INDIA: A REVIEW

This is my favourite photo of all the pictures I took in India. Not because it is the best, but because nothing can beat this kids smile. Me and Lauren were buying corn on the cob off a food vendor, when a street kid came up to us jangling an empty tin cup at us. His head was shaved, his clothes were filthy and his feet were bare. Instead of ignoring him, I gave him my corn on the cob that I had just recieved and not yet eaten. I have never seen such a happy reaction from a child for something that felt so little to you or me. His smile melted my heart and I will always remember it. This is why I love this photo the most.

FAVOURITE PLACE: Varanasi or Amritsar?

WORST EXPERIENCE: Getting E Coli four hours into a 15 hour bus journey. No contest!

BEST EXPERIENCE: The Golden temple. It was certainly the most spiritual.

THE FUNNIEST THINGS:

* The dog in the Nappy!

* Lauren getting her ears repierced by an Indian family.

* Paula and the Raccoon sunburn.

* Devinda.

* Rodney and my gift of Valium!

GOOD PLACES TO STAY:

* Hotel Pearl Palace: Jaipur


* Nukkad Guest House: Udaipur

*The Oberoi: Mumbai

* Yogi's Guest House: Jodphur

THE BEST FOOD: Bengali cuisine at the Sidheshwari Ashram in Kolkata. It was also the cheapest!

EATING RECOMMENDATIONS:

* Khyber: Mumbai

* Lotus Lounge: Varanasi

* Indique: Jodphur

* Teapot: Fort Cochin

* Le Club: Pondicherry

HIGHLIGHTS:

* Watching the burning Ghats on a boat on the Ganges during sunset.

* Meeting the Indian family on the train from Kerala to Goa, even though I didn't realise it at the time.

* Visiting Dhavari.

* Taking a cycle Rickshaw in rush hour Delhi and holding on for our lives.

* Recovering from E Coli!

THINGS I HAVE LEARNT FROM THIS TRIP:
There are no easy answers in life and don't eat Indian street food! Haha!

GOA: BEACHENDERS

I arrive at the airport, to catch my flight to Goa. I'm still drunk! I know this because:

1. I have just been ripped off by a taxi driver, by paying double what I should of done for a trip to the airport, and I didn't even argue with the driver. I just hand him the money.

2. My breath smells so much of alcohol that if you put a naked flame next to it, I'll probably blow up the whole airport.

3. I'm trying to read magazines in the shop, even though I can't understand them because there in Hindi!

I roll up to Paula's hotel (Yes she's back "working in India") around noon, feeling dreadful! It's rather a relief at the other end, to find she is feeling just as bad as me.
"I'm really hungover" she moans.
"Good, because so am I!" Well we made be different in so many ways, yet we are just the same in others. We both have an afternoon siesta, to aid our recovery.

The days that I'm with Paula again, follow the same routine as last time. which really is quite a pleasant way to pass the time. I realise on this visit that Paula has kind of turned into some kind of crazy Brigitte Bardot type, with all the local dogs, as she keeps saving half her meals to feed them. She beckons them in off the beach and secretly feeds them under the table. I don't think this pleases Johnny the owner of the bar too much as him and his staff keeping kicking them out (literally) as there are dogs everywhere. This makes Paula feel more sorry for them and she continues to feed the half starved beasts, and so the circle continues.

In the last decade, Russians have invaded London, with their new found wealth. It's not just London either. They have invaded Goa too. A lot of people are negative about Russians abroad, but to be fair, I couldn't be happier as they make the British abroad actually look good for once because:
1. They are whiter and burn more than us.

2. They have the worst dress sense in the world.

3. They can drink more than us and hence get more drunk!

All out win I say? We are all sat in Johnny's bar one night when we are challenged to a game of pool by a Russian aircrew. They have had quite a few drinks and so have we, so it's seems quite even. That is until the Russians start plying us with vodka. This gives them unfair advantage as they can drink it like water, with no effect, where as we get more and more drunk. It's like the Cold War all over again, and after a match that is longer than War and Peace, as no one can focus anymore, the Russians win. Oh well, they still dress bad though!

Paula returned home, and I decided to return to Paloem and pick up where I left off. I went back to my same simple little hut. I found Rob again much as I left him roaming from the bar to the beach. In fact nothing had really changed in the 2 weeks I had been away. The same faces still mill around, doing the same routines. This is a place where the same people come year after year for the season, to the same hut, to do the same things, to see the same faces. I guess it's like some weird community.
"Hello Darling!"
I turn to see Rodney a middle aged man, leaned against the bar swigging cheap rosé from a glass like he always is. I had meant Rodney on my previous visit. I think he might be an alcoholic as I've never seen him sober. I usually find him in the mornings passed out on the sofa outside his room with a kitten sat on his head, while he snores. It's the same kitten that lives in his room. He pretends not to like it, but I know he does. As a leaving present from my last visit Rodney had poured a jar of Valium into my hands after I told him I was taking a 12 hour bus journey to Mumbai.
"Are you mad! Your going to need these. Take yellow for just a hit, and the blue ones if you really want to knock yourself out!" He says leaving me stood there with my palms full of pills, that are spilling onto the floor.
I join him at the bar.
"How was Mumbai? Did the Valium help?" He asks.
"Oh yes! It was great!" I lie. Of course I didn't take any. God knows what was in them. Viagra?

I've come to realise in life, I'm not good at routine. Maybe that's why I travel. Maybe that's why I do the job I do. I like change, or maybe that's what I'm use to? So it's surprises me that I fit into the daily of routine of Paloem so quickly and easily. I get up early every morning and sit at the bar and have banana pancakes, which I'm always served by Sam a little Nepalese guy who becomes my favourite member of staff, due to his dryness and cheeky charm. I then head to the beach where I find my regular chair and umbrella. I take in the morning sun and cool off in the sea every now and again. I hide from the mid day sun in one of the numerous beachside bars, order lunch and read my book. When it is cooler I return to my same spot for more sun. After his daily game of frisbee with his mate Paul, Rob comes and joins be for a beer and our usual late afternoon chat. It's during these chats we put the world to rights. I didn't know Rob that well before Goa. I thought he was a little grumpy. He still is but underneath it all: the not liking being touch or being round lots of people, I realise he's a good guy. I like him and always look forward to our regular chats. After the sun goes down I head for a cold shower (A hot one is not an option) and change and head to the bar, where I'm surrounded by the regulars. There is the old hippy with no teeth who has been coming here since time began. There is the English married couple who are a bit rock n roll and got married on the beach, but then lost their wedding rings on the same beach when they had an argument and threw them at each other, and they got lost in the sand. Then there is the two English guys who I think our a couple but it appears their not as one starts flirting with me one night. My next door neighbour is a former Crystal Meth addict who has written a book on her past addiction. The other neighbour is former party girl in Ibiza, and who looks set to be a party girl in Goa. Then there is the owner, who apparently when he gets drunk, gets naked, so he's not drinking while I'm there, which is probably a good thing. Oh and of course there's Rodney. Many characters, with their own past and their own stories to tell. Due to this there is always some drama or scandal going on. It's like Eastenders or Beachenders as it becomes know.
At night I sometimes sit on my own outside my little hut. The local dog who I call Santa's little helper (As he looks like the dog from the Simpsons) is always there to greet me. So I sit there with my beer, stroking Santa's little helper, quite happy in my solitude, until I realise I'm being eaten alive by mosquito's and the dog has fleas, then I make a sharp exit.

During my stay, the nights become hotter and hotter. It's over 40 degrees in the day sometimes. The air is sticky and it becomes impossible to sleep. My crap ceiling fan that looks like its going to fall down any minute does little to help. After a couple of sleepless night, I'm looking through my bag, when I spot all the Valium that Rodney gave me. "Well it couldn't hurt to try one?" I think. So I pop one. It is Valium, and really good Valium as I'm out for the count in no time. I carry on popping the pills for the rest of my stay and there is not one more sleepless night had. The joys of Valium. Thank you Rodney.

It becomes time to leave and my trip to India is over. For once I'm not sad to go home. In fact I'm looking forward to it! It's not that I haven't enjoyed India. I have! It's been everything I expected it to be: Food poisoning; adventure; drama; dirty and funny, but this trip was not about running away from things anymore. I had a reason to go back, it was time to put down some roots again after living out of a bag for too long again. I had to go and find a home again.well for a little while anyway, until the bug takes me again. Once a traveller, always a traveller I guess?

TROLLIED!

I'm not a twin. My sister and brother are, though I wouldn't have blamed you in the past for thinking I was one. My mother had this habit of dressing me and my sis the same, when we were kids; Bad jumpers knitted by nan; matching puffball dresses; and our hair was crimped in the same fashion that made us look like we had been electrocuted. I never liked it; being dressed like some one else. I doubt she did either, and I often wonder if it is because of this twin dressing when in our youth, that we are so completely different now, and when I mean different, I mean DIFFERENT! We are like chalk and cheese in every way: Clothes; films; music. I remember an instance when we were driving back along the motorway from a trip in Paula's car. As she was the driver and it was her vehicle, she insisted on the choice of music, but after 2 hours of having to listen to the likes of God dam Toni Braxton, I was going insane. I decided it was time for a bit of Radio Head, which went down like a tonne of bricks and resulted in an argument so big, Paula pulled over on the hard shoulder of the M6 and tried to push me out the car, while I pushed her back. My brother just sat in the back looking a bit bewildered. Basically the long and the short of it is Paula thinks I'm a scruffy, weirdo hippy and I think she is a Princess WAG! You would think from what I have just written that we hated each other, but its just the reverse. For all our differences, me and my sister are very close. We laugh at our differing views; we tell each other everything; we can both party; but most of all we respect each other.

My sister just so happened to be in India at the same time as us. So me and Lauren ventured to Goa, to see her. My sister is an air hostess (or Trolley Dolly as some people say) and had done a flight to Goa and so was being put up for 6 days in a hotel before returning home. The thought of a nice hotel, with clean sheets and hot water after some of the dives we had been staying in, was wonderful, and add to that we didn't have to pay a penny.

If you can remember my last post, you left us after the crazy train journey with the family, being dumped in a Goan station in the early hours of the morning. After haggling with a few taxi drivers and getting the price down by over half (haggling queen!) we are on the road. During the taxi journey, Lauren is fretting.
"Do you think your sister will mind us turning up at this time in the morning? Will she mind us waking her?"
She doesn't know my sister.
"I think she will probably still be up" I reply.
My prediction is not far off as we knock on Paula's hotel door at 4am. She answers looking a little blurry eyed.
"I hope we didn't wake you? " Lauren says.
"No I've only just gone to sleep! I've been out drinking with the crew all night" she says tipsily. As predicted my sister is trollied. I feel a sense of pride that she has not let me down. She sits back on her bed and looks me and Lauren up and down.
"Well you don't look as bad as I thought you would", as we stand there frazzled in a dirty hippie clothing.
We start to undress for bed, when Paula pulls out a bottle, that I know well.
"Before you even think about going to sleep you have to clean your faces, after being on that dirty train. Use the paint stripper!" She tells us.
Paint stripper is what me and Paula call a clearsil type lotion that we use to use during the spotty teenage years. It's so strong that not only does it take all the dirt off your face, it also seems to take a layer of skin off in the process. Me and Lauren use up 3 cotton pads each on our faces, all covered in black from the remnants of an Indian train journey. Paula looks at us in disgust with blurry eyes and says "And you were going to go to bed with that on your face!"
With that she throws herself back onto the bed and passes out into a deep sleep. I then volunteer to sleep on the sofa as its Lauren's birthday (well technically it's not as its after midnight but I'm trying to be nice)! It's not the best night sleep as at 5'10 most of my body is hanging of the edge, but I take comfort in the fact that this is the only place I have slept in so far in India, that I don't expect to wake up with bed bugs!

