Day 14 - What the buggering tits?
30 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ 🌧 29 °C
16:00
I sleep terribly. Feel like I am awake much of the night, and at 05:00, I give up on the idea of more sleep, and get up, in the hope that I won’t disturb Vicki. There’s neither rhyme nor reason for it. I’m as relaxed as imaginably possible. I’ve thought in the past that I have some kind of genetic marker for insomnia, and that my body just sometimes behaves like a dickhead, and keeps me awake for no earthly reason.
Vicki sleeps till 09:00, because she’s a legend. She, Si and Shend head out for breakfast a little later, and I head back to bed. Despite the two strong cups of coffee I’ve had, I manage to get to sleep for 90 minutes, and wake feeling much better…
Simon’s off out on a moped today. I’d planned to join him, but am taking it easy instead. Shenda tracks him on ‘Find my Friends’ and we’re a little alarmed when it appears he’s hurtling down the highway a few miles from here.
Shenda and Vicki report back on another wonderful breakfast at Chandi Gaya, and that Mrs Chandi was asking after me, concerned by my absence.
Around 13:00, I ease into a couple of glasses of wine and some fried rice, and it’s enough to send me back to bed for a further 90 minutes of delicious sleep.
22:30
My day has been as nothing - and yet, it has been remarkable. We’ve had spots of rain all afternoon, and before heading out for dinner, I sit out on the deck with a glass of wine, being gently rained on. It’s a wonderful sensation.
We’ve been keen to try Mrs Chandi’s non-breakfast food, so pad back down to our regular haunt. I’ve a feeling her rice and curry is going to be a thing of great, great beauty. Simon, Shenda and I all order the rice and curry - mine with the addition of a fish curry for the princely sum of 50p. Vicki is after a wodge of protein, so orders the grilled fish.
The food is sensational. Enough to feed a small army, but sensational. There are 4 veg curries - a dhal, a potato based concoction, a squash curry, and something that we initially think is green beans, but which I *think* might be some kind of gourd or eggplant. They’re all tremendous. I tell Mrs Chandi that I’d dearly love to write down her dhal recipe, and she asks if I will pay for it. I’m not 100% sure whether she’s joking. We somewhat unnecessarily order a kottu as a side dish. It’s delicious. Vicki’s fish is banging. Seer fish I think, as it’s very meaty, but too pale for tuna. Susie (our new cat) benefits from some fish based action. We don’t quite manage to master the mountain of food, but we get pretty damn close. Our bill for this feast? Less than £5 per head. Just incredible value. Mrs Chandi is a hero - she cooks amazing food, fresh to order, and in a tiny kitchen. LEGEND.
Back at Shehani Beach, the bar has been restocked with tonic, so S, S and I have a last G+T to pass the time.Читать далее
Day 13 - The sea! Let's eat Let's Sea.
29 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ 🌙 27 °C
15:00
I’m awake by 08:00, with the onset of nervous anticipation. It is only a couple of hours until I can feast upon Mrs Chandi’s amazing hoppers. They are, once again, sensational. An abrupt Israeli couple make a complaint nearby us, which clearly upsets Mrs Chandi. I’m tempted to follow them and set them straight. It seems to stem from slow delivery of their food. Given Mrs Chandi is working in a small kitchen on her own, and cooking everything fresh, this seems a particularly unkind position. I could eat this dhal every day. I could bathe in it. I can’t necessarily prove this, but I suspect it could cure cancer.
Back at Shehani Beach, it takes only the merest hint of wine to send me back to bed for a nap. DELUXE.
18:30
I’ve been wanting and meaning to get in the sea while we’ve been here. I should really have prioritised this at one of our earlier stays, as the water was calmer. Up here in Tangalle, there are dedicated wave breaks along the beach, designed to make swimming a touch easier and safer. Away from these wave breaks, the waves are much bigger and rougher, and there are countless rocks to watch out for.
Vicks and Shend head off to do some ultra important shopping, so Simon and I spend 30 minutes getting swept off our feet by the surf. We’re wave break adjacent. The waves are powerful, and the currents they create enough to knock us over. Top fun.
On the beach, drying off we tuck into some gins and tonic. The sun is starting to set, but retains a a deep warmth. The girls find us, and we spend some time nattering away at Happy Lab. I don’t think it would be possible to feel more chilled out than I do right now.
22:30
We’ve only a couple of dinners left before we head home, and I’ve wanted to go back to Let’s Sea - a seafood place the other end of Tangalle beach that I ate at twice in 2024, so good was it. It’s a decent 20 minute walk in the evening heat, and we more than deserve our dinner by the time we arrive. It’s a properly family-run place. Lahiru runs the front of house with his sister (who’s name I should really have learnt by now). Their mum runs the kitchen, knocking out indecently good fish dishes at more than decent prices.
Their whole fish today is white snapper, which I immediately order. Shenda and Vicki opt for tuna steaks, and Simon orders prawns.
The snapper is so simple, but so good. Flavoured with ginger, curry leaf, black pepper, I think some soy is in there as well? And served with the plainest of steamed rice, and a fruity slaw. Banging. The fish is perfectly cooked. Super juicy, and flaking away from the bone. Vicki’s tuna is very tasty, but a little bonier than she’d anticipated. She’s had better tuna on this trip - but we’re picking from a very crowded top table.
The bill is under £40 for the 4 of us. It helps that they only serve Lion for the drinkers, but even so - Let’s Sea offers outrageous value for the quality of food on offer.Читать далее
Day 12 - Breakfast of Champions
28 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
13:00
I wake feeling far less stressed. It probably sounds ridiculous to speak of stress when I’m in one of the most laid back and relaxing places imaginable, but that’s definitely what I was feeling yesterday. I’m up well before Vicki’s planned 09:00 alarm, so I pad to the bar for some coffee and journalling. The sun’s still rising, and is creeping under the bar’s roof. Even this early, it feels prickly hot. We’re in for a scorcher.
My various colleagues emerge at different stages. Vicki is last, waking at 09:30. We’ve read amazing things about a small beachside restaurant not far from us, so ready ourselves and head out for breakfast. Chandi Gaya is a proper family affair. Husband runs front of house and logistics, wife runs the kitchen. We’re perhaps a touch late for breakfast, as it’s 11:00 by the time we sit down, but we ask for breakfast nonetheless. The head of logistics needs to pop out for some ingredients, but does so willingly.
The food that arrives - holy fuckballs, the food that arrives. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and yet is entirely extraordinary. The hoppers have a wonderful cakey feel, but are also crispy. The eggs have a deep, glossy texture, and feel like they’re almost baked into the hoppers. The sambol, we’re proudly told, is made from fresh coconuts from their own garden. Likewise, the dhal is made using this morning’s first pressing of coconut milk.
The dhal - by the power of Grayskull! I think it’s the best dhal I’ve ever had. Definitely the best Sri Lankan breakfast dhal, but it’s up there in the very highest echelons of lentil dishes. Shenda and I hatch a cunning plan to ingratiate ourselves with the owners, and to ask for the dhal recipe on our last visit to eat with them. Will familiarity breed contempt? I hope not. I can see me eating this regularly all year round. I may even try and master the art of the hopper…
22:00
Sizeable and weighty late breakfast = NAP. I have a delightful hour or so, out of the hottest part of the day. Si and Shenda have been beaching, and Vicki has been doing very important stuff that is of little or no consequence.
Vicks and I head out to Tangalle town in search of supplies. It’s walkable - maybe 45-50 minutes, but that scorcher I mentioned earlier is definitely with us today, and we err on the side of caution, jumping in a tuk-tuk. We grab some supplies, stock up with cash, and head back to the beach. We’ve only been out an hour, but it’s been quite a draining and hot experience. It’s starting to cool now, and the deck seating of Shehani’s bar is now in the shade. I settle in with a glass of wine to watch the world go by. It’s just about the coolest fucking place I can imagine being right now. In front of me is an expanse of ocean, with literally nothing but water between me and Antarctica, some 6,000 miles due South of us. One glass accidentally becomes two - and I feel like I could quite happily settle in here for the duration.
We saw a restaurant earlier advertising BBQ fish and live music, so we head that way. Happy Lab is a cool little joint. Their BBQ food is good, but not outstanding. My butterfish is a touch overcooked, but still very tasty. Vicki and Shenda have Mahi-Mahi steaks which are perfectly cooked, but which could do with a little seasoning.
The live music is, let's be frank, not good. The band spend a good 30 minutes in sound check, constantly tweaking settings without actually changing how anything is sounding. The drummer and bassist are decent enough, but the guitarist/lead singer just doesn’t have a very good voice. Simon offers to step in on lead vocals. Apparently, his repertoire extends to some Neil Diamond and some Robbie Williams.
We’re all pretty tuckered after a hectic day of doing very little. Vicki and I manage a drink at Shehani before collapsing into bed.Читать далее
Sounds amazing. We were supposed to be staying in mirissa in April but had to move hol to Aug and given monsoon direct to East coast. Been? Any tips there? [Tracey Fielden]
Day 11 - Some highs, some not so highs.
27 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☁️ 31 °C
16:00
And so, it’s time for the last leg of our trip. After this, we shall, indeed, be legless.
Vicki and I have both slept adequately, and are up in decent time to get packed. Lalanika has subtly been shifting forwards by a few minutes the time she brings our breakfast each day, and is setting up by 09:15. We have some omelettes, fruit, toast and yoghurt.
We have a short wait for our van to Tangalle, but nothing like as frustrating or hot as the one that brought us here to Mirissa. I’m so pleased V, S and S have all loved Mirissa as much as I thought they would. I had a feeling it would probably be their favourite stop along the way, and I suspect even after our stay in Tangalle, that will prove to be the case.
The drive over to Tangalle is fairly uneventful. We’re on a highway for most of it. The landscape passing us by is incredibly verdant - much of it made up of rice paddies and cattle grazing land. It reminds me very much of Kerala, that beautiful and lush state to the South of Goa.
We arrive into Tangalle around 12:30, and our rooms aren’t quite ready yet. There’s a bit of a communications snafu, which we ultimately resolve through the use of an English to Sinhalese translation app. We have a cold drink while the rooms are made up, dump our stuff, and head out pretty quickly in search of sustenance.
We make it maybe 200m down the beach before finding Simon (who’d wandered off to make a couple of work calls) and dropping into a beach bar called Brother’s (their apostrophe, not mine…) We have a tasty late lunch of kottu, grilled calamari, battered tuna - that sorta thing. It’s super hot and super humid today. There’s the threat/promise of some rain, which I think would largely help us out. I pad back to our room for some chill time, while the others head further along the beach for an explore…
22:30
I’ve felt a little par-boiled today. I don’t think there’s any one thing getting at me, but a combo of things have combined to leave me feeling physically and mentally sub-par.
I feel better for a short rest, and get freshened up to head out around 19:00. We wander down the road that runs parallel to the beach, and we walk past countless beach bars and restaurants. After a late lunch, we’re not particularly hungry. We’ll maybe grab some snacks if the mood takes us. Many of the beach bars offer a happy hour though, so we find one that looks/sounds attractive and pile in. Sampa Beach Bar offers buy one get one free on cocktails until 20:00 = WINNING. Vicki manages to swing a decent virgin colada, whilst Si, Shenda and I lap up our mango daiquiris.
We ordered some simple snacks - some roti and a chicken sandwich. An hour later, we ask where our food is, and are told it will be another five minutes. We ask again after five minutes, and are told they've run out of gas, and the chef has had to go and restock. We wait another five minutes, and ask for the bill - but we’re told the food will arrive any moment. One of the service team stops by our table, and tells us that he is working alone in the kitchen this evening, so the pace of service is slow. We’re unsure if it’s the gas, or the chef working alone - but we all smell bullshit.
Shenda goes to the toilet, and pops her head around the kitchen door while she’s there. When she returns, she says the kitchen does NOT look good. We decide to leave.
