Mumbai, dressing in a Burkha, performing in Bollywood, then kicking back with frogs, cows, and dolphins on Goa

Mumbai - the city of dreams. In my naivety I expected this metropolis to echo my experience of Delhi. How wrong I was!

For such a huge city and an even bigger population, the streets are calm, clean and friendly. Pulling into Bandra station at 5am I was expecting to be swamped by slums and poverty. Instead I found a thriving city waking up to the calls of fish market sellers, and early morning commuter traffic.

My first day introduced me to an animated chap, Ansari, who, after much haggling over price and itinerary, became my city tour guide and subsequently my host to a dinner at his family home in the suburbs. We visited many of the famous sights, taking too many awkward photos. One of my favourite spots included the Dohbi Ghat (or washer man's place). Here, I rolled up my sleeves and joined the army of workers cleaning the thousands of garments that pass through the ghat each day. A fascinating process and one which makes you appreciate the engineering of a washing machine! After a couple of stops at "my friend's shop", we split a lunch of chicken biriyani and chai over looking Chowpatty beach. 

The city had a real buzz about it in the build up to Republic Day, one of two days to commemorate India gaining Independence. Mumbai started it's celebrations surprisingly early, 8am. This for a city, and country, who doesn't usually set up shop until 10am earliest. I joined the tens of thousands of proud Mumbaikars to watch one of the oddest parades I've ever witnessed, leaving my Union Jack safely back at the hostel. After a brief radio interview in which I over used the word "excited" but luckily avoided any foot-in-mouth colonial comments, a barrage of weapons, soldiers and multi coloured floats slowly made their way down Marine Drive. A 15 year old avid One Direction fan had attached herself to me thinking I could get her access to Harry(?) Luckily I managed to lose her in the crowds. I admired Mumbai 's organisation to an extent, managing to herd that many people. However they appeared to have overlooked the basic needs, including a drinks supply and washroom, both necessary in 30+°C heat. Had it not been for a finale of famous Bollywood stars waving to their frantic fans from the back of vintage cars, I think most of the crowds would have jumped into the toxic water of the Bay.

The Oval forms a huge cricket playing field in the centre of town. Being Sunday (apparently) there was the weekly huge cricket tournament taking place. I don't think I have ever and will ever again see that many matches being played simultaneously and in such close proximity. Wickets were spaced 5m apart and about 50 different games were occurring. Great for people watching though most of the time I was on the look out for the rogue balls flying towards me.

That evening I met Ansari and together we travelled to his home. Having been introduced to several generations of his extended family and all of the neighbours in his block, his Muslim family decided to have a giggle on the white girl and dress me in a Burkha. It was horrific. Not only is it black, no doubt making it stiflingly hot, it's also quite heavy and chokes you. Allah knows how the women survive during the humid summer months.
An awkward moment pre dinner saw Ansari and a neighbour debate who's hospitality I should take first: dinner at Ansari's or chai at the neighbour's. All parties ended up satisfied (including me); a delicious dinner of chicken fry, chicken curry and dal, followed by Falooda (a strange dessert that's sweet but has the texture and appearance of albino spaghetti hoops) then chai. After many good byes and even a present from the neighbour, I headed home for an early start the next day.

BOLLYWOOD - Hollywood on steroids. No kissing, more violence and everything has to be over the top. I'd read foreigners are often signed up (and paid) for a day's filming. Along with about 20 other tourists, I headed to the film studios. After an assault by the hair and make up team where by I was made to look like something that resembled Barbie, I was thrust into Wardrobe and forced to select a ball gown from a horrific collection. My tactic - if it's going to look bad, make it horrendous. Showing far too much non-existent cleavage for India and in a colour that screamed pasty, I entered the impressive set. The movie, Humshackal to be released in March, is set in The House of Commons. The film's researchers obviously hadn't visited England as the set, though magnificent, held no resemblance to the real thing. Oh and a look-a-like Prince Charles was in attendance. We rehearsed then filmed about 5 different angles of the same shot - a large crowd of mainly Indian old men with a few token whities running away from a man spinning in a wheelchair with a bomb strapped around his neck. All very odd. Hugely insightful and I found the Bollywood "stars" fascinating to observe: speaking to one another only in English, ordering their army of minions around for salads, Starbucks and to touch up their whitened skin. After 12hours of being on set I was free to go and catch my train to Goa, £5 richer.