The next night we are sat having dinner with my sister and the rest of her crew in a fancy beach side restaurant. Paula is sat at the head of the table like Don Corleone. She is also sipping on a Mojito. She begins:
"Well you know this was meant to be a holiday for me and I've ended up working! I was just meant to be a passenger on this trip with my friend but because of circumstances, I've ended up working!"
Lauren shoots me a look. She looks confused. I move close to her and whisper, "This is her working!"
I can understand Lauren's confusion. OK, so they do a long hard flight there and back, but there is this 6 days in between that constitutes as work as well. Well my sister seems to think it does. So an average day of work in Goa for an air hostess goes something like this:
You rise when you want to. If you can rise early enough, you can get served free breakfast from the hotel, which includes freshly made omelettes. The most taxing part of the day comes next: acquiring a sun bed. This is no simple task. The sun bed must be in the right place around the pool to ensure you get the maximum amount of sun throughout the day. Get this wrong and the whole day could be in ruins. Around midday lunch is ordered and usually ate round the pool and this is usually when, the first beer is drank. The afternoon is spent with more sunbathing and the occasional dip in the pool to cool off. My sister only dangles her feet off the edge of the pool, as she doesn't do swimming or getting her hair wet, and besides she can still catch the sun as well as cooling down by doing this. As the day comes to an end everyone gets a SD by the pool. No! This is not a sexual disease but a Sundowner: a drink (which 99.9% of the time is alcoholic) to watch the sunset with. After that people leisurely stroll back to their rooms for a shower and to get ready for the nights proceedings, which starts with pre-dinner vodkas in someone's room (I believe they managed to consume 9 bottles in the 6 days I was there)! Dinner on mass is also with more drinks and by the time you get to the bars your already wasted, so much so, everyone challenges everyone to a game of pool, which takes about 10 hours to complete as everyone is so pissed they can't see straight to hit a ball with a cue! To fair I don't think the playing would be much better if everyone was sober???? If you are still standing after that, then you can do a lock in, in a bar till the early hours or drink in someone's room. The night is usually ended by passing out in bed or throwing up over a toilet, which Paula decided to do one night while I held her hair back (sisterly love)! She actually just kept saying in her drunken state "Don't tell mum! Don't mum!" Which I find kind of weird that we still do this (me included) when we have done something bad, even though we are now in are thirties. It's like we still think we are going to be grounded or have our pocket money confiscated!
So that was a summary of a day in the life of an air hostess working abroad. Tough hey?

It was after one of these heavy nights I was coming down to the pool, with Paula. She was feeling a little worse for wear. She was wearing her shades and had an head band on her hair line to protect her skin from a little sun burn from the previous day. She lays her head against the wall and in dramatic fashion says "I've just been so wreck less" referring to her hangover "Get me a full fat coke Carl's, I don't think I can even get to the bar." Paula's solution in life for hangovers is always a coke.
I get her, her bloody coke and she swigs it as she lays by the pool in her awful state, and settles in for another hard day of sunbathing. I retreat later to the room to hide from the midday sun. When I return I find Paula in a much worse state than before, but not in the way you would think. It appears that my sister in her hungover state has fallen asleep in the sun. This wouldn't be so bad if her head band hadn't fallen down her head, and left her with a huge white band across her forehead with sunburn either side. Paula is panicking, while everyone around her is telling her, it's not that bad. I can't help laughing which makes things worse!
"I look like a bloody Raccoon!" She shouts. I must admit she looks pretty ridiculous. I make a sharp exit and drag Lauren to the shop. After the shop I suggest we go for a nice drink but the the truth is of the matter is, I don't want to go back to the room and see my sister. When we were younger, getting ready for a night out with Paula could prove difficult. If her hair, her make-up, or outfit wasn't right, my sister could have a temper tantrum like no other, which would see everyone evacuate the room in a matter of seconds. I'm having flashbacks to those moments and I'm dreading what the rage will be like now that she has a face like a raccoon! After a while I pluck up the courage to go back. I open the door preparing myself for the onslaught, but instead I find a beaming Paula smiling back at me. She looks normal. If fact she looks great! She doesn't look like a Raccoon at all. "She must have a layer of cement on her face to cover it, but who cares. She's happy! I'm happy!" I think.
"You should be a make up artist" I tell her.
"I know! I'm amazing!" She says with delight.

After another couple of boozy days with my sister, its time for them to go home to recover their livers and me and Lauren head to the south of Goa, to Paloem for a couple of days. I'd been to Paloem before, on my first trip to India but don't really remember much of it as I spent most of my time there, after collapsing on arrival with a throat infection, confined to a rundown old shack above a pig stye, with a crap ceiling fan and a rusty old bed complete with an holey old mosquito net. Fond memories! NOT! So I thought I should give the place another try. Besides I had a friend Rob staying there, who had been going for years and knew the place well. He'd also booked us accommodation in advance. After refusing to get a taxi, and having to change local buses 3 times we arrive. We find Rob at his place at the bar. I greet him but don't hug him. I tell Lauren not to either. You see Rob doesn't like being touched. He freezes up like a statue. I find it most amusing. Rob shows us to our accommodation which is a simple beach hut. In fact he's booked two! One each as they're so cheap and it gives us more space. "What a nice thought" I think. Lauren looks less impressed, especially when she walks into her hut. They're dark inside and very simple. I can tell Lauren's not impressed. I explain that most huts are like this in Paloem as they are only built for the season and taken down again at the end. Lauren sheepishly moves her stuff in and I go to unpack in my hut. My solitude does not last long. I hear a scream and Lauren rushes in looking scared.
"I found a spider on my bed. I don't like it! Can I sleep with you tonight?" She asks.
She sleeps with me that night and every night after, as we condense down to one hut the next day. So much for a little ME time.

Me and Lauren spent the next couple of days chilling in the sun and eating well. We started to get to know a lot of the Characters residing in Paloem, but it was time to go before we knew it. I decided that I would return to Paloem after Lauren had left me, but now it was time to leave and get Lauren to Mumbai for her final stage of her journey, which should of been easier than it turn out to be. OK so a 12 hour bus journey is never easy, but hopefully catching the bus in the first place should be? Actually think again! It's India! Nothing's easy! We arrive at Margo and wait for our bus. No bus! We wait a bit more. Still no bus! I ask around.
"Yes Madam bus coming! Wait here."
I look at the clock. Our bus should of departed but its still not here. It becomes very evident that no one has a clue about what is going on and is saying anything to make us happy! It's time to bring out Kevin! Kevin is my crazy kick off alter ego for all of you that don't know. Kevin goes straight for the jugular at the poor bus guy!
"Where the Hell is our bus!" I demand waving our tickets in his face.
"Your bus goes from Panaji madam. Not here" he replies.
"What! What!" I scream "Why couldn't you have told me this an hour ago!" How the Hell our we getting to Panaji?"
"I put on bus to Panaji" he smiles. He then guides us to a bus.
"This bus leave for Panaji in 20 minutes" he says and leaves, thinking he's glad to be rid of the crazy English woman.
We sit on the bus. It's empty. The next thing there is a russle at the back and a topless Indian man rises from his sleep and starts shouting at us in foreign. I can't understand a word he is saying but it's clear he wants us off the bus. We are thrown off and sit by the road.
"We are early? Maybe he's cleaning the bus?" I say hopefully.
We sit there for 20 minutes, then the bus starts up. We try to board again but the topless man blocks our entrance and starts screaming at us in foreign again. This time I scream back. It turns into a full on argument and the bus drives off with him still in the doorway screaming at me and then he tries to spit at us!
"You are a God Dam dick head" I scream across the bus station at him and show him one finger.
"I God Dam hate India!" I scream at Lauren. I'm seeing red now.
"Right! I've had enough of this shit! I'm going to get us on that bus if it kills me!"
Kevin sees bus man! I fling my backpack to the ground, and storm over to him, leaving a bewildered Lauren standing there.
"Right! I want to get on a bus, and I want to get on one now!"
Bus man and his group of mates stare back at me in silence. I then realise that women don't dare scream at men in India, but I'm too angry too care.
"Well?" I scream.
They still stare at me.
"Get me on a bus now! I'm not leaving you alone, until some one does!"
This man hates me. I can see it in his eyes, but he knows I'm not going anywhere.
"I get bus!" he says.
He runs off and comes back a minute later.
"I have bus! Come now. Quick!"
The next thing I know me and Lauren are running with our backpacks along side a bus which is leaving. We jump into the bus falling up the stairs in the process and scramble to get our bags up. It happens so quick we don't have time to think about it. We stand up to find a packed bus staring back at us. I don't really like Kevin but this time he had done us proud. We were finally on our way to Mumbai!

KERALA: NAKED HEAT

I like being naked! There I have said it! I LIKE BEING NAKED! There said it again! It is something that has crept up on me over the years. It started when I was a teenager and finally got a room of my own after sharing with my sister for years. I would wander around freely without a care in the world, doing small tasks. It has continued like this since. I rarely shut the curtains, in fact I didn't even have curtains for 5 years in Hackney Wick. Sometimes when I knew no was home and very unlikely to come back I would wander to the fridge or bathroom naked, being mindful to duck incase anyone would past the communal balcony window. I found it very liberating. I never got caught and I never told anyone. It's funny as I get older how much more at ease with my body I am, even though things aren't as firm as they were and lines appear from nowhere. I believe it's a good trait to have. Everyone should be happy naked.

Getting naked was a thing I couldn't stop thinking about recently much to the horror of Lauren. Too be fair it's been through out the whole of India that I have been parading around naked in front of her, even up north when it was cold. Lauren is the total opposite. She gets changed under a towel like some Victorian lady, even when no one is in the room! Kerala though, is where it became worse. It was way too hot for clothes. As soon as I got through the door to our room I would strip off completely. I would take cold showers but as soon as she had dried off you were hot again. Being naked was the only option. I'd unpack naked; I'd read naked; I'd sleep naked; and just to piss Lauren off, I'd do some star jumps and lunges naked as well! This totally freaked her out as she started shouting, "Your my boss. How can I ever take you seriously again. Put some clothes on you crazy hippy!"
For me it was a revelation: she had actually taken me seriously had some point in our working lives. Well that's a first!