We calculate the exact amount owed for our drinks, and leave this in cash as we walk out. One of the workers behind the bar starts to say something aggressively in Sinhalese to Vicki and Shenda, until I turn around and stare him down. He apologises.
We walk perhaps 400m down the road, until we find we are being chased by a tuk-tuk. When it slows down, Shenda initially thinks he’s asking if we want a lift, so waves them away. It turns out to be two different members of staff from the beach bar, demanding more money from us.
They try and tell us that the happy hour deal is buy TWO to get one free, which is not at all what we were told when we ordered. We hold our ground, and the discussion gets increasingly heated. I can feel my hackles exponentially rising. Eventually, we’re being shouted at, and when I respond in kind, I get asked to keep the noise down by the manager/owner dude.
I can deal with slow service - if you TELL me that something’s going to take a while. I cannot deal with lies from the service team, and aggressive behaviour from the manager/owner.
Fuck you Sampa Bar. Fuck you.
Frustratingly, I’d tagged a few bars and restaurants literally no more than 50m from where we’d been sitting as worth a visit during our Tangalle stay. We stupidly got sucked in by a seemingly good happy hour deal. Curses.Читать далее
Day 10 - The Off Switch
26 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
15:00
Excellent sleeps are had. Vick’s strategy of a slightly drowsy decongestant + soothing music through her headphones has worked well. Shenda has had over 10 hours. I get my first sleep score of the trip that’s in the 80s. We will do well today.
We have very little planned today, and I can’t wait. After breakfast, Vicki and I mooch for a little while, before heading to the beach to meet Si and Shenda, and to video call with our darling friend Maz,who’s currently in Koh Lanta (Thailand) as part of a 3 month trip around SE Asia and Australasia. It’s great to see her and catch up on her trip so far.
We’re peckish, so head over to the brilliantly named No 1 Dewmini Roti shop, a favourite of mine from my previous visit. The Stuffed rotis are delicious. Mine has prawn, egg and cheese, and is served with a mild (but very tasty) dhal, and a spiky hot chilli sauce. Banging.
Back on the beach, the breeze has stiffened. There are actual dark clouds in the sky, suggesting there might be some rain this afternoon. I conclude that a nap is in my best interests, and repair to bed.
23:30
My nap is sensational. Deep, relaxing - and concluded by being abruptly woken with a start by my beloved wife. We have very little in the way of plans this evening as well. We amble over to Nautica, a restaurant on the Mirissa harbour where we boarded our whale watching trip. I had a stellar prawn curry here in 2024, and have been wanting to return. The food is good, but doesn’t quite hit the heights that my memory tells me it should be doing. Shenda reckons the prawn curry she had at Mila on Saturday was probably a bit better, and if my crab curry there is anything to go by, then I suspect she’s right. Nautica’s is still super tasty though, and very good value.
We’re not quite ready for bed, so we head to A++ for a cocktail, and to say goodbye to Bobby Bobster. I have an Arrack Attack which is properly punching with fresh ginger. Delish. There’s a guy doing some acoustic things with a guitar. Such a difference to yesterday’s less than successful version at Surfbar. He can actually, you know - play guitar, and sing. We have a few singalong moments, and Bob tries to steal my flip-flop.
Reflecting on Mirissa, I’m mindful that it’s been the perfect way to locate the off switch. The pace of life is glacial, in all the good ways. I suspected it would be our favourite stop of the trip, and I’m sticking with that prediction. I’d happily come back to Mirissa in future for an extended stay. Our accommodation has been super comfy and offered great value. There are some amazing places to eat that we’ve not had time to explore. Our whale watching trip aside, we’ve barely moved from the beach. There’s more stuff we could have done, but honestly - when the relaxing is this good, it’d be a shame to disrupt it with actual activity…Читать далее
Day 9 - Raja and the Whales
25 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☀️ 27 °C
13:00
The 05:00 alarm is brutal, but in a good cause. We drag ourselves out of bed, squinky and squinting. It’s pitch black outside. We’re ultra close to the equator here, meaning sun up and sun down are pretty close to 06:00 and 18:00 each day. A tuk-tuk collects us at 05:45 for the short drive to Raja and the Whales’ office. Short doesn’t really do it justice. We could have walked it in 5 minutes. We’re checked in and boarded onto our boat by 06:15, and see a beautiful sunrise emerge to the East of us. By 06:30, we’re underway. We’ve been given travel sickness tablets in case of sea-sickness. The boat is gently rolling in the waves, but no worse.
Almost immediately, we spot a small pod of dolphins. I took this same trip with the same company two years ago, and we saw hundreds of the things. So beautifully graceful through the water. We didn’t, however, see whales - and I’m hopeful our luck will change today. We head South/South-East for an hour, towards a 2000m deep channel that various species of baleen whale use for feeding. When I’m on these kinds of wildlife adventures, I always like to learn the spotting skills used. For whales - there are 3 primary signs to look out for, broadly in order of from how far away you’re likely to spot them:
1) Seagulls over the water - indicating that fish are being driven to the surface by a feeding whale.
2) Fish jumping out of the water to avoid the whale’s giant mouth.
3) The whale’s blowhole waterspout.
We see plenty of gulls and jumping fish, but no whales initially. The boat crew suddenly explodes with excitement - a blowhole spout is off to the left of us. The boat’s engine increases in power as we hare off towards the spotting. In the distance, we see the dorsal fin of a whale gracefully emerge from the water, and then disappear back beneath the waves. There are perhaps 15 other similarly sized boats around us, and I can’t help but wonder if the whale is doing its best to avoid human contact. On a few occasions, boats come worryingly close to hitting each other. There are strict guidelines for how the boats should approach a whale in the wild, but I think most of that goes out of the window as soon as a whale is spotted.
We spot another Bryde’s whale, again a little ways away from us. After perhaps 90 minutes, most of the boats disappear back towards the shore, and just 2-3 are left with us. I find this relaxes me. In the next 90 minutes, we spot a further 3 whales, including a Sei whale. We catch a great view of a Bryde’s whale from the rear, which really emphasises how giant this creature is. Females can grow to 15m in length, and weigh as much as 20 tons.
Highly satisfied with our whale watching experience, the crew head us back towards Mirissa. Along the way, they receive a radio call from some local fishermen who are surrounded by a big pod of spinner dolphins, and we stop by to take a look. They’re much smaller than their bottlenosed cousins we saw earlier, and we spend a joyful few minutes watching them play around the boat.
Back at port, we decide we’re not that fussed about eating. There’s a great little restaurant by the harbour that serves the best prawn curry I had on my last visit, but we’ll come back when our appetites will do it justice. Back at our room, the 05:00 alarm call catches up with me, and I fall into a deep sleep.
22:30
We’ve had a low powered afternoon. After nearly 2 hours sleeping, I join the others at Surf Bar. A beer is accompanied by some simple fried rice. It’s also accompanied by a less than brilliant pair of live musicians. He’s playing acoustic guitar, but not that well. She’s got a slightly querulous voice, and is doing a disservice to most of the songs she’s attempting.
We decamp to A++, where Bobby Bobster steals first Simon’s sandal, and then my flip-flop. She’s a mischievous little scamp. We manage a drink each and a snack, before turning in for the night. Vicki and I are both hopeful of deep, restorative sleeps. HOLD TIGHT FOR FEEDBACK.Читать далее
Day 8 - THAT'S what I'm talking about...
24 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ 🌙 26 °C
16:30
My abiding memories of Mirissa are of it being the most amazing place to switch off, to recharge, and to relax. After a couple of days, I’m not 100% convinced we’ve unlocked this upgrade. Today has changed that conviction.
We do the usual breakfast pantomime, and the food is lovely (and overly generous). Vicki and I watch the finale of The Traitors, because spoilers. We head out to the beach around 13:00, and find Simon and Shenda chilling on a sunbed, just out of the sun’s reach. We’re at Surf Bar, rapidly qualifying (again) as my favourite Mirissa beach bar. There’s some slightly louder than necessary chill-out music playing. Honestly, it’s a bit of a mind-fuck. We settle down for some drinks. Bean bags, chilledness, childlessness - if it comes to that. What an incredibly cool way to spend the day. We talk about important stuff, we talk about incredibly unimportant stuff. There’s some food, some natter-chatter - all the good stuff. We gaze out across the bay to the surfers, who are struggling with some more challenging surf conditions today. At several points, I find I’m asking myself if it would be possible to feel more relaxed. Each time, the answer is no - yet I’m proved wrong. I’m awarding today a 10/10 score.
21:30
We’ve got an EARLY start tomorrow, so head out in good time for dinner. We head to Mila - somewhere I’ve eaten before, and which I think S+S+V will enjoy. I remember their crab curry being sensationally good.
Mila is right on the main road, but we sit towards the back of the restaurant, so that we can hear what’s going on, without being interrupted by it. The food is amazing. I have the crab curry (again) and it’s as good as I remember it. I make a prawn curry at home with a very similar tasting sauce, but the crab lifts it several levels above my version. It’s served in a bowl with a bunch of sections of whole crab in it. I revel in the opportunity to use my crab pick to make sure I get every little last piece. Wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s very much mine. It’s not hot - there’s barely any chilli in it, but by the power of Grayskull, the flavour is intense.
Vicki has a chargrilled fish - something that looks like a Dourade, and tastes similar. SO tasty. Shenda has a prawn curry which looks amazing, but which I don’t taste. Simon has a burger which is tantalising to look at. Our meal feels like great value - well under £20 a head. We meet an ultra cute kitten, who is skinny beyond belief, super friendly, and really just hanging out with us to encourage food…
We’re back at our rooms by 20:00. There are 3 rooms at our accommodation, and the third one has become occupied. We are initially suspicious, but they turn out to be a very lovely Italian couple. One is definitely called Jacamo, and his boyfriend we *think* is called Fabio or Flavio? As we arrive back, they ask for some food recommendations, which we happily provide. They’ve recently arrived from Tangalle - our next stop. They describe it as, “A tourist town without tourists,” which really appeals to me. It’s definitely going to be the quietest stop of our trip, which we agree is no bad thing from a sequencing point of view. I remember having very fond memories of how wild the coast was in Tangalle, and am excited to get back there.
The 05:00 alarm call is looming. Time for snoozes.Читать далее
Day 7 - Hotter than Hades
23 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☀️ 28 °C
17:00
I’m gonna stop telling you about my sleep until things improve markedly.
Our accommodation includes a Sri Lankan breakfast. I’ve got form with these - they can be more than sizeable things. I’ve pre-warned the others. I should point out - our accommodation is a lovely little homestay. The family house is on the same plot of land, and there are three very well apportioned rooms in a separate building to the rear of the property. Anyways, just before 10:00, the food starts to arrive. It takes about 10 minutes for it all to be delivered. We have (deep breath) an omelette, some toast, jam, sliced papaya, sliced pineapple, a widdy little banana, a yoghurt, and a coconut pancake. Oh, and some lovely Sri Lankan coffee. I manage most of mine, but forego the yoghurt. The banana is one of the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. Sensational. The coconut pancake is very tasty. It’s got what I think is some palm sugar in it, which gives it a slightly fudgy taste. Lovely.
Post breakfast, Vicki and I catch up on The Traitors, and I have a super deluxe late morning / early afternoon nap.
We head out around 14:00 to catch up with S+S, and stop in at A++ for some top up food. Some snacks later, we womble down the beach, and pitch up at a cool looking bar called Salt. Sitting here, watching the world go by, with an ice cold Lion to keep me company is one of my (and I’m sure many others’) happy places.
Vicki heads further down the beach for some more exercise, but I head back to our room for a little lie down. My right knee is jipsome to say the least, and walking on sand is not my best friend right now.
22:30
We head out with Si and Shenda around 19:00, and head for Ceylon Curry House. I’ve not eaten there before, but they get rave reviews for their traditional Sri Lankan curries. The Black Pork Curry I have is:
1) Delicious, and
2) One of the hottest things I’ve ever eaten. Definitely up there on the famous Irvine 3 meatball scale.