I hadn't planned to stay in Goa but was forced to due to trains. However on arriving into my paradise of Agonda, one night became five and my natural instinct to sunbathe - thanks to my Griffin genes- kicked in. From the comfort of my sunbed, I watch dolphins play in the bay while cows wander the sands, sometimes investigating me a little too closely and licking my bare skin. By day 2 I was as pink as the shrimps in my prawn vindaloo, but the fresh air, daily morning runs and healthy food was doing wonders.
Day 3 saw me take a much-needed break from the sun and head off on a scooter to explore Goa. No licence checks just a one question interview consisting of "You good drive?" And off I went. Panjim and some of the northern towns have a strong Portuguese ancestry and at times I felt I was in a Mediterranean hillside town. However I was quickly re awakened when the gentle Spanish Riviera feel turned into a cheap version of the Costa del Sol at some of the northern beaches. I quickly made my retreat to the haven of the quiet south, racing the sun as it set. Unfortunately a few wrong turns and poor sign posting meant I very much lost the race and found myself navigating the dark roads, one of the least enjoyable points of the day. Apart from the cows and dogs that turn the road into a mine field, the greatest hazard are the Indian drivers. 
Having safely found my way home, I thought my trauma would be over. Oh no, the frogs of Agonda had other ideas. While spending a penny on my much appreciated western loo, I got the shock of my life when a frog jumped up through one of the many holes in my bathroom floor. This was no ordinary frog. He had Olympic standard jumping capabilities, making catching him very difficult. He some how found his way into the toilet and so I did what most human beings would do and shut the lid. I'm praying that by morning he'll have found an exit.....

2 more days of paradise before heading east to.Hampi, my penultimate stop before returning to Kolkata!

Dining with 80,000 pilgrams, wading through a temple, and chilling in Ghandi's garden

Amritsar, the Golden city of India. After a long 23 hour journey, during which an 80+ year old woman thrust me into her bust and fed me nuts, I arrived into the northern state of Punjab. The city is most famous for the Golden Temple, the place where Sikhism was founded. It's an incredible temple, the upper two floors of which are plated in gold and the temple itself is surrounded by a lake. Pilgrims from all religions head to the temple to bathe in the water; all quite awkward when a man strips down to nothing but his boxers, and of course colourful turban, and goes for a dip about a metre from where you're sat people watching! As part of the Sikh philosophy you can also stay at the temple in the pilgrams accommodation and take all your meals for free. I joined the mass feast one lunch time having been adopted by a mother and daughter, all very helpful when there are no instructions in English. The dining experience was like no other. Although it won't get my 5 stars on tripadvisor for food quality or service, it was quite a spectacle to witness the feeding of a small army. Food, or more accurately slop, is poured out of large buckets dragged along the lines of sitting pilgrams. Chapatis are thrown at you from above by men in turbans. The whole sitting probably only lasts 20mins and then the next thousand hungry mouths are frogmarched in. 
Amritsar lies only 30km from the Pakistani border. Here, in a town called Wagah, the hilarious routine of closing  boarder occurs everyday. This involves ferocious flag flying, incredibly high leg-kicking, and hundreds of Indians and Pakistanis cheering their respective soldiers on, during which the men in uniform keep incredibly straight faces. All very peculiar.
Amritsar also saw me taken into another Indian family home. I was given the grand tour and looked through a whole life's worth of photographs. Still, always lovely and educating to be welcomed into someone's home, a concept the Indians struggle to understand when told it would rarely happen in the UK. The city can also claim to have the most fun temple in India, if not the world. The temple, said to help with conceiving children, saw me crawl through tunnels, wade through a water trough, and eat flowers. Don't worry grandparents, I too am hoping the whole conception thing won't work its magic for a good few years yet.