During our time in Kerala, we decided to stay in Fort Cochin. I've stayed there before and it's about as chilled and as civil as India gets. In Cochin the main source of accommodation is home stays, where you live in an Indian family's house with them. Me and my friend Becky had stayed in one on our last visit. They use to wheel the deaf and blind granny out on the porch all day; the son would perve at us from a far and the dad ripped us off so I slammed the taxi door on him when we left. So all in all not very successful? I told myself that this time would be better. We arrived at our home stay to find the mother who didn't really speak any English and who ushered us to our room. From what I could figure she's said that her daughter was busy and would see us soon. A couple of hours later I pretty young India girl knocks on our door. It's the daughter.
"I'm sooooooooo sorry, I was not here to greet you ja. My father was very angry. He find that he has a big tax bill and there is no money in the bank account. He blame me everything. He scream and shout. Say I'm bad, stupid daughter and I cry. My father very scary man"
"Oh! That's OK!" I say, trying to take on board this influx of personal information.
I feel like we have just walked into India's version of the Jeremy Kyle show! Great!

The next day we decide to book the obligatory boat trip and get onwards tickets to Goa. We decide to try and book through our home stay as I've had enough of Indian ticket halls, with standing in the wrong queue and then being told I've put the wrong train number on the bloody form. We find the daughter.
"Come" she says "You must speak with my father." She leads us into the living room, where I am presented with India's version of Jabba the hut! The father lets just say is a big man. No in fact he's huge, and just sat there on the sofa in a pair of tight polyester slacks, in a silk shirt which is unbuttoned to the waist so that we can see everything! On his fat fingers he wears too many gold rings. We sit down and I start to speak. The father continues to munch away on nuts. During the conversation I address the daughter about another nights stay. She quickly motions me to address her father about such matters. She is clearly petrified of the man and no wonder. Apart from being huge he's a big bully as well. I ask about train tickets.
"It's a long hot journey, so we want 1st, 2nd or third class at a push I tell him."
It's also Lauren's birthday that day, so I want to make the journey as nice as possible. I hand him 3000 rupees which is more than enough.
The next day I go to ask about the train tickets, but the father is not around. The daughter tells me it will be fine. The day after that, I go to find him again, but I'm told he is asleep and must not be disturbed. It's the day of travel and we still have no tickets! I'm angry and I grab Lauren and am determined to get some answers. I knock on the living room to find Jabba just in his lungi (an Indian sarong)! I think it's too early in the morning for this sight but press on anyway. The father is all smiles.
"Yes my daughter said you ask and worry about tickets, but no worry. I have for you."
He passes me the tickets. I look at them. They are sleeper class! The worst class of all!
"They more expensive because I have to charge commission" he smiles, "So they 2,600 rupees."
"Expensive! Expensive!" I think "God dam rip off more like! and for shit class. What a bastard!"
"So you owe me 600 rupees" he continues.
"No we don't we gave you 3000" I say.
"No madam you gave me 2000."
"No we definitely gave you 3000" and then that's when I see it. His face changes the smile has gone and is replaced by evil anger.
"Are you calling me a liar Madam! And in my own house!"
I'm scared now but remain clam.
"No Sir. I'm not calling you a liar. I'm just saying your mistaken."
"You gave me 2000, and that is the end."
Now those of you that know me well, know I'm not one to back down and I'd normally press the point, but I'm thinking, this guy could probably kill me with one flick of his fat wrist. I sat there with the image of my gravestone going through my head:
"Here lies Carly Griffith, sadly crushed to death by Jabba the Hut!"
"Yes maybe I am mistaken" I reply.
He claps his hands together and smiles "Good! We are all settled then!" He waves off to the door.
"You must come and stay again" he beams.
"Yes we will" I say through gritted teeth, but what is really going on in my head is this:
"You fat Jabba the hut Bastard! You rot in Hell! You will pay for this. The next time you see Carly Griffith, you will wish you have never been born! Ha Ha Ha Ha HA!!!!"
I am quite aware that I will never see this man again, but at the time these thoughts gave me some hope in life.

So it's Lauren's birthday. I had promised her some exotic beach, with cocktails or some magical hotel in some ancient city. In reality we are sat in a rust bucket train in the worst class possible, with no air con, in 40 degree heat, on wooden benches; about to start a 16 hour journey all because of Jabba! Lauren looks fed up.
"What a great birthday this is" she moans. I'm feeling guilty, so I do my best to make things better.
"It's not that bad" I say "Things could be worse." I pause at this moment as I can't think of anything worse. Lauren looks unimpressed and returns to reading her book. I decide to do the same as its too hot to talk.

About hour into the journey and sweating my arse off, I'm lay on our bench when I look around from my book to find an Indian woman sat right next to my head. I sit up straight away and I'm confused by her close proximity due to the emptiness of the train. Within a minute she is joined by another woman and then another. Within five minutes our benches are taken up by a load of Indian women. Me and Lauren look at each other.
"What the Hell!"
The next thing three young Indian girls run up and squash themselves next to Lauren and me.
"What is your names?
"What country?"
The oldest girl continues.
"This is my family, they want to meet you. They speak no English so I will translate. We are just back from my sisters wedding. Meet the family."
The next thing I know we are introduced to aunties, cousins, sisters, wives. Then the men arrive and it's all uncles, husbands, my mothers, brothers, sisters husband! Now I don't know what the world record is for the amount of people you can fit in a train compartment but I think we must have been close. Lauren looks totally in shock. I know what to do;
"Hey everyone it's my friends birthday today."
This is meet with cheers of excitement. Lauren throws me a look like she might kill me.
The next thing the whole family start singing Happy Birthday and the rest of the train carriage join in. Lauren goes red. The girl looks excited.
"It's your birthday. You must have a present!"
"Oh! No it's fine. You don't have to give me a present" says Lauren, but before she has finished, the girl is pulling a box from out her bag. She opens it and it is full of jewellery.
"I give you earrings. Yes! Earrings" she says.
"No I real can't!" Says Lauren looking extremely uncomfortable, but the girl and her whole family are having none of it.
"You must wear earrings!"
"No. No. No. I'm fine" says a scared Lauren.
"You must Lauren" I laugh as I'm the whole situation entirely amusing.
So there on a train, with 20 pair of eyes staring at her, Lauren Kilcar received the most interesting birthday gift ever, which included the repiercing of ears by a 15 year old Indian girl. Lauren smiled her way through the pain.
"Now you must have earrings too!"
Shit!!!! And before I could say anything I'm having my ears pushed through with the kind of cheap metal that erodes your skin (which it did)! I'm was sat there thinking I was being punished for laughing at Lauren's misfortune. Lesson learnt: Do not laugh at others misfortune! It will only come back and bite you on the ass!