It starts out friendly enough, but the chillies and chilli powder seem to have sunk to the bottom of the coconut shell in which it’s served. As I scrape around at the bottom with some leftover bread, my mouth explodes. I have the chilli hiccups instantly. I perspire. I want dairy products instantly. And I am more than embarrassed as my tray is taken away, when our server tells me that my bowl was only ‘medium’ spicy.
None of this is to detract from the flavour, which is incredible. Hot with chilli powder and black pepper; fragrant with cardamom, cinnamon and clove; super juicy and tender pork shoulder… I’m definitely grabbing a recipe for this while I’m here.
Post-prandial, we’re not quite ready for chill time and bed, so head to Surf Bar, where Vicki and I discovered some v cool music last night. Tonight is much the same style. I dive into some more Arrack Attacks, and take Simon and Shenda into the fray with me. We find the dude who’s music is playing. It transpires to be a Dubai based DJ called Muse, who just happens to play a lot of the same music that I still DJ today. Sadly, they turn the music off, as there’s a more formal ‘party’ happening next door, and they don’t wanna get in the way. Fair dos, but it’s awesome to know we can drop in to hear some cool sounds whenever we want to while we’re in Mirissa…Читать далее
Day 6 - Mirissa on my Mind...
22 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☁️ 27 °C
17:30
Moving day. Once again, I’ve struggled to sleep, and it’s starting to irritate. We pop out for a quick coffee, and to say goodbye to our new friends at Sands Beach. Our taxi is due at 11:30, so we get ourselves packed up in half decent time, and luxuriate in the coolness of our super air-conditioned room. At the appointed time, we head down to the main drag in Unawatuna. There’s a road leading up to Winsi Villa, but it’s not big/wide enough for a van, so we felt like this was the decent thing to do. We then proceed to wait for 35 minutes, stood like lemons at the side of the road, in the baking sunshine. I have no problem with delays to arrangements, but what tends to catch in my craw is when communication about the delay breaks down. I ping the guy that sent me the booking confirmation, and ask where the driver is. I’m told 5 minutes. After 15 minutes have passed, I ping him again, and… Nothing. As he doesn’t have an answer that he thinks I’ll like, he chooses to ignore me. When the dude finally turns up nearly 40 minutes late, we ask why he’s running so behind schedule. He shrugs, points at an empty road, and says, “Traffic.”
The journey over to Mirissa is around 45 minutes. The van is comfy, and super cool, I spend the ride gazing contentedly out of the window as the coastline passes us by. We pass through some quiet villages, past an apparently working air force base whose runway features sizeable pot holes, and countless surf breaks with highly mixed standards of surfing. Cruising along, I can feel the frustration of the taxi delay ebbing out of my body. It reminds me of times I’ve visited Palolem in the past, and the energising effect my proximity to that beach had on me at the time.
We arrive around 13:00, and there’s a snafu. We have two rooms booked - one of which is air-conditioned, and one of which is not. This is entirely on me. I could give you a long and dull explanation by way of mitigation, but it’s my fuck up, and that’s the end of it. Lalanika explains to us in our her very stilted English (which is far better than my Sinhalese) that they do have a family room available with A/C, but it’s slightly more expensive. That’ll work for us. What follows is perhaps 20 minutes of Lalanika trying to explain that we need to cancel one of the rooms from our booking.com reservation, and me explaining that I can’t cancel one, I can only cancel both. We dance this dance until I can dance no more. I cancel the whole thing, she gets notification that I’ve done so, and we move on from there. We pop out for a beer and some food while Vicki and my room is made up.
We stop in at A++, which I believe was named before search engine optimisation was a thing. I remember it fondly for two reasons:
1) It has the best view of the Mirissa surf break, and
2) They used to have 3 white wines on their menu, all of which were Sauvignon Blanc.
We quickly settle in. Beers arrive, food is ordered, one surfer nearly decapitates another with her surfboard. Of such things will our days be made. Food is delicious. A Nasi Goreng for me, and a fish burger for Vicki. Both hit the spot.
Sated, we head off for a walk down the beach. I think Mirissa is a prettier beach than Unawatuna. Certainly more photogenic. It’s much wider and flatter as well, which makes walking on it that much easier.
Si and Shenda decide to grab a sunbed for some rays, whilst Vicki and i head to the main Mirissa road for cash and supplies - both of which we find in abundance…
23:30
We head out around 19:00 for some dinner. There are a bunch (technical term) of seafood places along Mirissa Beach, but I’ve got my eyes on one I visited in 2024, W&D. I had probably the best prawn I’ve ever eaten, alongside some amazing bass. It’s a lovely temperature as we walk down the beach. I managed to stub my toe on a massive rock sticking out of the sand, but happily don’t come too much of a cropper.
The fish display at W&D is amazing. There’s quite the kerfuffle while the guys working there seat us. The restaurant is basically full, so the only place to put additional tables is right down by the water’s edge. The tide is pretty much at its zenith. The two do not mix brilliantly well. We eventually get seated a few metres further back, up the beach, and spend most of the next 45 minutes cackling at folks who are finding themselves being pulled away by the tide. The prices in Mirissa generally and at W&D specifically are noticeably higher than just 20 miles up the coast in Unawatuna. We reason that we’ve been incredibly good with spends so far, so a treat dinner is in order. I pick out a bass for Simon and Shenda to share, and a massive red grouper for Vicki and me, which will be cooked whole. There’s clearly been a big catch of it today, as there are arrays of this beautifully coloured fish on display at most of the restaurants we walked past.
When our food arrives, it’s stunning. The grouper is delicious. A slightly softer and creamier texture than I’d perhaps expected, but perfectly cooked and ultra juicy. Vicki and I are pretty good at scavenging for some of the best parts. The cheeks and throats on fish this size are always a treat. The slightly chewy and crispy bits around the shoulder are fought over. At one point, one of the waiters moves to take away the fish head, and I emit something approaching a feral snarl, telling him I’m not done with it yet. It’s served with a super hot chilli sauce on the side which is as hot as advertised, and brilliantly tasty. I everso slightly overdo it at one point, and give myself the chilli hiccups. Sami, the manager, tells me it’s very simple to make - puréed green chilli with fish sauce, minced garlic, a squeeze of lime, and quite a bit of ground green peppercorn. I’d worried the flavour would dominate the fish, but it complements it wonderfully. I’m deffo having a pop at making it back in the UK.
It’s a late dinner by this trip’s standards. Si and Shenda are ready to head back, and they leave us at Surf Bar, one of the (many) beach bars I frequented on my last trip here. There’s some banging house kicking out, which is right up my and Vicki’s street. In the hour or so that we’re there, Vicki Shazams 11 tracks. I have a couple of Arrack attacks - local Arrack spirit with lime and ginger - kind of a Sri Lankan take on a Dark and Stormy. We could probably quite happily settle in here for a few hours, but figure it’s time for some shut-eye.Читать далее
Tim's TravelsI'll defer that to Vicki, but lots of local boy Noiyse Project's stuff...
Day 5 - The Galle of it all...
21 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C
17:30
Curses. I once again sleep poorly. Just awake a fair bit. Maybe it’s a touch of jet lag. I think a couple of times during the night I wake up feeling like my gallbladder is pulsing a little - which is WAY less cool than it sounds.
Vicki’s awake in decent time (:shocked face) and she, Shenda and I head out for what is rapidly qualifying as our customary morning coffee.
We head to a small rooftop restaurant next door to our hotel for a brunchy type affair around 11:00. I have my second kottu of the trip, and it’s even better than the first. The others all have a cheese stuffed roti as an appetiser. Shenda follows up with dhal, which is brilliant. So much more fragrant with cinnamon, clove and nutmeg than the Indian dhal to which I’m more used. Simon and Vicki have very tasty dishes of grilled swordfish (I think?).
Fuelled, we ready ourselves for an afternoon jaunt to Galle. It’s one of those cities that has a long track record of colony - initially the Portuguese in the 16th century, then by the Dutch in the 18th century, and finally the British in the early 19th century. There’s an old colonial fort, built initially by the Portuguese invaders, and grown significantly by the Dutch, inside which is a maze of cobbled streets, views of the ocean, and cool places to grab a beer.
We wander around the ramparts in the sunshine. It feels a little hotter today, though that might just be humidity. We’re all a little sweltering, and collapse into a tap house, which is called, well - Tap House. I have my first non Lion Lager of the trip. Still made by Lion, but a Belgian style witbier. Vicki has a virgin colada. Simon and Shenda end up with several litres of a white sangria. It doesn’t taste uber strong, but apparently has a combo of white wine, rum and vodka in it. Ahoy!
Galle is very pretty. We amble (stumble?) down Pedlar Street, which is the boutique capital of the city. We somehow manage to buy nothing, and end up walking to the other side of the fort, and up around the ramparts of the fort.
Back in Unawatuna, Vicki and I head for a sharpener at our local, and are greeted like long lost friends. I shall miss them when we move on tomorrow. Vicki and I briefly talk world politics, and the absolute fucking shitshow state the world is in right now, accompanied by a couple of glasses of white wine (for me). I find myself reflecting on Unawatuna. I wasn’t sure I was going to love it, but I’ve developed an unexpected attachment to the place. The beach is pretty, the bars serve super cold beer and are staffed by uber-friendly folks, the food has been amazing. What’s not to love? It’s maybe not the most chilled out of places we’ll visit, but we’ve a couple more stops along the way that’ll provide that kind of laid-backness. Ultimately, the best barometer is whether I’d return to a place, and I’d come back to Unawatuna in a flash.
We have plans this evening for a rice and curry at a place that gets banging reviews - so can’t dawdle too long. There’s food to be had.
21:30
Dinner was a treat. Mettha’s is basically a Sri Lankan family’s front room. They can feed a max of 8 people at a time, and have a super limited menu. We popped our head around the door a few days ago to ask if they were serving their famous rice and curry, and were told Wednesday was our first chance. So, here we are, Wednesday, and raring to go. The rice is served with 4 vegetable curries - green beans, a dhal, potato and spinach and perhaps my favourite, a pineapple curry. The 3 meat eaters amongst us also get a small dish of curried chicken, which is delicious. There’s no booze offered, as they don’t have a licence. It’s the simplest possible way to eat great food, and encounter great people. I give Mettha a hug as we leave, as I’ve been quite overtaken by the whole experience. I live for travelling moments such as this.
We stop in at Sands Beach for a post dinner prandial. As we’re readying to leave, a guy asks if we’re English, and when we say that we are, asks to join us. If we weren’t just paying our bill etc etc. He’s been here a week, and is feeling quite isolated, surrounded as he is by what feels like many thousands of Russians. Unawatuna has been largely taken over by Russian tourists in recent years, but not in such a way that we’ve necessarily felt it. There’s no animos, no tension. Very dissimilar to my time in northern Goa a year ago. Be interested to see if the balance of tourist population stays the same for our next couple of stops.Читать далее
Day 4 - Whoa there, slow down!
20 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
20:40
I don’t have the very best sleep. Long enough, but restless. Yesterday was a pretty boozy day, so will take things a touch easier today.
Shenda and I head over to our local, Sands Beach, for a coffee while Vicki and Si slumber on. We spend a wonderful hour putting the world to rights, and drinking perhaps one more cup of coffee than is absolutely necessary. Our coffee was served in a massive pot, and uses local coffee grounds. It’s really tasty. Some light floral and fruit notes.
Vicki and Simon are alive by 10:30, and we head out for a late breakfast. I have my first kottu roti of the trip, and it’s a banger. This dish is a smasher - chopped roti bread, mixed with vegetables, sometimes with the addition of meat or cheese, and fried hard on a flat-top plancha. The flavour profile is along the lines of a Chinese style fried rice. V v tasty. It’s also sizeable. That, combined with a big bottle of Lion sends me back to bed for some extra zizz. Vicki claims she’s not tired, and is going to read on the balcony, so I’m a little surprised when I wake from my nap to find her snoozing next to me.
We get ourselves up, and head out for a walk, all the way down to the West end of the beach. It’s a little busier down here on the beach, and quite a lot of the shore has eroded away. We grab a drink at a beautiful little courtyard bar called The Social. I have a cucumber, pineapple and mint cooler, which is super-refreshing.
We organise ourselves with S+S to head out for dinner, and decide to hit up a very well reviewed Mexican place. It’s super busy when we arrive, but the team kindly sort us out a table. It’s Taco Tuesday, and their tacos are on a cheap deal. It also explains why it’s quite so busy. The tacos are excellent. Vicki and I both have 1 x birria beef, 1 x pork pibil, and 1 x Baja fish. The beef is probably the standout, but all are excellent. Shenda’s particularly excited that they have a good selection of veggie options.
After dinner, we have a little wander around the streets of Unawatuna. This is largely in aid of Vicki’s step count, but it allows us to mooch around a few new bars and restaurants along the way. We eventually loop our way back towards our accommodation. There’s a ‘techno’ party at Sands Beach this evening, which we thought we’d go and check out. Unhappily, I start to experience some gallbladder discomfort. I don’t *think* it’s gonna turn into a full on episode, but I can’t be sure. I err on the side of caution, and head back to our room to rest up. Honestly, I’ll be glad when the little fucker’s removed in March…
23:00
This just in from our intrepid field reporter, Vicki:
1) The ‘techno’ party was not a techno party. Music largely consisted of house music covers of pop songs
2) Cheeky buggers had raised the drinks prices quite substantially for the party
3) There were about 5 people in attendance. Not a heaps big rave.Читать далее
Day 3 - An awful lot of not very much.
19 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C
08:45
I feel like I’m an experienced enough traveller to know how jet lag is going to effect my sleep. Flying to the sub-continent means I’ll be awake for a couple of hours during the night, but ultimately, I’ll sleep ok. Last night was no different. I could barely keep my eyes open when we went to bed around 23:00. I tried reading to let Vicki drift off before me, but as my eyes scanned down each page, it became increasingly difficult to lift them to start reading the subsequent page. I fell asleep almost instantly.
Around 02:30, I woke and was awake for a good 90 minutes. Still tired - but just incapable of sleep. I listened to an audiobook for a while, and finally drifted off again sometime after 04:00. I woke again around 08:00, feeling fairly chipper and well rested.
Now, I have a Garmin fitness tracker that gives me a nightly sleep score. It’s programmed with an algorithm (because everything is) that looks at various factors like the amount of light, deep and REM sleep I’ve had, how stressed I was when I went to sleep etc etc. My watch thinks that the couple of hour stretch of being awake is sign of disrupted sleep, and has given me a low score. I know it’s because of jetlag, and that I actually *feel* pretty good. But my low sleep score is stuck in my brain now, and I shall have to have an afternoon nap as I’ll feel tired.
Moral of the story is that technology is great, until it isn’t.
18:30
We have managed to do an awful lot of absolutely nothing today - and I believe we deserve praise for doing so. We head out for some breakfast around 10:00. We make it all of 20m from our apartment. The upstairs deck at Funky Café has a lovely breeze, some tasty sounding food options, and a sense of wellness. I have my first hoppers of the trip - those pancake type things that usually have poached eggs in the bottom. They’re delicious, and accompanied by an amazing onion sambol, and my absolute favourite - a Sri Lankan breakfast dhal. Banging. Vicki and Shenda have more than decent omelettes, and Simon has a full English that is missing most of the components of a full English. Coffee’s good though.
Back at our room, Vicki and decide a nap is in order. She ‘only’ had nine hours last night, and it turns out my watch might’ve been right to call out my broken sleep.
3. Count them. 3 HOURS later, we awake, and feel decidedly better for doing so. Si and Shenda have wandered down the beach, and we make a vague plan to meet with them.
Vicki and I have data plans while we’re here, but Si and Shenda don’t. As a result, we send a last message before heading out, in the hope that we’ll collide along the way. Vicks and I make about 40m from our rooms, and settle down with a beer. Well, for me - obvs. There’s a power cut just now, and the blender that would have delivered Vicki her preferred iced coffee is not working. She settles for a coke and some water. It’s perhaps the first time on this trip that we both properly zone out. It’s incredibly peaceful.
We sort of try and keep in touch with Si and Shenda, but without data, it’s a tricky challenge. Vicki heads up the beach in search of a work out, and some additional steps, and bumps into them = WINNING.
They join us at Sands Beach with our new friend Ashok. We make some vague plans for dinner, and repair for some showering.
23:40
We have some balcony drinks. Spiced rum with mango juice. Very tropical. Reminds me of rum punches in the Caribbean. We head out for dinner to a place Si and Shenda saw earlier called One Love. Rubbish name, amazing food. It’s rice and curry night. Sri Lankan rice and curry has more than a little shared DNA with an Indian thali - multiple curry dishes, served with rice, chutney, sambol. One Love’s is amazing. Hot. Properly hot. And huge! In hindsight, we could probably have managed one between two. I have the prawn curry, Vicki and Shenda the fish curry, and Simon the chicken curry. All are sensational. But hot. I think the spiciest thing on my tray is one of the veggie curries. SO tasty… With some drinks, we’re in and out for about £15 per head. Awesome value.
Si and Shend head back to our accommodation, but Vicki and I decide to have a wander. We end up in a rooftop bar with some cool tunes, and I have a throughly decent gin and tonic.
We stumble (me) back to our room, and cue up the latest episode of The Night Manager. If you haven’t watched this series, do it - it’s awesome.
Our day has been incredibly successful. We deserve much sleep.Читать далее
Day 2 - Tired as a very tired dog.
18 января, Шри-Ланка ⋅ 🌙 28 °C
09:30
The transfer in Dubai was a piece of piss. It’s a huge airport, and it can take a good while to get from one side to the other. Today though, we have just a 3 minute walk from the security check to get to our gate. We grab a beer, and cackle contentedly for a while.
We grab some duty free. An abiding memory of mine from my 2024 trip is that the accommodations I stayed in rarely had a bar on site, and we all (minus Vicki, obvs) felt like a bottle of gin and a bottle of spiced rum would be good additions to our trip.
There’s a minor snafu at the gate when it transpires Simon has lost his boarding pass. No great shakes, as we have digital ones, but it’s the boarding pass that has the luggage tags on it. We’ll just have to hope nothing goes awry on that front.
The second flight is a little less enjoyable than the first. The Emirates 777-300ER on which we’re flying has recently been refurbished, and I don’t think Emirates have done the best job with it. Any plane is gonna feel small compared to the A380, but I’d always found Emirates’ 777 comfortable enough. It now feels properly cramped, dark, and just not the most pleasant place to spend time. The new Premium Economy and Business cabins look great, but the cattle class product is a disappointment. I manage maybe 2 hours of scratchy sleep, and that will just have to do.
We land into Colombo on time, despite a slightly late departure from Dubai. Deplaning, passport control, luggage reclaim all done in the blink of an eye. Maybe 30 minutes after landing, we’re climbing into our minivan for the 2 hour ride down to Unawatuna.
The drive down is largely uneventful. Vicki sleeps most of the way, as does Simon. Shenda and I rest, but don’t manage to zizz. We have a couple of hairy moments on the road, but our driver manages to navigate these fairly successfully.
We pull up next to Winsi VIlla around 11:30, and are quickly into our rooms. We’re all knackered, but agree to head out for a very small wander, mainly to find water for our rooms. We pitch up at a beach bar, the name of which I couldn’t begin to tell you. We’re all a bit discombobulated, and my Lion beer does nothing to assist me. We can see the beach from where we’re sat, but we’ll come back and check it out properly later.
Vicki and I decide we need a minimum of 3 hours of sleep. When we arrive back to our room, the A/C has done its work, and it’s blissfully cool. We climb into bed, and are both quickly out for the count.
22:30
I have 3 hours of DEEP sleep. Vicki, maybe closer to 4. Simon managed similar, but Shenda once against rested rather than dozed. We head out around 18:00, mainly in search of sustenance. About 1km down the beach is a seafood restaurant called Black and White, and we head off in the direction. The beach itself is very pretty, though the view to the South is a little diminished by a pretty ugly and blocky building, which we later discover is a big holiday hotel.
At Black and White, we choose our fish. Shenda is pescatarian, and has been full on veggie at times. She doesn’t love the idea of fish heads and tails, so we chat with the dude at the fish counter. He recommends a butterfish, a species Vicki and I have eaten before in South Africa, but which I’ve never seen on the sub-continent. We add some tiger prawns as well, because - why not? Chef fillets the fish, to accommodate Shenda’s request, and serves both fish and prawns in a slightly hot, slightly smoky garlic and butter sauce - served with a simple salad and some rice. It’s staggeringly good. And amazing value. With (several) drinks, the bill for 4 of us comes to £60.
It’s about 20:30, and we’re not quite ready to call it a night. I don’t think we’ll be up late, but asleep by 21:00 is asking for trouble. We walk back to the centre of town, initially via the road, and subsequently through someone’s back garden. The vague back streets of Unawatuna are not necessarily where we’d planned to spend our evening. Happily enough, we find our way back to civilisation after definitely more than one wrong turns. We part up at a beach bar, next door to which is a restaurant with a local band covering the likes of Culture Club, Miley Ray Cyrus, Taylor Swift. There’s also a DJ, but my mother taught me that if you don’t have anything nice to say….
We bravely make it to 22:00, before declaring bed. We have the sum total of fuck all plans tomorrow, and I can’t wait.Читать далее
Day 1 - I've been here before.
17 января, Англия ⋅ ☁️ 9 °C
11:00
Literally. Gatwick North terminal in the depths of Winter, waiting for an Emirates flight via Dubai to Colombo, and some Sri Lankan sunshine. There are several things that are going to be different this time around though:
1) Vicki! I loved Sri Lanka SO much when I visited in 2024, that I said on my return to the UK that we just had to go together. The South of Sri Lanka gave me such vibes of Goa about 20 years ago, and we had some incredible trips to that part of India back then. Sri Lanka felt like all of that, and then some.
2) Friends! We’re travelling with our dear friends, Simon and Shenda. We’ve travelled pretty extensively together in the past, and we know we make good trip-mates. They’ve both had a really tough year in 2025, and I’m beyond delighted that we had this trip planned to give them a much deserved and massively needed break.
3) Employment! Long time readers of this travelog will know that most of my manic scribblings are from a 2 year sabbatical I took from work. Well, I’ve been back at work very nearly a year, and I think this is the first trip I’ve taken in nearly 4 years that I really felt I’d earned. I’m really enjoying my job, but the last couple of weeks particularly have been super busy, at times frustrating, and at others - completely chaotic. There’s a difference frisson of excitement that comes with a trip that follows an extended period of focused and hard work. Don’t get me wrong - I still got super excited about all the trips I took during my sabbatical, but there’s something that little bit special when you’re patting yourself on the back for a job well done.
I write this at 11:00, with a view over the runway, with a glass of wine in hand. Well, not literally while I’m typing, but… *HOLD PLEASE* …. briefly in hand when I need it to be.
We’re going to be revisiting some of my favourite stops from 2024, and finding some new favourites along the way. We had planned to stay in Ella for a couple of days, then take the stunning mountain railway up to Kandy. Sadly, the devastating cyclone that hit Sri Lanka in early December 2025 has laid waste to large sections of the track. Tragically, it sounds like the Sri Lankan government may not bother repairing and rebuilding it. If that proves to be the case, I’m just delighted I got to experience that magical journey before it was too late. As a result of the line closure, we’re firmly sticking to the South coast of Sri Lanka, with planned stops at Unawatuna, Mirissa and Tangalle.
We’ve not got tons planned outside of much needed R+R, and will see where the days take us…
18:00 / 22:00 - depending on your perspective…
We’re approaching the Turkish coast. The benefit of a 13:35 departure is that I’m not massively down on sleep. For this particular journey though, it does mean I may struggle to get much sleep, if any. We land at 20:40 GMT, which is 00:40 in Dubai, and depart a couple of hours later for Colombo. The upshot is that none of us are feeling super sleepy on our first, longer flight, and will probably be ready for sleep on the short, 4 hour hop into Colombo, when there isn’t really time for any. Ho hum.
Still - it gives us plenty of time for chats, movies, wine. It’s a very easy 7 hour flight.Читать далее
Day 5 - Sandwich of Champions
9 июня 2025 г., Соединенные Штаты ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
15:30
Just as we’re due to head home, our body clocks have adjusted. It’s ever thus, on these short, transatlantic jaunts. We’re still up and out in decent time, headed into Manhattan for half a day’s gallivanting. We start at Katz’s Delicatessen. I’ve been meaning to eat here since my first visit to New York back in the 90s, and Ali has has been dreaming of their sandwiches for the past 20 years.
The ordering process is part of the experience. There are 7 ‘cutters’ behind a counter, who make your sandwich. Behind each of them is a vast, heated chest, containing countless pastramis, slabs of corned beef, breasts of smoked turkey, briskets, and so on. I go for the all-time classic - pastrami on rye, with mustard and Swiss cheese. Vicki goes for a Reuben. Ali’s order is the same as mine, and Karin has a chicken salad sandwich. Pastrami has quite a lot of natural fat in it, which is part of what gives it its sensational flavour. If you want particularly fatty bits of pastrami, you ask for your sandwich to be juicy. My cutter grabs a fresh pastrami from behind him, and starts slicing thick slices. He pops a couple onto a small plate for me to snack on while he’s cutting. Folks (rightly) talk in hushed tones about the knife skills of a sushi chef, but the meat cutters here have got a skillset all of their own, and equally (to my view) impressive.
We find a table to park at while we eat. Holy shit - the sandwiches are sensational. The meat is rightly the star of the show, but the collective wouldn’t be nearly so impressive without the perfect bread, the right mustard, and the oozing cheese. It’s just an incredible combination of flavours and textures. I try a little of Vicki’s Reuben, and it’s also smashing. The corned beef has a *little* less flavour than the pastrami, but the Russian dressing is punchy, and the sauerkraut excellent. The sandwiches are BIG. Ali and reckon about 300g of meat per serve. We're certainly pretty well full by the time we finish. Ali has also bought a Celery Soda, which is a traditional accompaniment. It’s interesting - hints of sweetness, but with a savouriness that doubtless comes from the celery. If you blindfolded me, I’m not sure I’d have guessed it was celery flavoured, but it makes sense to know it is.
Last item on our list for the trip is a walk through Central Park. The weather is just about playing ball. There’s some light mizzle in the air, but no downpours expected. We enter the park at the South West corner. The supertall residential sky-scrapers we could see on Saturday from the top of the Rockefeller have their top floors shrouded in cloud. We make first for the building that was used as Sigourney Weaver / Rick Moranis’ apartment block in the original Ghostbusters movie. From there, it’s a very short amble to Tavern on the Green - also featured in the same movie. The views from Sheep Meadow to the South are quite something. We stop for a quick coffee, before heading up through Strawberry Fields to the Dakota building - home of John Lennon, and the building outside which he was so sadly murdered.
We’ve an hour before we need to head back to our apartment, so pop into Malachy’s - an Irish bar Vicks and I visited on our last New York trip. We spend a fun hour chatting away to the bar dude, who is maybe 70 odd, and who has some stories to tell about his many years working in the bar.
23:30
We pit-stop for 30 minutes at the apartment. A quick change of clothes, a freshen up. The drive out to JFK is much smoother than on arrival, and we’re dumped (technical term) at the terminal by 16:00. The security queue is a little lumpy, but not disastrously so. Airside, we find a bar in which to make a base camp, which is right next to our departure gate. A couple of hours pass in a haze of white wine (for me), and we board on time, a little before 19:00.
JFK is JFK, so we push back on time, but it’s a good 1/2 hour before we take off. Once airborne, the person in front of me once again reclines their chair to the max before we’re at cruising height. I no longer care. I had a burger in the airport, so I’m not hungry. I focus instead on Sauvignon Blanc.Читать далее
Katz’s maybe famous through the film, but the deli to actually visit is the Carnage Deli uptown. [Pawel Jakubowski]
Day 4 - A planned reduction in velocity.
8 июня 2025 г., Соединенные Штаты ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
Sleeps are definitely getting better, but slowly. I’m awake at 07:30, and Ali is not far behind me. As a collective, we’re up a little after 08:00. Our plan for Sunday has always been to hang out in Brooklyn, and be a lot moochier. Our legs are telling us that this remains a good plan. My right knee, which has been a suspect little fucker for several years, is enraged at the amount of walking I’ve done over the past few days. Karin’s knee, which shares some emotional baggage with mine, is saying the same. Ali has unintended blisters on both of his feet. I’m not sure Vicki has any actual physical complaints, but is very sympathetic towards ours.
We head out around 11:00, heading for Kings Plaza Mall, right down in the South of Brooklyn. Poppy has inferred that she’d like some bits of clothing from a store called Hot Topic, and this is the closest one to us. We spend an hour or so wombling around the mall, and manage to grab a couple of t-shirts and a hoodie for Pops. We jump in a cab and head over to Brighton Beach.
The sun is trying to shine, and there’s a brisk-ish breeze coming off the ocean. The beach is moderately busy at first, but the boardwalk is proper crazy as we cross over to Coney Island. Today is Puerto Rico day. Puerto Rico is a US ‘territory’ - not a state, but a self-governing US protectorate, positioned at the very northwestern of the Leewards Caribbean islands. There’s a sizeable Puerto Rican community in New York, and today is their national day. There are soundsystems up and down the boardwalk, lots of folks dancing on the sidewalk, a ton of domino games in motion. It’s a riot of colour, music, fun and flair.
The girls have some ice cream, whilst Ali and I grab ourselves a hotdog and a beer from Nathan’s - a world famous wienery, and home to the annual hot-dog eating content, every 4th July. I’ve seen footage of this competition. It’s mental. The current record is 76 hotdogs in 10 minutes. Now - our hotdogs are hardly huge, but the idea of eating one every 8 seconds for 10 minutes is mindboggling. Our dogs are tasty. Very simple with sauerkraut and mustard for me, and same for Ali but with the addition of cheese whiz.
We jump on a subway, and head up to Greenpoint. There’s a Korean fried chicken place called Peeps that Ali wants to try. We stop at a cool bar called Keg and Lantern for a quick pit-stop, and then head over to Peeps, maybe 10 minutes walk away. As we walk, the rains commence. We’d been warned there might be showers, but this feels fairly persistent. Arriving at Peeps, there are no indoor seating spaces, and the chicken is going to take approximately 20 minutes to be ready, during which wait we’ll be stood in the rain. I suspect it’s the kind of hardship Ali and I would happily bear for what are described as amongst the very best wings in New York, but to which we shan’t subject our wonderful wives.
An Uber takes us over to Dumbo. Dumbo is the area:
Down
Under
Manhattan
Bridge
Overpass
There’s another acronym - Rambo - which replaces down under with ‘right around’ and we all feel this is a stretch too far. Ali and I take a selfie in front of the Evil Twin Brewery, and we head to the Time Out Market for some beer and food. Perhaps it’s the rain making the market busy, but it’s all a bit chaotic.There are some very pleasant sounding / looking / smelling food options, but we opt for a quick beer, and then head elsewhere.
Elsewhere is a fab little Vietnamese place just around the corner from the market. Their wings are sensational. Some mussels in a coconut broth divine. I have a grilled pork and vermicelli type affair as a main course, and it’s banging. Heat, salt, sweet and sour in perfect balance, and the pork is collar, hard-grilled to a charred and chewy (in a good way) finish. There’s a bit of consternation when Ali’s chicken pho contains no chicken. It’s replaced with a beef version as the kitchen has apparently run out of chicken.
Sated, we head down to the riverside under the Brooklyn Bridge, of one of the great views of the lower Manhattan skyline. We briefly wander around Water Street, where there’s a very pretty little pixie garden, with pretty lights around a fountain. It’s 20:00, and we briefly consider a foray elsewhere in Brooklyn, but Karin bought some wine at the liquor store underneath our apartment last night, and it’s not gonna drink itself…Читать далее
Day 3 - Less a shower, more a downpour
7 июня 2025 г., Соединенные Штаты ⋅ ☁️ 20 °C
The day starts a little later than yesterday, but still earlier than is absolutely ideal. I’m first up around 05:00, and Ali’s not far behind me. We’ve a LONG day ahead, culminating in a Yankees - Red Sox game that is unlikely to finish much (if at all) before 23:00.
Coffee and Bloody Marys provide the sustenance we need to get up, showered, and out of the apartment. Frustratingly, the two subway lines that run just 100m from our apartment are suspended for the weekend for some engineering work, so we need to make alternative plans for getting out and about. I propose a bus route, which is met with initial suspicion, but ultimately proves to be a decent transport option. The bus is air-conditioned, which helps.
We aim for a diner that’s just South of the Brooklyn Bridge, and we feast. Karin has some much desired pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. Ali has some kind of southern US take on an Eggs Benedict which includes some amazing smoked pork belly and a Chipotlé laced Hollandaise. Vicks dives headfirst into a ‘simple’ plate of eggs, bacon and toast, and I paddle in the shallow end of a smoked brisket hash. Sizeable, delicious, nourishing. It will stand us in good stead.
From here, we head North over Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. The walk over the bridge is spectacular. It is, for me, one of the most recognisable edifices in the city. The views across to Manhattan are some of the best of the city’s skyline, and the architecture of the bridge itself is stunning to look at. When Vicks and I last visited, there were street vendors selling tacky tourist crap lining both sides of the walkway. They have all but disappeared. This *might* be because of the wet weather, but we suspect more likely that there’s been a clampdown by the New York city government.
Yes, the weather. The forecast has been predicting some stormy conditions while we’re in town, and it looks like today is the day. I’ve got a sturdy umbrella to help me out. Karin has a waterproof jacket, and Vicki has both an umbrella and a poncho. Ali has…. *checks notes* nothing. As we walk over Brooklyn Bridge, there are brief showers. The heavy stuff is due later, around lunchtime. It’s still warm though - around 24C, so the air is thick and steamy. We all sweat up with alarming ease.
At the North end of the bridge walkway, we take a left, and wander down through the financial district to the 9/11 Memorial. I wrote about it at length in the journal for my last visit in 2023, so won’t retread this very saddest of grounds. I’m unsure why, but for some reason on this visit to the memorial that lists dead soul from that horrendous day, my eyes are repeatedly drawn to the very many entries that end with ‘and her unborn child.’ I’m in two minds about the folks taking happy, smiley selfies in front of the memorial. I suppose it’s nice that they came to pay their respects, but I wish they’d pay them just a little more.
Sobering as the experience is, we head for a sit-down and a beer in a cool sports bar just round the corner from Freedom Tower (Fuck yeah!) The Irish bartender is an interesting character. He makes his own hot sauce, which he puts to great use in Ali’s Bloody Mary. It transpires he was a professional (but not brilliant) rugby player earlier in his career, playing occasionally for the great Leinster side of the early 2000s. He’s been in New York for 17 years, and very much considers this his home now.
We head a little to the North, in search of FDNY Ladder 8 - the firehouse made famous by original 1980s Ghostbusters films. When Vicki and I last visited, we had the place to ourselves. Today, we’re a little surprised to see some folks in costumes heading the same way as us. As we get close to the firehouse, these intensify in number, and we can hear a large crowd cheering, and some live music. It transpires we have coincided with the annual Ghostbusters celebration. My personal favourite is a woman dressed as the ghost, Slimer, who is walking along hand-in-hand with her little kid, who is a tiny Slimer.
We head further North to the Flatiron building, which is sadly draped in scaffolding and netting, so is robbed of much of its majesty. We pass by the Empire State Building, and make to head towards Grand Central Station, at which point, the heavens open. These are the much heavier rains that we were promised. Umbrellas are barely putting up a fight against the downpour, so much so that we seek shelter in a bar on Park Avenue. As we emerge, the rain is still there, but it’s just a couple of blocks to the station, so stay relatively dry.
The interior of Grand Central Station is, I think, the most beautiful I’ve seen. The light refracting through the windows is so charismatic, and the architecture just stunning. It’s a bit of a shame that the soulless Penn Station is the source for all of the long distance trains from New York across the country, as I think it robs Grand Central of some of the romance of long distance rail travel.
As we emerge to pick up a cab to take us to our lunch stop, the heavens have opened, and in a big way. It’s teeming down. Heavier than heavy. Cabs are at a premium, as no one wants to walk. Traffic is at a standstill.Vicki and I bravely stand at the roadside with our arms raised, and getting increasingly soggy. A yellow cab takes pity on us, and we pile inside. What should be a 10 minute cab ride is reckoned by GoogleMaps to be more like 20. When we ultimately abandon our cab 20 minutes later, GoogleMaps reckons it’s STILL another 20 minutes away by car, but only 10 on foot. Ali dons Vicki’s very fetching lilac poncho, and we stride up 8th Avenue, doing our utmost to avoid the largest of the puddles.
We arrive at Gallaghers about 20 minutes later for our 14:00 reservation, and more than a little flustered/damp, but the Maitre D’ is welcoming and relaxed. Gallaghers is from the very oldest school of steakhouses - leather banquettes, dim lighting, huge slabs of meat roasted over charcoal, long-standing connections to the mob, and countless pictures of film stars and celebrities - past and present. They offer an incredibly well valued 3 course lunch menu. What follows is theatre and history in equal measure. The salads - my goodness, the salads. Karin’s Caesar looks like the real deal. None of that chicken bollocks - just leaves, anchovies, cheese and croutons in a rich, egg based dressing. Ali’s wedge salad features blue cheese, ranch dressing and bits of bacon. Delish. Vicki and I are a little more abstemious with our soups (asparagus for her, Manhattan clam chowder for me), both of which are excellent. The steaks are sensational. I wouldn’t describe myself as a fan of fillet (ubiquitously referred to as filet mignon over here), but this is a brilliant piece of meat, couple of inches tall, cooked to a beautiful mid-rare finish. Stunning. Dessert, whilst entirely unnecessary is New York Cheesecake or Key Lime Pie - both of which are very tasty. Our server also brings over Ali a teeny chocolate fondant with a birthday candle in it, as they’ve heard us chatting about the reason for our trip - a lovely touch.
We’ve made up a little time, and can take our time heading down to the Rockefeller Center for our visit to the observation deck at the top of the building. It’s fairly cloudy still as we arrive at the deck, but the sun quickly pushes through. The same view down over Central Park changes dramatically in a 20 minute window. Even in the couple of years since my last visit, a couple of new skyscrapers have popped up, and more are under construction. The view to the North over Central Park and up to Harlem remains brilliant. The view South is more cluttered than I remember, and the beautiful Chrysler building is increasingly hidden from view by the far less elegant newcomers around it.
We stop in briefly at the Nike Innovation Lab, where Ali discovers they don’t have the trainers he wants in stock. We repair to a very cool little bar called The Naked Pig, where it’s happy hour, and we’re happy to. Ali and I have been warned about the extortionate prices for beer at Yankee Stadium, so we collectively spend a very happy hour pre-loading. There is, at one point, a Backstreet Boys singalong.
At 19:30, we arrive at Yankee Stadium. Our seats are up in the heavens, but actually afford a really good view down over the field of play. I’ve been a Boston Red Sox fan for a little over 25 years, and Ali has determined that he’s a Yankee. I suspect this is partly so he and I have just one more thing about which to bicker and banter. The atmosphere in the stadium is more rugby than football (i.e. soccer) Fans of both teams intermingle, there’s some friendly but lively chat, and not even the merest hint of crowd trouble. I have no qualms about cheering for my team when they’re doing well, and when they ultimately win. The view over the top of the stadium towards the sunset is a beautiful one. The beers - yes, they are expensive, but they are also huge. 25 fluid ounces, which is a shade under 750ml. We’re on the Stella, which for some reason is viewed in the US as some kind of premium European lager.
Our journey back to Brooklyn is sketchy at best. Because of the line closure to our nearest station, we know we’ll have to change a few times. 3 subway trains and about 90 minutes later, we emerge about a 20 minute walk from our apartment. The walk back through the neighbourhood is pretty spicy. Lots of drunk/stoned/mashed people on the streets. At one point, a full on rap party on the street, with a sizeable crowd, and a car soundsystem at full beans. We get back to the apartment around 00:15. It’s been a long, but incredibly successful day.Читать далее
Day 2 - OMG, the burger.
6 июня 2025 г., Соединенные Штаты ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
19:45
What a day!
There’s very little surprise when we ‘re all awake before 06:00. Ali gave up around 03:30, and I find him chilling on the sofa when I pad into the lounge a little after 05:00. My head is a little bunged up from the overnight A/C, but I feel like I’ve slept reasonably well. Karin is next to emerge, followed really not that long after by Vicks. We decide to get cleaned up and head out a little earlier than planned, and we’re at the subway station by 08:00.
We jump off at Times Square and 42nd, right in the heart of the Broadway theatre district. From here, it’s a 20 minute walk through Hell’s Kitchen to the Circle Line cruise pier. We stop for sustenance at Broad Nosh bagels, and I have the best bagel of my life. Kind of like a posh version of a McDonalds sausage and egg muffin, but oh so very much and a lot more. Ali and Karin both have variations on a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel, and Vicki has a fab looking roast turkey and avocado wrap. Utterly delicious.
We wander over to the Hudson River, and stop to admire the enormous USS Intrepid moored opposite 43rd Street. It’s crazy to think that the newest US aircraft carriers are almost 60% bigger again than this behemoth. A couple of piers down is the Circle Line Cruise company, an absolute must if you’re visiting New York for the first time. Manhattan is an island, and can be circumnavigated. Vicki and I have taken this trip on both of our previous jaunts to New York, and are very happy to be sharing the experience with Ali and Karin.
The boat sets off to the South, and the sun is getting properly warm at 10:00. There’s a touch of breeze kicking around, but I slather myself in sunscreen to be on the safe side. We pass Chelsea, the financial district, and see the Freedom Tower. It’s 541m high, which is 1776 feet, and was built to this height to commemorate the US’s declaration of independence in 1776, which is the most, “America, Fuck yeah!” thing I’ve ever heard.
Next up is the Statue of Liberty. The view from the water is beautiful - a real treat. From here, we head up the East River, and pass under the Brooklyn Bridge. That’s one of my very favourite things right there. It’s such a cool moment. I encourage the others to join me on the bow deck at the front of the boat, where it’s both cooler due to the breeze, and the view uninterrupted.
We continue up towards Queens, passing some of the most recognisable buildings on the planet - the Empire State, the Chrysler, the UN building. There are other architectural gems though. There are two buildings next to each other but linked by a walkway around halfway up, which has been designed to look like two people dancing. I love it.
Queens soon gives way to the Bronx, and the world famous Yankee Stadium that Ali and I will visit tomorrow. We loop around the top end of Harlem, and rejoin the Hudson, right at the very northern tip of Manhattan. The view across from us is staggering. The Palisades are actually in New Jersey. They were bought by a cabal of wealthy New York families - the Stuyvesants, the Rockefellers, the Vanderbilts - who committed to keeping the area undeveloped. These beautiful flint cliffs rise to towering peaks above the river. It’s so strange to see this unspoilt ecosystem so close to the sprawling mass of New York.
Disembarked, and reinvigorated with a coffee, we set off to walk the High Line. What used to be an elevated train line has been turned into a public park - never more than a few metres wide, but stretching North to South across maybe 25 city blocks. The sides of the walkway are strewn with art installations and greenery - all plants that are indigenous to New York, but which have become increasingly hard to find as the urban sprawl has intensified. Some of the architecture alongside the walkway is uber-cool.
At the South end of the park, we try to decide whether beer or food. Beer wins. We head for the Tavern on Jane, an awesome little slice of Americana that Vicki and I stumbled upon (and stumbled out of. Hic) on our last visit. We’re hopeful that the incomparable legend that is Johnny Pompadour will be working today, but are disappointed to find he’s not. Only Mondays and Tuesdays apparently. Undeterred, we sit at the bar and pass the time. One swiftly becomes two, and we’re conscious that time’s pushing on, and we need to eat.
Hamburger America - what a place. George Motz is a dude. He wrote an entire book (and subsequently turned it into a documentary) about the history of the burger. This guy knows more about burgers than pretty much any other living being. HE LITERALLY WROTE THE BOOK. From all of this experience learning about and eating burgers, he decided to open his own place in New York, and it’s here that we find ourselves, drooling at the menu. There are only two burger options - Oklahoma style, which sees wafer thin slices of onion pressed into the burger patty, and his take on a smash burger. I go for the onion burger, Vicki the smash. OMG - the burgers are sensational. The onion adds such a depth of flavour, but never competes with the quality, dry-aged beef used in the patties. The cheese is perfect, melting not ‘onto’ the burger, but almost ‘into’ it. It’s burger alchemy. Straight into my top 3 burgers of all time.
Our next stop is John’s on Bleecker street, a legendary pizza place all of 500m from Hamburger America. Vicki, Ali and I smash our way through a 14” pepperoni pie. We take it to-go, and eat it in a small park a couple of hundred metres down the street. It’s good. It’s not world beating, but we all agree it’s very tasty, and we’re glad to have tried this world famous pizza.
A brief conflab suggests we are not going to be hungry anytime soon. I propose a walk through Washington Square Park, and then a beer. Washington Square Park is buzzing. It’s nearly 17:00 on a sunny Summer Friday, and the people of New York are coming out to play. The fountain throws some very welcome spray in our direction. The heat hasn’t abated all day, with highs around 32C. We’ve been marching around, and the sweat is constant. A couple of guys are advertising free hugs, and we persuade Ali to get involved. I’m not sure he’s exactly the kind of hug recipient these dudes were aiming for, but they’re happy huggers, nonetheless.
Our next pit-stop is at a cool little bar called Malthouse, where we revel in some frosty, air-conditioned climatic conditions. In the interests of energy, Karin and I go for Espresso Martinis, which are excellent.
Leaving Malthouse, we head over to the Bowery, in the general direction of Katz’s deli, our last planned food stop of the day. We head to Sara Roosevelt Park, and sit in the shade watching some games of 3 on 3 basketball happening. The standard of play is wildly varied. There are some serious ballers alongside some players who are anything but. It’s evident that you just pitch up, wait until a space on a team becomes available, and join in. There’s no vitriol against the less gifted players, which I find heartwarming.
We womble around the corner to see some street art on Freeman’s Alley. Beautifully vivid colours, and some incredibly high quality work.
We head back to the Bowery, and drop in to a very cool Irish Bar called Slainte. Ali decides a beer is probably too much right now, so has a lemonade. I decide that Guinness is a solid strategy. Our seats are becoming very comfortable. It’s around 19:00, and we’re tuckered. We’ve been on the go all day, and none of us are particularly hungry. We decide to revisit the Katz’s plan later in our trip, and head back to Brooklyn instead.
The subway is a cakewalk. 30 minutes in comfortable, air-conditioned carriages. We’ve not seen any crazies on the subway yet, though it’s possible that we are the crazies. As we climb the stairs to our apartment, I can really feel the 21,000 steps I’ve done today in my calves and my feet. Tomorrow promises more of the same, though thankfully in slightly cooler conditions…Читать далее
This sorry is highly editor to protect the not so innocent. Further details available upon application. [Ali]
Day 1 - From here, to there.
5 июня 2025 г., Соединенные Штаты ⋅ ☁️ 30 °C
12:30
It’s been a while, and for that - I apologise. Would you believe, I’ve been hard at work? No? Didn’t think so. Well - I have. And I’m really enjoying it, thanks. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say, I don’t feel like I NEED a holiday, and yet - here we are.
‘Here’ is Terminal 3 at Heathrow. The eagle eyed (elephant memoried) of you will recall this as my jumping off point for a couple of trips over the past year - 2 to the US and one to India. You will also recall that it is one of my very least favourite terminals. Not just at Heathrow, but of any major International airport. It’s just so glum.
Since my last departure experience from here in January, flying to Delhi, the terminal has had a bit of a glow up. It needed one. The security process is vastly improved by the introduction of the new scanning machines that don’t require the traveller to extract every item form their bag for scrutiny. Our fave driver, Andy, dropped us at the kerbside of T3 at 09:20, and we’re comfortably (and comfortable) in the Curator bar by 09:55. Magic.
This trip is a birthday bonanza. My beloved twin, Ali, turns 50 in a few weeks, and this trip to New York is a blowout celebration of the fact that he’s made it this far. It’s his and Karin’s first time in New York Vicki and I are ultra excited to show them around this city that we love so much, that holds such precious memories for us, and that is just so much fucking fun to visit.
We spend a couple of hours in the Curator breakfasting, and having a very important few beers to grease the skids. When I visit the gents, I notice that the smell contraption in the urinals is called Whiffaway, which very must reminds me of the backing vocals in the seminal 80s hit, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” So much so, in fact, that I start singing a slightly amended version about a toilet, a stinky toilet. I won’t go into all of the detail. I only realise when the gentleman next to me in the facilities surreptitiously looks over at me that I’m singing out loud, and everso slightly louder than is strictly necessary.
We’re quickly boarded onto a moderately empty flight. Premium Economy is perhaps 50-60% full, economy maybe 20%. The kind cabin crew offer a Prosecco (for me, Vicki remains abstinent), and we ease into our flight.
12:03
Not magic. I forgot to reset to Eastern Time on my phone before we took off.
It’s a pretty standard Virgin daytime flight. The crew are fabulous. Due to an unforeseen circumstance, Ali and Karin have been separated from us. We’d booked window and aisle seats behind each other. A good friend of ours works at Heathrow, and bumped them to the bulkhead, with the additional legroom, love and attention that comes with it. I can see their heads / hear their fun from a few rows back.
Despite this, the flight has a feel-good nature to it. Intercontinental flights generally, and transatlantic flights specifically can feel pretty turgid. Business at the front, party at the back. Virgin will remain one of my favourite airlines, for as long as they retain the policy of recruiting cabin crew with the joy and fun they currently do.
The only slight hiccough is when the lady sat directly on front of me fully reclines her seat while we’re taxiing, leaving me in no doubt of her full flight intentions. I briefly feel like kicking off, but catch sight of her - her skin is waxy, she looks like she’s sweating, she immediately dons an eye-mask, and falls asleep. She’s having a way worse day than I am - so I leave her to it.
As lunch is being served, she wakes up, and I ask (gently) if she’d mind popping her seat up while we eat. She retains the waxiness, but her eyes at least look like they’re working. We wordlessly agree a form of accord…
We can see Ali and Karin having a blast. We stop in briefly at their seats, and they’re particularly enjoying their proximity to the bar. Seeing their joy warms my soul. We were chatting in the Curator earlier, about how weird it is that we’ve never actually travelled together outside of the UK, and certainly not just the 4 of us. Treating them for Ali’s 50th is an AMAZING excitement. We’ve got so much cool stuff planned over the next 4 days. I CAN. NOT. WAIT.
18:30
Stunned. We’ve signed up for a quick immigration option, and we’re through the line in a little under ten minutes. The regular queue to our right is warning of at least a 1 hour wait. Our bags turn up quickly, and around 30 minutes after we landed, we’re heading for our cab. This is unheard of at JFK. I don’t know if we’ve just got ultra lucky, or whether there’s change afoot across the airport.
Our cab is then sluggish in getting to us. The heat outside is both pleasant and stifling. We left behind chilly rainstorms in the UK, and we’re met with hot, sticky sunshine.
William finally turns up. It’s not really his fault. The traffic around JFK is particularly terrible today. Our apartment in Brooklyn is a short (as the crow flies) distance away, but it takes us nearly an hour to crawl through New York rush hour traffic.
Our apartment is great - a 2 bed walk up. We crank the A/C as soon as we’re in the door. Happily, there’s some frosty water in the fridge, and the conditioned air starts to bring the temperature down.
Ali and I head out in search of supplies. Water. Much more water. Some milk. Some tomato juice for Bloody Marys. This last one proves trickier than we’d expected. There are countless juice options that are not tomato. There’s a tomato option mixed with clam juice. We end up buying a monstrous tin of tomato juice. Neither of us can recall ever seeing tomato juice in a tin before. It will have to do.
We’re unsure whether there is a tin opener in the apartment.
22:00
We’re all a little shocked to have made it this far. There were murmurings that we’d be asleep by 19:00. Mainly me and Karin. Ali and Vicki rouse the arse out of it, and we head up the road to a grand little place called Market Bar. We arrive at about 18:55, and spend some time perusing the menu. The lovely staff member looking after us says that because we arrived before Happy Hour ended, we get happy hour prices, even though it’s past 19:00. We’re starting to really love this neighbourhood. We’re in Little Caribbean, a melting pot of cultures, cuisines, and accents. We’re comfortably the only white people in the bar. It’s an awesome little place to hang out.
We move a couple of blocks up the street. We try and stop at a Mexican place, but it lacks seats. Half a block up is a jerk chicken place that Ali’s read about - called Irie’s. The smell coming off the massive drum style BBQ is rude. We’re umming and ahhing about what to do, when the chef brings Ali and I over a couple of little tasty morsels. Holy fucking shit - the taste is amazing. I’ve cooked plenty of jerk over the years, but I’ve yet to master the alchemy of marinade and heat that leaves the meat juicy, the marinade charred, but critically not burnt. Ali enters into negotiation with a frankly quite scary woman for a plate of chicken. She says you can’t have just a plate of chicken. He repeats that he wants a plate of chicken. Her eyes roll, but her hand reaches for the cleaver. She spends the next 10 minutes brutalising chicken legs. Smash! Chop! Whack! Chop! She eventually give us (Ali and Tim) a paper bowl of the very tastiest chicken, for the princely sum of $8.
A couple of doors down, the girls are in deep negotiation with a lovely lady, to order some tacos. Ali and I swoop in, apparently sound like Hugh Grant wannabes, and get in on the taco action. They’re lovely, but not a patch on crazy cleaver lady’s jerk. The very sweet server who finds our accents so alluring offers to make Vicki a mocktail, despite there being none on the menu. Vicki’s game, but perhaps not expectant. What turns up is a delicious strawberry concoction - juice and fresh fruit, something a bit sharp to liven things up. Delicious.
We’ve hit the heady heights of 21:00. It’s not quite time for home, as we’re trying to ensure we don’t sleep before about 22:00. We stop at a German bier bar called HasenStuble - a word I’ve said more today than I ever thought I would. We sit out on the street, as the temperature is finally starting to come down a little. It’s a very pleasant place to be - hanging out with your besties, watching the world go by, telling old stories, and listening to the stories and dramas of those around us. We fairly quickly identify that the group sitting at the next table to us is a group of ravers, and they’re dissecting last week’s party. I can’t imagine a better place to be right now.
Around 21:30, we admit something akin to defeat. It’s bed time. We head back to the apartment, and pour one last salutary glass of wine. We shall sleep the sleep of the just.Читать далее
PS. You have travelled with the Lines before, ADE, but not just the 4 of you. [Matty]
India? Tim? Or both?
12 февраля 2025 г., Англия ⋅ ☁️ 3 °C
This blog post is a collection of random and not so random thoughts. It’s gonna be long one, so apologies in advance. At the outset of this trip, I really wanted to understand how India had changed since my first experiences in 2007, whether for the better or the worse. I wanted to use those experiences as a yardstick to understand how I’d changed, how different my attitudes were and my approaches to travelling. Along the way, and recognising that change is the only constant, I’ve found myself asking whether something feels different because India has changed, because I’ve changed, or perhaps a little bit of both. What follows documents some of my thinking. Those of you that know me well will know that it might get a bit chaotic.
Expense
India remains an incredibly economical place for western walleted travellers. Back in 2007, I had a budget of £30 per day, which included my accommodation. Places to stay tended to average about £10 per night. A little more in some places, a little less in others. £20 comfortably covered my other expenses. I typically ate twice per day, and spent roughly £1 - £2 on each meal. A beer outside of the bigger cities was around £1. A rickshaw driver for the day was never more than £3-£4.
In 2025, my budget is substantially higher. Picking apart whether that’s India or me needs a little analysis, and as most of you will know - I LOVE that shit. 17 years is a lot of inflation to factor in, and we’ve had a global pandemic in the meantime which has done all sorts of crazy things to global commodity prices. I’m also staying in *slightly* more luxurious accommodation. Not massively though. Clean and comfortable remain the two most important things I look for in a guesthouse, and they don’t come at a particular premium. My average accommodation bill on this trip is £40 per night, but that includes a couple of weeks in the middle in Goa where Vicki is joining me, and we are, as a result, staying in slightly fancier accommodation. Without Goa included, the average is £26.
Eating and drinking remains great value. My Kathi kebab in Delhi on day 1 was £1.50, and remains one of the tastiest things I’ve eaten on the entire trip. Agra, I barely ate anything, so that was incredibly cheap. In Lucknow, a very good feed could be had for perhaps £3. Beers were around £1.50. In Goa, pick your poison. A delicious curry can be had for maybe £3, but you can equally feed yourself on the most incredible fresh BBQ fish for £8 per head.
Conclusion : India has not really changed, but I have - just a little.
Road Safety
The roads remain lethal. Whilst many of the cars on the roads are newer, and hopefully therefore more likely to protect their passengers in case of a crash, the likelihood of that crash occurring feels as a great as ever. I *think* the quality of driving is a little higher in Goa, where the pace of westernisation is perhaps at its greatest in India. It’s marginal though. They’re still fucking lunatics.
Conclusion : India has not changed. I have not changed - in that I still value my life, and wish I didn’t have to travel on Indian roads to get around.
Food
It’s impossible not to notice the new prevalence of western fast-food outlets in almost every town of any real size. I barely (if at all) saw these in 2007, but now they’re everywhere. There are still incredible food options wherever you go, and I’m always going to be the type to find them if I can. My disappointment, if that’s the right word, is that I believe it indicates a gradual detachment of the youth culture of India with their traditional regional cuisine. I suspect (but can’t prove) that most young people in India eat traditionally when with their families, but less so when with their friends. Most of the restaurants at which I eat traditional, regional food feature diners in their middle age and upwards, while the fast-food outlets heave with young people.
When you do find regional cuisine being served, it is sensational. In the UK, we’ve distilled ‘Indian’ cuisine down into familiar curry-house favourites - dopiazas, jalfrezis, baltis, rogan josh. Great dishes though these may be, they represent a fraction of the sublime food that is served across India on a daily basis. Each state or region has its own food traditions, styles and ingredients. I’m at my happiest when eating in a local, traditional restaurant, and can simply ask the waiter to bring whatever is their favourite. My cookery class in Goa has reminded me that beyond the restaurant staples, there also exists a powerfully enticing repertoire of home cooked food, much of which I’ll attempt to recreate at home. I will, I will, I WILL figure out how to make the perfect dhal…
Conclusion : India is changing, and I’m not sure where it’ll end up. I have not changed.
Traveller Types
I saw a lot more western travellers in 2007. I suspect India’s popularity as the de facto traveller destination for so many was starting to wane by then, but it remained highly popular place for travellers. Lucknow was entirely bereft of travellers, and in Delhi I saw none (albeit only there for a few hours). Goa was an exception, for sure. Pench, I think western travellers made up perhaps 2% of journey makers, and Maharashtra perhaps even fewer. I think this indicates a couple of things.
Firstly, that India has become less popular with a certain type of traveller. Backpackers are fewer and further between than they once were. I saw some young backpackers in Agra, which shouldn’t be surprising as I was staying at a hostel. Compared to 2007 though, the number and proportion was much much lower. Are kids today even going backpacking? A bit of research suggest that fewer and fewer aspire to this kind of trip. It’s presumably not Instagrammable enough. I think more to the point is that travellers are looking for more of a balance between value and comfort.
I think of Felix and my experience in Thailand and Cambodia in mid 2024. We encountered tons of back-packers, all of whom were staying in accommodation that I would class as a cut-above the standard most often found in India, and at similar prices it has to be said. Cambodia is a great example - we spent an average of £25 per night on accommodation, and stayed in some fairly luxurious and comfortable places. I don’t think that budget in India necessarily gets you the same level of cleanliness and sophistication. I think India runs the risk of missing out on the next generation of travellers who simply won’t put up with poor toilet facilities, dirty rooms and very basic facilities.
What there are more of than my first visit are package trips, whether to beaches in Goa, or to cultural sites such as those found in the Golden Triangle. These have increased massively in popularity in recent years, and provide a ‘safe’ way for intrepid explorers to experience many of the wonders of India, without some of the tricky downsides. My own Auntie Eileen and cousin Rebecca took such a trip in October 2024, and loved it.
Conclusion : India hasn’t really changed, but perhaps it should… I have not changed.
Security
India feels safer to me than it did in 2007. For a start, I didn’t get mugged in Delhi, so that’s an immediate improvement. Interestingly, reading back my journal from 2007, I wrote the following about Taj Ganj in Agra:
"At night, it’s seedy, and reminiscent of the slum in Blade Runner. Tendrils of smoke and steam emanate from street-side shacks. There’s a menacing glare from the people loitering in the alleyways. Fortunately, I’m about six inches taller, and several stone heavier than the vast majority of Indians, and I have a menacing glare of my own. Walking around this part of town is an edgy experience, and I daren’t take out my camera to capture any of it. As is my wont to push things, I venture down one of the alleyways into the grimness of the backstreets. The streets clearly double as toilets, so strong is the stench of piss and shit. The place is keen deep is in squalor. I’m hooked. I wander around for 20 minutes or so, until I decide it’s probably safer to head back to the main street."
Now, aside from the artistry of the prose, this describes a pretty sketchy place. It was only as I arrived at my hostel in Agra that I truly realised that it’s in Taj Ganj. The place is unrecognisable. Yes, it’s still busy and chaotic, but the menacing edge to this part of town has gone completely. Waking around at night (when I was fit enough to do so) was a breeze. It no longer smells like satan’s urinal.
India definitely still fits into the ‘don’t be a dick’ category when it comes to security. Don’t hang a camera around your neck as you wander down the street, don’t wear ostentatious jewellery, don’t…
You get the picture. But that’s true of everywhere I’ve traveled over the past 18 months, whether the sub-continent, South East Asia, Africa, South and North America or Europe. Why do people persist in being dicks?
Conclusion : India has changed a little bit, for the better.
Social Openness
Wasn’t quite sure how to label this one, and it might take some explanation. One of the things I adored about my first trip to India was the friendliness, openness and warmth of pretty much everyone with whom I came into contact. Whether it was people running guesthouses, restaurant/bar workers, drivers, fellow train passengers - I spent most of my time in these environments embroiled in conversation, and making friends. I have experienced far less of that on this trip, and very much want to understand why. Ok - so not that much explanation needed after all…
I think there are several factors here which combine to explain the dramatic change in behaviour. First up social digitisation. In 2007, I had a mobile phone, and it could (just about) access the internet over a shaky GPRS connection. It was WICKEDLY expensive to do so though, so I just didn’t. Facebook was a thing, but a pretty new one - I’d joined in Feb 2007. No Twitter (I refuse to call it X), no Instagram, TikTok or Snapchat. You could check your email or Facebook, but really only by going to an internet café, which I did once every few days at most. No WiFi, no streamable TV. I read. I read a LOT. I think I went through 17 books in the first part of my trip - about one every couple of days. When I wasn’t reading, I was meeting people - domestic tourists, other travellers, local hospitality workers. I revelled in it. I’d never quite experienced a style of travel quite like it. I was hooked.
Fast forward 18 years, and the ubiquity of smartphones and cheap data / readily access WiFi means that this form of travel is getting lost. In Agra, I was part amazed / part disappointed when a group of 6 youngish French travellers arrived at The Hippie Café, spoke to each other for all of 5 minutes, then spent the next 3 hours doom-scrolling. They seemed to have nothing to say to each other, or to the other travellers congregated there. This feels to me to be a huge shame, as I think it can be amongst the most rewarding parts of travel. I love that these kids are still throwing clothes in a backpack, and heading off for adventure, but a part of me wishes they had the opportunity and ambition to have a simpler and more open experience. Christ, that makes me sound old…
The same is true of local folks. Noses are buried in smartphones the majority of the time. In Goa in 2007, I met a few local workers who I hung out with during my stay. Kao, the Nepalese manager of Banyan Tree on Palolem Beach is a good example. I even ended up DJing at his bar one night, as he’d heard a couple of my discs, and really liked them. I just don’t think that would happen today. The digital obsession is closing off society in a way that I think is sadly irretrievable. Am I innocent in this? No - of course not. There have been times on this trip when I’ve been head down in my MacBook, writing this blog, and have doubtless missed opportunities to interact and engage. I’ve made a conscious effort though to limit screen time on my iPhone, which has unfortunately just given me more time to watch other people buried in theirs.
Conclusion : India has changed, but it’s not India’s fault.
Clusterfucks
Things are going to go wrong in India. The degree to which they go wrong can almost never be predicted. It could be transport issues, plumbing problems, power outages, misleading directions, health issues, language miscommunication… The list is long and distinguished.
My sense (entirely unscientific) is that broadly the same number of things went wrong on this trip as my last month long extravaganza. My reaction to them was definitely different though. In 2007, I breezed through the challenges I faced along the way. Even my mugging in Delhi I took with what I thought was pretty graceful acquiescence. In 2025, train delays irked me more, getting sick had a greater impact on me and my mood, my patience definitely wore thinner than it once would have. Part of this is doubtless on me - since 2007, I have developed quite the anxiety disorder, and while the medication I take daily helps keep it in check, it doesn’t remove it entirely. My ability to subsume stress and uncertainty has absolutely been diminished. I’ve not had a panic attack in years, but there’s a slow burn of underlying anxiety that never leaves me, and India has some characteristics that exacerbate it, moreso than anywhere else I’ve travelled in the past 18 months.
The curveball for me when considering this is that the lack of internet connection in 2007 was actually a help, not a hindrance. Having immediate access to data about things like train times, delays etc etc, particularly when that data proves to be inaccurate, makes life harder, not easier. I had a few train delays in 2007, one of which I think was around 4 hours. I just sat on the platform with my book and a couple of beers, and asked as each train came in whether it was mine. Contrast that with me experience at Kalyan Junction, when the ‘data’ provided IRCTC disagreed with what the folks at the station were telling me, and I nearly got on the wrong train. I’d have been better off without a smartphone…
AND FINALLY…
My overall conclusion is that I might be done with this form of trip, to this country. I’ll absolutely visit India again, but likely in a more targeted way - to specific cities or states, or for particular events. I came back to India in part because I craved that social travel experience I had in 2007, but I’m just not sure it exists anymore. Whilst my trips of the past 18 months have all been incredible in their own ways, I’m conscious that my travelling experience has been a different one. I’ll absolutely still throw some clothes in a rucksack, and hit the road, but I think it’ll be outside of India, and with a different expectation of what I’ll find…Читать далее
Day 35 - Homeward Bound...
10 февраля 2025 г., Индия ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
08:56
My body has no idea what time it is. Nor, for that matter, does my brain. The cab down to Mumbai took a shade over 6 hours, with a couple of pit-stops along the way for fuel and toileting. Sham’s driving is eccentric at best. His car’s limited to 80kph, which is great on the highway, but at several points, he deviates from the highway, and still drives at 80kph. I suspect he’s trying to make a bit of cash on the side by avoiding the tolled parts of the expressway, and these are supposed to be included in my cab fare. At one point, not long after we leave Aurangabad, I ask why we’ve left the freeway, and he just replies, “Only 40km.” Righto.
The traffic as we arrive into Mumbai is frantic. The sun is just beginning to light the sky, I remember being driven through this part of Mumbai on my first arrival into India, and being slightly taken aback at the ramshackle and chaotic nature of it. Now, I just take it in my stride. The streets are filthy. It looks like there was a huge street event yesterday, so littered are the pavements with rubbish and plastic.
I’ve not flown from Mumbai International in fully 15 years, and I believe it’s had quite the glow up since then. It certainly feels a lot more spacious and clean than my last visit. I’m quickly checked in, and into the security queue. Now, I’m fully ready for my last vape to be confiscated at this point. I’ve ordered two more to be waiting for me at home, and I’ve got other nicotine options for the journey. I follow Debbie’s advice, which is to put ALL electronics into a single bag, so it can readily be removed and scanned. I slip my vape battery in there, having popped the pod part in with my liquids. Colour me surprised when it doesn't get pulled. I wonder if having ALL of those electronics in a single place made it more difficult to identity the rogue vape battery, or whether as this is for an international flight, they just don’t care. I certainly don’t care - I’m just pleased my vape has made it through in one piece. Nicotine alternatives are great if the only option, but having my vape with me will make the c. 10 hour flight into London a much more pleasant experience.
Emerging from the immigration checkpoint into the departure lounge, it’s clear just how much of a glow up the terminal has had. It’s now bright, open, spacious, well laid out. I’m not particularly hungry, having had a couple of samosas a few hours ago at one of our taxi pit-stops. There is, however, a Hoegaarden bar, and I find myself drawn to it. It’s before 9am, and I’m really not feeling too clever, but I also feel like I should toast the end of what’s been an amazing trip full of ups and downs, and some lifelong memories. I order a large Witbier, and nearly have a heart attack when the bar dude asks for 2180 rupees. WHAT THE FUCK? This, ladies and gentlemen, is the £20 pint. I saw another bar further down the terminal that has Kingfisher on draft. Might need one of those to calm me down after the incredible expense of my Witbier…
12:33
Back on UK time. Not long after take off, my eyes start to feel heavy. I’m starting to feel hungry, so I hang on until the food service, then fall into a deep sleep. I’m out for around 3.5 hours, which is something of a result. I stick to water and soft drinks. My beer(s) earlier didn’t do me the world of good. Hardly a surprise, but they greased the pre-flight skids. My head’s already banging, and doesn’t need anything else to make it worse. I managed to find a pharmacy in the airport, so have some decongestants to go with my painkillers. Not 100% sure they’re doing much, but probs better than not having them at all…
14:30
Flight’s nearly done. It’s felt long. As a result, I expect of not feeling great and not sleeping as much as I’d have liked. It does give me time to watch a few movies:
1) Conclave - 7 pointy hats out of 10. Thoroughly enjoyed. Ralph Fiennes is excellent, as is Stanley Tucci. As someone raised Catholic, I knew a fair bit about the conclave process, but the Machiavellian scheming behind it was good entertainment. Interesting ‘twist’ at the end…
2) Saturday Night - 8 giant penises out of 10. Thought this was excellent. Many of the folks on whose comedy and comedic acting I was weaned as a kid. Have been an avid watcher of Saturday Night Live most of my life, so to see what is apparently a pretty accurate rendition of its genesis was cool.
3) Juror # 2 - 7 biased jurors out of 12. Perfect plane fodder. