get taken to regular hospital check-ups, all free of charge. They stay as long as need be to ensure that their condition has improved and stabilised as far as possible (normally several months), and receive follow-up once discharged home. Almost all of the children have other illnesses alongside HIV, normally Hepatitis and Tuberculosis, so their little bodies are really struggling. The difference in them from when they arrive to when they leave is astounding. Some were extremely malnourished and as soon as they put weight on you would hardly recognise them as the same children. It's lovely to see them grow more confident and cheeky as time goes by. When they are feeling better it's easy to forget that they have HIV. Because of this it came as a shock when one of the little babies suddenly died after contracting pneumonia. His mother was only 18 and his father already dead. She was at the home the day after it happened. I've never seen someone look so full of despair. Her baby was the one spark of light in a life already so full of shadows. It was heart-breaking to see her.

Gone trekking!

I'm just back after trekking to Annapurna base camp which sits at 4130m. Some nutters do the round trip in 7 days but we (me and my housemate Britta) did it in 12 and still felt like we busted a gut! Escaping to the mountains was just heaven after 3 months of producing black snot as a result of the fumes and dust of Kathmandu. Travelling to Pokhara to get near to the start of our trek was some what eventful. It went something like this. Day 1: left trekking permit behind - retrieved it, lost purse - found it in the bin, walked to wrong bus station, got bus to what we thought was the right one but wasn't, finally got a random bus that took 2 hours to fill, crashed into truck, our driver and the truck driver had a fight, arrived after 7 hours, hotel fully booked, replacement hotel has a family of 5 cockroaches. Day 2: got up and one of only two T-shirts that I packed got crapped on by a bird (lucky..I don't think so), the 3rd member of our walking party deserts us, Britta decides to give up smoking and I offer to give up drinking for the trek to offer moral support (too late to leave that day so evening spent smoking/drinking!).



Day 3: the trip got off to a cracking start when we got lost on route to the bus station....it didn't bode well! However luck was on our side and we bumped into the nicest man who happened to be going the same way. The bus was rammed so we were ushered up onto the luggage rack on the roof with 9 others and everything else you could possibly imagine. We hurtled along the road, ducking the overhead electric cables, 360 degree views...it was great, a bit like surfing just replace the board with a bus! Just to spice it up a little 5 minutes into the journey a thunderstorm broke right over us and soaked us to the skin. We hopped off at Phedi (the village at the start of the trek) to be faced with a brutal uphill slog which made us seriously doubt our decision to carry our own bags (13kg). Still, we soon got into the swing of things and got a steady plod going. Along the way we stayed at basic lodges which were great, especially when it got colder as we ate around one huge communal table which had a heater beneath. The table had blankets all around to keep the heat from escaping, so you'd stick you feet under and get nice and toasty. The scenery was so varied and beautiful - not one day was the same. We initially walked through farmland, steeply terraced paddy fields, neatly domed haystacks and wood stores. Then came forests of birch and lastly rhododendrons in full bloom - the mountainside carpeted in deep scarlet red and vivid pink. The old, gnarled tree branches were draped in mosses and orchids. Nature has found its own way to combat stinky trekkers by producing jasmine by the bucket load - the air was heady with the scent of it. Each day followed a similar pattern - we would wake up to a glorious hot sunny day, by lunchtime the clouds would have started building and by mid-afternoon a huge thunderstorm would rock the valley. I was left speechless as I walked through the snow, sheer rock faces and icicles towering overhead, the swirling mist offering tantalising glimpses of craggy mountain tops seemingly brushing the sky, and all to a soundtrack of thunder booming....it was amazing. Every now and then we would hear the sound of rocks bouncing their way down hundreds of feet as the ice thawed in the sun. The area is prone to avalanches, a fact that was made more real when we saw one speeding down a distant slope. We spent one night at Annapurna base camp which meant that we were able to see the sun rise behind Macchapuchhre (the fish tail mountain), its rays setting the tops of the Annapurna range ablaze with gold - it was absolutely breathtaking. We were so lucky, we couldn't have asked for a clearer day. It was so cold that I had to spend 3 days with my camera down my top just to keep the battery working! Thankfully it held out and I got some great shots, which will have to be posted at a future date (attempted uploading one and an hour later it still hadn't happened!). We took a little detour via Ghorepani as we descended (so we could go up Poon hill at 4.30am to see the sunrise over the Himalaya) and ended up at Birethanti, our final destination after 12 hours of knee-breaking downhill steps. We arrived just in the nick of time - the mother of all thunderstorms raged for the next two hours whilst I was savouring a much needed beer.