We spent the next God knows how many hours being fed Indian snacks, chicken biryani, chai tea and being asked ever question about ourselves humanly possible. As exhausting as it was, I felt a tinge of sadness when our Indian family (all a 100 of them?) finally departed. I know it's sounds corny but these people who have nothing in comparison to us, give everything they can to us, including kindness to complete strangers. I thought the world would be a better place with more people like them.

Our train rolled into Margo, Goa at 3am. We were exhausted; we smelt; and we were filthy. I turned to Lauren.
"Well Lauren, no matter what you think about today. There is one thing for sure: You are never going to have a birthday like that one again!"
Next stop Goa.

TAMIL NADU: DOWN SOUTH

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF SOUTH INDIA:

* It's hot!

* The women wear the most amazing flowers in their hair.

* The man all seem to have the biggest Porno moustaches ever!

* People seem to be fatter, especially the women.

* All the actors are very.... well? Unattractive! As they all seem to be middle aged, plump men with Porno moustaches. All the politicians look like this too, but they like to mix up by wearing different aviator sunglasses in their campaign posters. In fact if I think about it, I'm not sure whether the actors and the politicians are the same people, because every man on every bill board in Tamil Nadu, looks like this same man I described!

* The writing is all swirly looking.

* It's really Dam hot!

*NB: Please note that if you were expecting something of more genius from these comments go and watch a Brian Cox programme or read Steven Fry on Twitter. This is Lady Warrington and these were really my first impressions of the south, even if they are stupid!

Me and Lauren caught a flight to Chennai. As soon as we walked off the plane the heat hit us. We checked ourselves into a four star hotel as a treat and got a little over excited. You see, air con, hot showers, clean bedding and toilet paper seem like such a treat these days. We even went a little further by ordering room service, which went a little wrong as the guy couldn't understand what we were saying, so we had to show him, which kind of defeats the object of room service. When the food eventually arrived we sat happily in bed while watching Bruce Lee's "Enter the Dragon", which Lauren had never seen before and I told her, she hadn't lived without seeing it, as its a classic. Unfortunately Lauren didn't seem to agree with me and thought it was dated and naff! Some people have no taste!

The French don't like the English. The English don't like the French. It's been going on for years. They invaded us in 1066. We invaded them for a while in the Middle Ages and then when we got bored of invading each other we started fighting over other countries to invade. It became like a big board game of Monopoly, with each of them trying to out do each other. First there was North America, with the colony's, Canada and the Caribbean islands. Then Africa. Then south east Asia and then India! Yes India! Many of you may not know, that France and England fought over India for a century, with at one point the French holding the upper hand by taking Madras in 1746, but the English took back the advantage, and by 1750 the French never again had a strong hold on India. They did retain one little part of India though: Pondicherry! I heard good things about this little part of France in India, so me and Lauren decided to stop off there to break up our journey to go further south.

We arrived at our guest house which had the most annoying machine ever, that played a constant Hindu chant 24/7. Our guest house guy was quite different. I say this because he was as camp as Hell and a raging screaming queen.
"Do you think he's figured out he's gay yet?" Said Lauren.
"Oh yes!" I replied "It's just whether his parents have yet, because that arranged marriage they are planning, I hope there not expecting any grand kids!"
The French always like to stamp their mark on a place and it was no different in Pondicherry. As we walked around, the white washed houses, and cobbled, shady boulevards it looked liked we could be in the south of France. Tiled signs saying "Rue"; European style scooters; and posh shops all added to the Gallic flavour of the place, but the best things were the restaurants. The French are know for good food, and Pondicherry did not disappoint. We found ourselves a restaurant and settled in for the night. The food was probably some of the best we had, had in India. We savoured in it. The restaurant started to fill and in no time it was full. I realised that apart from us everyone was French, and funnily enough a lot of French lesbians. This was of no surprise. I have always found on my travels, the French have extreme pride in the places that they have colonised in history and swarm to them. The British on the other hand don't give a shit as long as they can sunbathe; get alcohol; and watch Premiere league football live!
We left Pondicherry the next day after getting directions to the bus station from camp guest house guy and making a stop at the French bakery for the best almond croissants ever. I wished we had, had the time to stay longer. I loved you Pondicherry.

The state of Tamil Nadu is home to one of humanity's last living classical civilisations. While the Greeks and the Persian eras are long gone, the culture of the people of Tamil Nadu, in many ways has not changed since those times many centuries ago. Me and Lauren decided to venture to Madurai to the spiritual heart of Tamil Nadu to see the famous temple Sri Meenakshi (The temple of the fish-eyed Goddess)! It is considered to be the best example of southern Indian architecture with its towers, the tallest of which towers 52m over Madurai. After swapping buses and being hot and squashed travelling all day, we arrived at our long awaited destination and caught our first glimpse of the temple. It was dark but the highest tower could be seen as it was covered in bad LED lights that made it look like a huge Christmas tree.
"It looks like bloody Blackpool!" I said to Lauren. It was hardly the grand first impression I was expecting.