Next stop Delhi, a city that if I'm honest I was dreading. A comical, near death tuktuk ride took me from the train station to my haven in the suberbs. We ran several red lights, raced whacky-racer style with other tuktuks and required directions from about 10 different people. Mrs Kamte and her two dogs were to host me for just 24 hours, enough to get a feel for the city, and in one man's unwelcome case, get a feel of me (more eve teasing). It also brought my first Indian rain. As if the streets of Delhi weren't dirty enough, the rain water churned up the excrement (human and animal), the rubbish and the mud roads to make paths which looked more at home in a Glastonbury field. My shoes and feet were filthy! It's a harsh city. Faces are more worn, more single men sleep rough on the streets, the air is thick with car fumes, yet life goes on.

Ahmedabad was my final stop before heading south, home to Ghandi's ashram (sort of shelter for his devoted followers), good food and too much traffic. I had a horrific introduction to the men of the city. A railway "milk" seller managed to completely unsettle me when he first brushed my leg very unsubtly and unnecessarily, before  proceeding to sit and stare at me for an uncomfortably long time during which- I'm pretty certain- he fondled with himself; the re-buckling of the belt and flicking of white liquid was really quite disturbing.
 I took a slower pace of life in the city, starting with a sedate walking tour through the old city and finishing at the ashram, reading books and enjoying the warmer climates.

Now in Mumbai I feel surprisingly safe, having enjoyed a city tour today. Tomorrow the city breaks into a celebratory mood as the country commemorates gaining independence from Britain with Republic Day. Best leave the Union Jack in my hotel room....

Eveteasing, desert camping, and Camel festivals

Early Sunday morning I headed for my bus to Jodhpur. Before boarding I received an interesting request from a shop keeper for a "Puppy". In my naivety I thought he was looking for a small dog; however the Hindi translation turns out to be very different: a kiss. This was incident number one which left me feeling slightly uncomfortable as I embarked on my solo traveling.
Initially there was some confusion over seats, all probably quite hilarious for the bus driver. Having paid a premium for the privilege of reserved seating, several tourists were left baffled on boarding. They, like me, found themselves in seats 18 and above. The problem was the seats and their numbers stopped at 17. Oh India!

On arriving into Jodhpur I shared a Tuk Tuk  with a french couple, Stephanie and Armaud, who I would later continue to bump into along my travels. From the hill top fort I was able to appreciate why Jodhpur is known as the blue city. Originally all the Brahmin caste painted their houses blue, then the rest of the city followed creating a sea-like mirage stretching as far as the eye could see. After a picturesque sun set, I headed down the hill to wander the streets. 
The relative security of Kolkata and travelling in a group obviously left me too much at ease and I didn't expect what happened next. A boy, probably not too dissimilar in age to myself, began to follow me. I was first aware of him when he began hissing whilst walking behind me. As previously advised by many, I quickened my pace and headed to somewhere I knew was safe: my lunch spot. Still under pursuit I stopped to let him pass but he too doubled back. With just 20m to the restaurant door he grabbed me from behind. I shouted expletives at him and ran the remaining distance. Seeing I was quite distressed, the receptionist inquired what was bothering me and tried to catch the disgusting culprit. Unfortunately he'd already made a dash for it. Totally in shock and quite upset, the hotel owner tried to comfort me by giving me a quick lesson in self defence. Unfortunately the episode completely tarnished my time in the city. Thankfully I left the city that evening. Such a shame as the mukhania lassi were some of the best in India!

Jaisalmer was a whole new place. Its fort, constructed mainly of sand, provideed hours of entertainment for getting lost in. The winding streets are littered with shops and houses, which did sometimes mean you were constantly hassled by the shop keepers! However there was an escape in the form of rooftop cafes from where you can watch the world go by, or in our case an Islamic parade celebrating Eid, complete with elephants, horses, drums and lots of flags! 
A good group of international tourists had descended on my hotel and together we decided to forfill the stereotype and head into the desert on camel back. Our group, made up of 2 French, 2 German, 1 Swiss German, 1 French Canadian, 1 Welsh, a pregnant Ukrainian and me flitted between French, English and German languages, all quite confusing for our guides Del Boy and Prakash! Off we trotted, or rather slumped, into the dunes for our two day adventure. Between myself, Stephanie the froglet, and Nicole the 65 year old French Canadian, we sang a variety of songs keeping our spirits high and our minds off the chaffing that was occurring in the saddle. (Still not entirely recovered!) The sunset was spectacular and for one of the first times since I've arrived, silence reigned over India. I learned to make chapatis without the conveniences of a kitchen and ended up making enough to feed the entire group! After some local drumming and chai we tucked ourselves into our sleeping bags and fell asleep under the blanket of stars radiating from the sky.

On leaving Jaisalmer I headed north through the desert to Bikaner. On the day I arrived they happened to have a Camel Festival, apparently very popular in this area of the country. The day showcased a variety of activities including sports competitions between rival villages, wrestling, cultural dancing, and my highlight, Camel racing. 
India being India the activities didn't kick off until the afternoon and so we headed 30km out of town to the famous rat temple. Now the Indians don't mince their words, especially when it comes to naming things. Quite literally this temple was full of rats, roaming free, eating the food given to them by worshipers and subsequently depositing excrement everywhere. They say it's good luck if one runs over your feet; however I don't think this will be true in my case given my shriek of horror and subsequent conversion of the rat about a foot into the air! 
The afternoon in the desert watching the various cultural activities was fun. Being one of only a few white foreigners within a mass of Indians, the amount of attention I received was magnified. You'd think a journalist being run over by a sprinting camel ridden by an over enthusiastic Indian would be far more interesting than me spectating but apparently not. So while I watched the competitors, India watched me!

Exhausted, covered in sand, and now probably the Facebook profile picture of many Indians from Rajasthan, I bid farewell to the historical state and headed further north to Punjab and the Golden city of Amritsar. Read my next blog to hear about meeting a weeping Sikh, dining with 80,000 pilgrams, visiting a Hindu temple based on a fairground ride and my experience in Delhi.

The Taj Mahal, Romeo raping Juliet and an adventure on a motorcycle

Having returned to Kolkata for only 36hours, no sooner had my smelly socks gone in the washing machine, did I feel that I was back at Sealdah Train Station boarding the train. 
This first train was going to be my longest yet; 20 scheduled hours which slowly crept into 23 hours after multiple delays. This wasn't helped by the man who decided to amplify Hindi Music all night long, metres from where I attempted to sleep. I eventually reached Agra at 10pm on the 5th and met up with Charlotte and her brother Harry. 

The next morning we woke to a very foggy Agra, so overcast we couldn't see the Taj which was only 400m from where we enjoyed breakfast. It was like waiting for the curtain to be pulled up at the theatre. First we headed to the impressive Agra Fort. Here we walked ourselves around the extensive complex which has been used for anything from a mosque, to garrisons, and even the imprisonment of the man who built the Taj Mahal! In a complete coincidence I bumped into two friends who graduated with me from Pembroke, Matt and Wiraj. It was a complete shock but always a welcome sight to see a face from home. Next to the Taj and finally the sun had started to burn off some of the fog.

She is every bit as beautiful as you expect. Hiding initially behind a 50+m North gate, the iconic building peaked through building our anticipation. Our guide, Ganeesh, regurgitated most of what the Lonely Planet had told us and even the myths your informed not to believe! None the less he was great at taking us to picturesque spots and handy for group photos. There were a lot of tourists there, both Indian and foreign. Not surprising when the Indians only pay the equivalent of 20p whilst foreigners fork out £7.50! Either way it was worth it and comes highly recommended for anyone heading here in the near future. Its one thing in India the British can look back and claim they have "added" to Indian heritage!