Life in Patan

If you walk south from Kathmandu you reach Patan, the second largest city in the valley and my home for three months. The holy Bagamati river trickles sluggishly between them, clogged with rubbish and emitting a powerful stench of raw sewerage. Children pick their way barefooted across it, seeking out anything that might be recycled. Canvas shelters are home for many that live on the river banks. I am am extremely fortunate to be living in a modern house with five other volunteers (Rod 67, Edward 29, Britta 25, Matthew 19 and Sarah 17). On the roof I hang my washing out to a chorus of high pitched "hellos" from the neighbours children. From here I have a fantastic view of the valley stretching away to the distant mountains and the sun setting behind the hills opposite.

The winter chill has now abated and gone are the nights of sleeping in pyjamas, fleece, hat, sleeping bag, duvet with a hot water bottle to top it off! Getting to sleep can be challenging as Kathmandu has a huge dog population with nocturnal tendencies. When one howls the whole valley starts up and in the wee small hours I long for a shot gun!

Recent disturbances in the Terai (the low-level plains) have had a knock-on effect on life here. Road blocks and violence have prevented fuel tankers from heading North from India. Queues at the petrol stations have been hundreds of cars long and people have been patiently waiting for as long as 36 hours before getting served. Our water supply is not piped but delivered by tankers and of course no fuel equals no water. We've just had ten days without.....thank god for baby wipes! Nepal, despite great potential for hydroelectric power, is almost completely dependant on India for its electricity. Demand outstrips supply so there are daily planned power cuts known as "load-shedding". A couple of weeks ago things were pretty dire with twelve hours of power cuts a day. Still, there's something rather nice about having candle-lit meals and we always have good conversations around the table. The people I live with are a great bunch and we all get along well. We did have some problems for the first month with a very depressed, French, seventy year old lady who spoke very limited English and was rather partial to 1.5litre bottles of whisky. She wasn't well and quickly developed bronchitis, but was as stubborn as a mule and refused to go to the Doctors. I eventually forced her but just as one problem was solved another appeared. She continually fell and finally admitted defeat after badly knocking her knee. She is now, hopefully, safely back in France.

Next stop Nepal

The flight from Delhi to Kathmandu was short but spectacular. I spent the entire time with my nose pressed up against the glass, gazing at the jagged snowy peaks in the distance. Far below the hillsides were sculpted into hundreds of terraces that looked like the ridges of wave worn sand. Kathmandu soon loomed between the hills, a sprawling mass confined within steep valley sides. Smog replaced the clear mountain air.

India and Nepal may be neighbours but in some ways they are worlds apart. Kathmandu airport was small and quiet and getting a visa remarkably simple. I was preparing myself for hassle when I stepped foot outside, but despite my taxi not being there to meet me there was no trouble and I quickly headed into the city. Kathmandu is a strange fusion of old and new. Some parts are very touristy and western but then you can walk down a back alley and it's like stepping back in time. Tall buildings lean in over head and blot out the light.