Madurai is not that touristy. I like that, in fact I love that! There is only one problem with it. There aren't that many decent places to stay. The best of a bad bunch our hotel was situated right next to the temple, which was a good point. Well in fact that was its only good point. The room looked like it had last been cleaned a century ago. I tried to remain positive.
"Well at least the sheets are sort of clean" I say looking at a stain on them. Lauren didn't look convinced. The bathroom has its problems too. The floor is wet. That's OK as most bathrooms in India are, as they are wet rooms with the shower combined. Lauren soon realises though the source of the water is not what we thought it was.
"OMG!" She says opening the bathroom door looking repulsed. "The toilet is leaking! Every time we flush it, it's leaking all the water on the floor."
I went to inspect. She was right. Goddam it!
As we went to bed praying to God, that we would not catch bed bugs during the night, Lauren was having trouble working the fan. She opened the door and messed with some switches out side. The next thing I know some little old India man dressed in khaki comes storming into the room, messes with some switches by the table, and the fan starts turning, not like he's interested in that. His main concern is coming over to me and shaking my hand so much it's hurts, while having a good old stare at me while I lie half naked in bed.
"Nice meet you. You want tea, coffee?" He says with the biggest grin on his face.
Lauren quickly ushers him out with a "Thank you for your help" while I just sit there a bit in shock! "Who the Hell was that!"

I think it started at 6am or maybe 6.30am. I can't really say I was half a sleep like most people in hotels at that time. It was the sound of a door bell. Our door bell in fact. I chose to ignore it and turned over and went back to sleep. Half an hour later it rang again, and then another half hour after that, and yes! Another half an hour after that one too! It went on until around 8.30am when Lauren gave in and decided to answer the door. It was the same little India man dressed in khaki from the night before.
"Tea, coffee?" He says
"No thank you" says Lauren politely, " we are OK." She shuts the door.
Another half an hour later the door bell rings again.
"You have to be joking me!" I think. We ignore it. We have showers; we get dressed and still that bloody door bell rings.
"Seriously! What does he not get about no tea and coffee. It's not hard! I don't even like tea and coffee!" I rant. Lauren points out that he might just want to have another look at a half naked western woman again.
We manage to sneak out without being accosted by tea and coffee man, which was surprising as I thought he'd set up camp outside our door. After finally finding somewhere that served breakfast that didn't look like it would kill us, we made our way to the temple. It was prettier in the day, without all the flashing Vegas lights.

Like the Golden Temple in Amritsar we had to remove our shoes, but this was where the similarities ended. This time foreigners had to pay to enter the temple. Inside was a maze of dark stone corridors that seemed such a contrast to the brightness of outside. Most of the temple was forbidden to us as well, as non-Hindus. Me and Lauren sat down to take a break from the heat. We both felt disappointed. Amritsar and Sikhism had been so welcoming, and even though we were outsiders they never made us feel like that. Here we were definitely the aliens again. This is part of travel though. There are the highs of places that far out weigh expectation and there are the disappointments of the things that did not fulfil what you were looking for. You have to find these things out for yourself though. Madurai had not been what we thought it would be, but it was not a wasted journey. I believe no journey is a wasted one, even the bad ones. Hey, for me it was worth it for tea and coffee man alone!
Next stop Kerala.

KOLKATA: CONFUSED!

We arrive in Kolkata. We get a taxi from the train station. The driver knows where he is going and doesn't ask for more money: I'm confused! We check into our hotel: Its clean: I'm confused. We walk down the street. There is no one hassling us for money; to buy something crap; or to go on a tour: I'm confused! There are no taxi drivers asking us if "We want taxi?" every two seconds. We actually have to flag one down: I'm very confused! Kolkata is just well? Confusing!

Kolkata was nothing like I thought it was going to be. I had images of starving children in the streets being tended to by Mother Theresa type nuns; beggars everywhere pulling at my feet and an environment of complete chaos. Instead we find a tranquil, chilled city. Don't get me wrong there is poverty and beggars here, but no more, maybe even less than what I have seen in other great hubs in India. You see for decades now Kolkata or Calcutta as it was formally know has been edged in people's brains across this world, as a city of horror and human suffering, due to Mother Theresa and books such as City of Joy. What I see now is a city that doesn't quite know what it is suppose to be.

India was ruled by the British for 250 years. Over that time we left our mark: the railways; public schools; cricket and the scattering of the English language, but travelling around India you can hardly tell we were ever here. This is not the case in Kolkata. It was the former capital of the Raj and a city more less built from scratch by the British. This can be seen with its orderly planning from wide tree lined avenues to the grid street plan. There a monuments and statues everywhere, the grandest of which is the Victoria memorial, that looks just as impressive as any grandiose building we have in London. There seems to be a organisation to this city that so far I haven't seen anywhere else. Even the cars stick to their lanes (Well sort of)? Even with its British heritage though, it's confused. The old street names of the British were changed to Indian ones by the government, many years ago, along with the change of the name of the city from Calcutta to Kolkata. The only problem is everyone still uses the British ones, which gets very? Well you guessed it! Confusing.

It is not only the relative calm of this place but there are glimpses of the modern world too, which seemed exciting after being in a time warp of places like Varanasi and Rajasthan. Coffee shops; music shops and book stores (Kolkata is the art and literature capital of India). But the best thing of all was there were bars! I'd been teetotal for my time in India up till now. Im not a alcoholic, but I like a drink. I'm the first to admit I drink too much. For a person like me giving up alcohol for a month was not the easiest task. I'd always intended to have a little break from alcohol after the excesses of the Christmas period, but with the E.coli it hadn't even been a choice. After our medication had finished, I realised I wasn't missing alcohol at all. It was nice to wake up feeling fresh everyday, and so I continued not to drink. Now in Kolkata I was surrounded by all the trappings of modern life and the thought of an ice cold beer seemed very tempting indeed. We found a bar that looked like the set from "Cheers" and sat down. As we sat drinking our beers, the bar started to fill with young Indians. The guys all looked modern, but the thing I noticed the most was the women. Most wore heels, short dresses and low cut tops. It was like any other bar you would see back in the west! Well that was until the band started playing; 80s power ballads; which were all out of tune and sang with a thick Indian accent! Another beer was needed.

Even though Kolkata was not the Hell hole I was expecting; it can certainly be said, that this was not the case in the past. When India gained her independence from the British in 1947, the country was also separated. The new Muslim territories of Pakistan and East Pakistan (Now Bangladesh) were created. The partition saw one of the biggest human migrations in history, with 10 million people losing their homes and moving to their allotted country. Kolkata was badly effected during this time, receiving all the Hindu refugees fleeing East Pakistan. Four million people flooded into the already over crowded city. As well as the over crowding the city suffered badly economically with the departure of the British and the partition. With all these factors combined, Kolkata became a city of extreme poverty and horror, where people were actually starving to death on the streets.
It was during this time that a little nun from Albania, who was stationed in Kolkata in a covent, educating the children of rich Indian's, heard the voice of God, telling her to go and help the poor. So she left her convent, and set out on her own to the slums, dressed in only a simple white cotton sari with a blue trim. Her name was Mother Theresa.
I am not a religious person and no matter what you think of religion yourself, there is no way you can look at Mother Theresa and her charity and say what she did was of no good. Before she came a long there was no help for the poor on the streets and she unselfishly devoted her life to this cause.
Me and Lauren went a long to her house and to see her tomb which was right next to our hotel. We were guided my a nun in the now traditional cotton sari uniform of the Mother Theresa nuns to her tomb, which resides in the "Mother House." It was a sober room, where silence was required while nuns and priests prayed in the back ground. Me and Lauren sat there quietly looking at the tomb, when a school party of Indian children came in. The teacher walks straight up to us and stands blocking our view.
"Where are you from?"
"England" I reply very embarrassed.
"Oh very good. Good cricket. We excited to see you." Photo?"
Before we can say yes or no. We are surrounded by a mass of school children smiling and shouting, while a queue has formed in front us for the next photo. We are completely trapped, and not only that we can't see the tomb anymore because the children have all turned their backs on it and are facing us! Mother Theresa the image of human sacrifice; saviour of thousands; who many see as a saint, is being over shadowed by Carly and Lauren; two costumes girls from London; who do silly things; and feel that real hardship is when you don't have hot showers and toilet paper! I turn and look at Lauren who looks frozen with it all, as the non stop photos continued and said "I'm modified! We are definitely going to Hell now!"

When it came the time for us to leave Kolkata, we found a taxi to take us to the airport. Our taxi driver was a scrawny looking man with thin features but a big smile, which showed he didn't have a full set of teeth. He was extremely chatty.
"I am Laba Hadu. I from Nepal. Where are you from?"
"England."
"You married?"
"No."
"How old are you?"
"25 & 33."
He turns to me and laughs, "Ha. You older than me. I 32."
"What! What the Hell! I'm older than him. You have to be taking the piss! He looks about 55!" I think. Of course I don't say this, I just go "Oh really?" and smile.
As we drive along he turns to us and says,
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"No I mean smoke!" And pulls out a massive bag of hash!
"You want some?" he asks.
"Oh!" I say shocked "We will give it a miss. We are just about to get on a plane" I reply politely.
"You know it's good to smoke pot" he starts "The God Shiva, he smoke lots of hash. Shiva like hash. This is good. Pot is good."
Me and Lauren just nod a long.
"You have papers?" He looks towards us with a big smile. "I want paper to roll big spliff."
Luckily we didn't have any paper, as his driving was bad enough, without him being stoned! Don't worry everyone, I got his mobile number. So if anyone needs a pothead Nepalese taxi driver in Kolkata, Laba Hadu is your man!

I liked Kolkata very much, though even now after I have left, it is a city that I can still not figure out. On one hand Kolkata represents the India of today in trying to move forward, with it's modern shops and more liberal thinking. On the other hand it is a city very much living in the past, still stuck in its old ways. It is a city with a identity crisis, not sure of what it should be.
One evening I was in Kolkata in a music store trying to purchase some India music like the Hit man had played, when I noticed an old India man. I say he was India, but he dressed like a typical old English gentleman from the 1930s with his tweed blazer, walking stick and silk cravat. He spoke loudly to the shop assistant in his best queens English with only a slight hint of an Indian accent. He was oddly out of place in this modern music shop. I suddenly felt very sad looking at him. He had been left behind. This man was from another time, another era but that era had left nearly 80 years ago, and with it they took their afternoon teas; posh ways; and their strange clothes. All that was left now were their crumbling mansions, hidden behind their also crumbling high walls. They left India alone and gave them back their freedom. Had no one told this man? Or maybe they had and he just hadn't wanted to believe it. Maybe it was all too confusing?
Next stop Tamil Nadu!