That evening we caught our very luxurious "Super fast train" to Jaipur. We were momentarily transported to Western luxury in our 2 Air Con Class seats; reclining airline-esque seats provided much comfort while we were treated to a complimentary 1.5L bottle of water, a samosa, crisps, and even chai and biscuits! Incredible. It would embarrass Sir Richard Branson and his Virgin Trains.

Jaipur was a whole new ball game. After escaping the station and the hagglers, we eventually found our hotel which can only be described as a mix between Robinson College, Cambridge and Centre Parcs; either way it is luxurious for India all for the grand total of £5! We ventured out for some rooftop Tandori Chicken and drinks, all of which was very relaxing until a puppeteer arrived. He claimed to have trained on a punch and Judy show in England, however his skills left us quite at a loss as to which puppet shows he had worked on. The most scarring performance was entitled "Romeo and Juliet". It should have come with an 18 rating as his puppets performed Karma Sutra moves while the puppeteer made sound effects. We quickly finished our meal and left.

The next morning we marched out into Jaipur and went hard on the forts. First stop Amber Fort, located 10km out of the city. Its a huge grand fort and has avoided any form of attack. Instead it played home to 3 kings, each with numerous wives, one of which had 108 wives. (That doesn't account for his 1,000+ unofficial wives!)

Back to the city, stopping quickly at the beautiful water palace situated in the centre of a lake. We conquered a huge, if not overpriced Rajasthan Thali lunch (typical meal containing lots different dishes from the region) which the Lonely Planet recommended before heading to the famous Hawa Mahal. 
This palace, which is thought of as the icon of Jaipur, again played home to many women, all wives made to be available at the beckoning call of their men. Here the women lived unseen, hidden behind tiny windows from which they could look out but couldn't be seen from the outside. I don't think I would have suited the 18th Century Indian attitude towards a woman's role, not that I totally agree with the modern mind set either!
We spent the rest of our time in Jaipur visiting  the city palace and a fantastic observatory built in the 17th century and way ahead of its time. Finally we watched  glorious urban sunset from the hill top Newragarah fort.

We caught a night train to Udaipur, a city which is firmly establishing itself as one of my favourite cities. It's incredibly friendly with everyone wishing you a good morning. Feels like I'm back in Yorkshire! We spent the first day doing the cultural things, and finished by having an ice cream and a belated birthday drink for Charlotte while watching the sunset. The second day found us on a cooking course. Having been sold the idea of a well established class, it soon transpired we were the guinea pigs of a brand new class. We're going  be in a lot of publicity shots in the future... don't think they'll sell many packages. It was fantastic if not a little ad hoc. Set on a roof top over looking  the lake, we learned how to cook various Indian dishes and got to enjoy the labours of our work. A crocodile even made an unexpected appearance. I thought its existence was a myth! Finally no visit to Udaipur is complete without watching Octopussy, set in the city many decades ago.
My third and final day was spent doing something a little crazy, jumping on the back of a local's motorbike and driving off into the local countryside. Tony, aka Badal, had taken the cooking course the day before so he wasn't entirely random. I was slightly sceptical as to whether I would make it back unharmed, even going as far to leave a note in my hotel room with who to contact if I didn't check out. But true to his word I was back bang on 4pm, not without a stop to his brother's shop! Rory, my fictitious fiancee, came in handy. (He's named after a small tiger who lives on my back pack and has a character dreamed up by mum and I. It includes a chance meeting while he was on a break in deployment from the British army.)

Tomorrow I move on from my rooftop paradise. Next stop Jodhpur and Jaisalmer, home of the blue palace and camel safaris respectively.

P.s. sorry for the lack of photos, I'll upload at the first available spot.

An unforgettable Christmas

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all. I apologise for not sending my traditional Christmas morning text message but this year I woke up in a small Nepalese village (if you can call a collection of 6 houses a village?) which had no mobile phone signal. It did however have spectacular views of the Himalayas. Although quite possibly the least traditional ever, my 2013 Christmas will be hard to forget. So where do I even begin?!