Nepal, in a back to front way, has been hard to adjust to. Before I arrived I anticipated that it would more deprived than much of India. However, in some parts of Kathmandu I find the choice of loo rolls and shampoo overwhelming! Alcohol doesn't appear to be taboo here although I struggle to spend the equivalent amount of rupees on a beer that would buy me a room for the night (my willpower is improving!). Thamel, the tourist hub of Kathmandu, is noisy and chaotic. Street vendors fill every inch and you can't take two steps without having miniature violins, hashish or tiger balm thrust in your face. There's an abundance of Westerners "finding themselves" with the aid of some newly acquired wacky clothes and several large joints! When I first arrived I found myself really gawping a white people, it seemed so odd not to be the only one. Kathmandu can give a misleading impression of Nepal, one that soon disintegrates as you drive into the countryside where a contrasting picture emerges. Every available stretch of hillside is covered with row upon row of terraces. Small clusters of simple houses cling to the steep slopes and snowy mountains occasionally appear through the clouds. Roads follow the rivers as they carve steep ravines through the mountainside. The water transforms into a raging blue/green torrent, no longer choked by the rubbish and sewerage of the city. Buses and trucks regularly tumble off the roads, the holes in the barriers serving as eerie reminders of the dozens of people who lose their lives each day.

Back to Delhi

7-8/01/08

I was dreading my night train back to Delhi after my previous experience. This time I found my carriage to be nearly empty so I started to relax....but not for long! I seem to have the uncanny ability to attract wankers (in the most literal sense!) and five minutes into the journey along came wanker number two. This time I felt it was best that I made a scene as I really did not want to be sharing a deserted carriage with a pervert. I shouted at him to stop it which he did, but he then went for the "hands-free" option of rubbing himself up against the chair. I had had enough and screamed at him to get out of the carriage and tried to get another man in the carriage to support me (sadly a lot of people prefered to turn a blind eye when I was getting hassled). Amazingly my raving lunatic impression worked and he left. I lay awake for a long time worried he might return, but he didn't thank god.
Whilst I was on the train I decided that I wasn't going to spend another night in the grim hotel in Delhi and instead would stay with the Japenese interpreter (I met going to Agra) who had offered to put me up. I know it probably sounds extremely unwise but for me it was a matter of weighing up which option carried more risk and I actually felt that I would be safer staying with a stranger's family. Needless to say it turned out to be an interesting experience! His family were very nice and welcoming and his wife was an excellent cook. I took a much needed hot bucket bath - only the second time I had washed in hot water since reaching India. Then I was introduced to their 30 year old son who took me on a slightly too exciting high speed tour of Delhi. I soon realised he had a drink problem and of course drink-driving isn't an issue in India where you can bribe the police for pretty much anything. We arrived back at the house in one piece but I gathered along the way that the son was looking for a nice white wife and apparently I had come recommended by his Dad!! I spent the rest of the evening on the roof terrace around a fire setting him straight on a few points - "no, I was not going to marry him under any circumstances", "no, white women are not all the same", "no, we do not all go around having one night stands"! Once he realised that he'd have more luck chatting up a nun he dropped his macho act. It turned out that he was really depressed, his arranged marriage had failed and his pregnant 18 year old wife had left him. Alongside this he had his Dad pressurising him that he should quickly re-marry. So it was an evening spent counselling!

Khuri

4 - 6/01/08

After two heavenly days of relaxation in Bundi I set off on the bus to the nearby town of Kota. Here I caught the train to Jaipur, five hours away. I had my first taste of Guava (aka custard apple) courtesy of the lovely family I was sat next to. It was a day of firsts as I also enjoyed my first bicycle rickshaw ride (much more sedate but no less scary than the auto-rickshaws!) and saw my first camel, plodding down the chaotic main road like it was the most normal thing in the world! Jaipur wasn't really anything to write home about - very big, very loud, very dusty and certainly not the pink city that all the guidebooks romantically describe. After sunset I spent seven long hours at the station waiting for my train which was due at midnight but rolled in at 1am. I discovered a family of eight rats in the toilet so squatted from an impressive height and then crossed my legs for the rest of the evening. The staring at the station was particularly bad - men gawping everywhere I turned. In the end I completely covered my head with my scarf so no-one could see I was white. A massive crowd had formed by the time the train pulled in and it moved like a herd of stampeding buffalo. In the pandemonium I ran to the wrong end of the train. In England this would not be a problem but in India there are thirty-something carriages - it's a long long way. Lots of men groped me as I pushed past and then got a second chance when I had to run by once more. The unreserved carriages (which you don't touch with a barge pole unless you've (a) lost your money or (b) lost your mind) were already so full that the passengers inside were refusing to open the doors. This lead to mobs of angry men hammering on the windows and then forcing their way into the sleeper class carriages instead. When I finally got on the train it was so full I could hardly push my way down to my reserved "bunk". When I did get there I found it came complete with three louts who were very reluctant to move. I then had an audience of seven men watch me get into my sleeping bag, all getting kicks out of being suggestive. I tried to block them out of my mind but then glanced to the bunk opposite to see my neighbour wanking whilst ogling me. I have never felt so terrified in all of my life. My only reassurance was the young Korean tourist who was nearby - he looked equally as scared and he regularly shot me sympathetic looks. By 4am the gang appeared to have dispersed, I was so relieved as I was busting for a pee but didn't dare move earlier. My relief was short-lived as the all the men had just relocated to around the toilet. I endured five long minutes waiting whilst getting hands stuck between my legs and everywhere else you can imagine. I was so hard to know what to do in defence - making a fuss would have been dangerous in this particular situation as I was so outnumbered I knew it could have quickly turned much worse. Even the conductor who had past through earlier didn't kick them off the train despite the lack of tickets.
The dawn brought views of sand dunes and a fine coating of sand coated everything in the train. Most of the men had gone but one was remaining who I had noticed had kept himself separate through the trouble the previous night. I had an interesting discussion with him about Indian men's views of western women. Apparently all the men were from the army and were letting off steam...huh! But he respected my opinions. I still don't understand why so many men have such fixed opinions about white women. There's no logic to it as there were Indian women wearing tight western clothes but they weren't getting the same disrespectful treatment that I received.
When I arrived in Jaisalmer I took the local bus (sacks of rice beneath my feet, small child on one knee, someones shopping on the other!) to Khuri, a small desert village two hours due south. I stayed with a really lovely family and slept in my own little thatched mud hut. It was so special and peaceful - a real tonic after the stresses of the previous days. The food was cooked over the fire and was absolutely delicious. The husband was a gentle, fascinating person who took great pleasure from leading a simple life. The next day I headed off on a camel into the desert with some American students to spend a night on the dunes sleeping under the star-studded sky (camel travel is as painful as everyone says!). We passed lots of traditional mud houses so smooth they looked as though they could have been molded from plasticine. The landscape and experience was amazing and nasty memories soon replaced by great ones.

Bundi

02-03/01/08



If I ever require a honeymoon destination (I live in hope!) Bundi will be the place for me. It's straight out of a fairytale - a small ramshackle town, once a capital back in the day of the Rajputs (warrior clans that ruled the area for a thousand years). The town is an exquisite mixture of rainbow houses (bright yellows, pinks, blues and oranges), hills, lakes, glittering sarees and best of all an enormous, decaying, extravagant palace which stands magnificently on the hillside overlooking it all. I stayed in a two hundred year old haveli - a traditional stone house centred around a courtyard. They have beautifully painted doorways, heavy carved wooden doors and my room was complete with lake views, stain glass windows and shutters. It was very atmospheric.
The palace is derelict and except for a few others I had the place to myself. It's a maze of small passageways and spiral staircases that you can get lost in for hours. The monkeys live like kings beneath the beautiful gold and turquoise murals. From the top the views stretch for miles and lots of kites can be seen dancing over the rooftops far below.

Agra

31 - 01/01/08



I headed off in the dark and cold down to the train station, past small huddles of people warming themselves around street fires and rickshaw drivers wrapped head to toe in blankets. The station was already bustling with life. Whilst the train flew through the countryside the deep pink sun rose over misty fields and small straw huts littered the landscape. The Indian passenger next to me works as a japanese interpreter and taught himself the language in two months no less! It puts me to shame as everyone I meet is so good at languages. Once in Agra I shared a bitterly cold ride into town with a French couple. North India has a massive selection of people from all over the world, quite a contrast to the south. New Year's eve was spent on the roof terrace overlooking the Taj Mahal with two girls from Germany and Finland and two boys from Switzerland and Chicago. By 4am it was time to hit the sack but sleep was short as I had to be up again at 5.30 to get to the Taj Mahal for sunrise. What a way to spend the first day of 2008! It was pitch black as I walked down to the entrance gate and stars covered the sky. Seeing the Taj Mahal looming against the night sky was a truly magical experience, only comparable with the feeling you get on Christmas eve when you are little. As the sun gradually rose the building changed from blue to pale pink and then finally a dazzling white. It was breathtakingly beautiful. It had been so cold that frost coated everything and mist rose from the river behind clinging like a blanket to the ground. The Taj Mahal looked like a palace floating on clouds. I don't think it could have been more picturesque. Up close the stone-work is staggeringly detailed. There are intricate lattice partitions and the most exquisite flowers made from carefully inlaid coloured stones. It is totally mind-blowing to think of the effort involved.

That night it was back on the sleeper train once more for the fifteen hour journey to Rajasthan - first stop Bundi. I hadn't been in sleeper class since I'd reached the wintry North and of course I'd forgotten it has no heating. Thankfully I'd packed my sleeping bag but I was so tired I nodded of before getting into it. The next thing I knew I was woken by a prod in my back and turned to find a little old man flinging a blanket over me. I tried to explain that it was okay and that I had a sleeping bag but it was to no avail. He was fiercely insistent I should have it. I admitted defeat, thanked him profusely and went back to sleep. Twenty minutes later I was aware of some shoving and found the same man looking despairingly at me and trying to tuck me in (I clearly don't know how to wear a blanket the Indian way)!! He was a little sweety.

Going Solo - Delhi

30/12/07

My time in south India has sadly come to an end. So with my rucksack bursting at the seams and looking quite ridiculous on a puney person such as myself I headed off to Trivandrum airport (Kerala). After being asked to step inside the frisking booth (their name not mine!) and being given a thorough going over I was allowed on the plane and 3 hours later arrived in smog shrouded Delhi. One and a half hours and several prayers to the god of conveyor belts later my bag trundles into view - big sigh of relief! I located the left luggage office which turns out to be a corrugated iron shack in the car park. This will be home for two thirds of my luggage for the next nine days - not feeling particularly optimistic about seeing my bag again and feel like I have just paid someone to steal it! By this time it was getting dark so I decided to treat myself to a taxi. For once the lonely planet guide was invaluable as it warned against taxi scams so I was prepared. Sure enough as soon as I was setting off the taxi driver's shifty male "friend" hopped in and gave me a sleazy smile. I told him with my foot out the door that he'd better get out or I was off - he reluctantly did. Then it was the "I know a better hotel" line and then "you need to reconfirm your room - it's probably already gone" and finally "come sit in the front with me"... not on your life! After giving him many death stares I reached my destination... Paharganj, described in th guide book as "downright seedy and full of dodgy characters" - how could I resist! This area is a maze of cluttered alleyways, heady with incence, rammed with bicycle rickshaws and vibrant colours everywhere. My hotel (and it really is stretching the imagination calling it that) is dire. A rabbit warren/death trap that is still a building site and unfortunately the builders work around the clock. The room has no windows and has the ambience of a prison cell. Still it's only one night and it's close to the station which is where I'll be at 5.30am for my train to Agra.