My last day in Kolkata was spent celebrating with the rest of school at the annual “Mela” – a large dancing/ singing/ performing show held at the school. Along with the other volunteers we performed the very neutral Jungle Book compilation (no colonial, religious or sexual references). Alice and I also teamed up with a Class 10 boy and performed the very popular dance “Badtameeza Dil”. Think iconic dance of Gangnam Style fused with traditional Hindi dance moves and two sweaty white 20-something year olds. We dressed appropriately in our recently purchased saris; much comfier than anticipated. I still struggle with the idea that as a woman showing your midriff is perfectly acceptable but a flash of shoulder or leg results in disapproving looks from both men and women!

Me and Surajit, the Class 10 pupil with whom we performed Badtameeza Dil

Then on the 22^nd December off I headed up to the Himalayan foothills with the school’s PE teacher and six Class 11 students, aged between 17-20. Unsurprisingly none of our public transport options ran smoothly. On the journey north, we incurred a 10 hour delay on our sleeper train. However to prevent further delays we instead boarded another train without reservations. This led to one of my most Indian experiences yet – travelling “General” class. Now when you think of travelling through India by train you probably image up chickens in cages flapping around, hundreds of people squeezed into a space which comfortable fits ten, and all shapes and sizes of packages and bags. Now add in a terrified, wide eyed white girl and you’ve got exactly what happened on the way to Darjeeling. In an effort to look after me, the students suggested I sit in the upper luggage rack to avoid at least some of the stares. The metal shelf provided little comfort as a bed that night. An experience I will neither forget nor repeat!

We eventually arrived in the mountains and started our 8 day trek through the Singalila National Park. Although we’d been told about the incredible views I never anticipated seeing Kanchenjunga and more beautifully Everest along the way! The trek weaved its way up to a height of 3636m, peaking at Sandakpur. The first few days were mainly spent climbing dirt tracks and broken roads with gradients I have never climbed before. I’m sure a 2:3 gradient would not be an exaggeration.  And we were trekking without porters to build mental and physical strength, carrying all of our own luggage! No matters, the view helped remove the pains from the uphill climbs. My favourite day had to be the 21km trek from Sandakpur to Phalut. Throughout the whole day we walked towards the dominating view of Kanchenjunga, while Everest sat on our left hand horizon. Incredible.

Christmas Morning started in a small village of Tumling. Immediately I donned my Santa’s hat and lit up my mini Christmas tree that Matt had sent via India mail; most of the consumable chocolate presents had already miraculously disappeared! We got up in time to watch the sun climb above the clouds; the pink rays cast themselves across the clear view of Kanchenjunga, truly magical. I half expected to see a silhouette of a sleigh being pulled across the horizon. I spent much of Christmas day singing Christmas carols, much to the amusement of the other trekkers.

Christmas Morning in front of Kanchenjunga. 

Along the route we stayed in trekkers’ huts – small, simple barn like structures containing an Indian toilet, a bucket and something that represented a bed. I say represented as the wooden planks covered with a thin sheet offered little comfort. However most nights we were so tired by 9pm I could have slept anywhere. Temperatures got down to minus 8°C in a place called Phalut. I say place, had it not been for the single building in which we stayed, Phalut would just be another non- descript kink along the ridge trek. It did however offer incredible views of sunset over Everest!

Everest hiding on the Horizon. The flag doesn't begin to show how windy it was!

Washing on a morning was a whole new experience. I quickly realised the 20L bucket in the corner of the toilet room was to be my sole showering hope. I have a whole new level of respect for the millions who clean themselves every morning using only a bucket. I think the worst day was in Phalut when I went to carry out the morning’s ablutions and found the water had frozen. Apparently I wasn’t the only one struggling to deal with the sub zero conditions!

Our trek started in a very cloudy Maneybhanjang, travelling through to Tumling, Kalapochari, Sandakpur, Phalut, Ghorkey, Sirikhola and finished 89km later in Rimbik. We took a rest day in Ghorkey, a tiny farming hillside village. We explored the local area, taking time to play with the kids and simply watch day-to-day life in a self sufficient community. We weren’t the only ones taking a break there. Smugglers taking alcohol and other taxable goods were using it as a base until the sunset and they could complete their climb into Nepal. Good to know we were in safe company...

Unfortunately there wasn’t a single roast turkey, brussel sprout or Yorkshire pudding along the route. For 10 days my diet consisted of eating rice, potatoes, daal, Indian breads (chapatti, puri, luchee, roti) and the Indian equivalent of super noodles, affectionately known locally as “Maggi”. Oh and a boat load of chai! The food was padded out by a supply of luminous orange biscuits, miniature Dairy Milks, and a jelly-like mango treat which became the highlight of my days. Needless to say by the time we hit Darjeeling I was craving meat!

I’m not sure what you all expect of Darjeeling. I had images of a white washed, imperial, hill-top town full of Nepalese smiling children running through impeccably clean streets and tea cafes everywhere. What we found was quite different. Personally I found it a collection of tired and crumbling buildings, housing hundreds of shops selling tat and dubious “silk scarves”. Oh and lots of street children and Nepalese teenagers with serious attitude problems.

Prayer Flags at the Hill Top Monastery in Darjeeling. 

The visit to a tea plantation was a welcome break. The Ging Tea estate supplies tea to Harrods and of course Yorkshire Tea. Mr Ravinder, the estate’s manager, gave us a personalised tour of the 600+hectare estate and factory. Home around 6000 people, 800 of which are employees, the estate is self sufficient with its own schools, doctors and farming community. A cup of tea will never taste the same, knowing now all the processes which go into creating it! The afternoon was spent at the zoo and the Himalayan Mountaineers Institute: the first of which played home to many frustrated big cats housed in cages far too small for their size; the latter was home to the well documented history of Everest’s conquerors. Elsa – I spent most of my time reading and looking at the numerous photos of Mallory. You’ll be happy to hear his adventures are well documented.   

The picturesque setting of the Ging Tea Estate.

We spent the evening dancing in the main square of Darjeeling at the Tourist and Tea festival. This was probably my best memory of the town itself, doing the “Lungee dance”. Once again a lot of unwanted attention but the boys had become very good at being protective.

The next day we started our trip back to Kolkata, another long journey. Firstly we took a 3 hour jeep ride down the steep, curving mountain roads. A worrying stop in a little village did little to settle my nerves, especially when the driver started doing self maintenance on the apparently dodgy brakes. Upon setting off, the emergency stops were meant to re-assure us.... At NJP station we sat for what became 6 hours; again our train was delayed, at least this time it was only by 2 hours. We happened to sit in what was apparently the sick bay. During our wait, three stretchers were placed within a few meters of us. The emergency response team of India obviously doesn’t have the same targets as the UK’s paramedic service. (Lizzy your 8 minute response time would break records over here). One of the injured was a man who appeared to have severed his foot half off. My stomach churned on realising what was sat in front of us. The poor guy was laid on the path for a good 5 minutes while the driver and a few other random Indian’s discussed what the next action was in their rescue plan. I would have thought the waiting ambulance and the local hospital would have been the logical answer but it took a mother’s meeting to decide this. After placing the half footed man in the ambulance cum 4x4 car, the rescue party again took another 10 minute discussion while half of India took turns in staring through the car windows at the bleeding man. His bloodied stretcher was replaced back on the platform, metres from where we would later eat our dinner. Delightful. I pray I will never need an emergency response team out here.

Finally we reached Kolkata and said our goodbyes. It was a memorable Christmas vacation with 7 fantastic individuals, none of whom I will forget. I’ll miss their daily Bengali lessons and constant energy and laughter.

Tomorrow I head to Rajasthan, first stop the Taj Mahal.

Let me know how all your Christmas’s were. Even if I didn’t eat a roast potato or get a slice of Christmas pudding, I’d still love to hear your festive memories.

Lots of Indian Love.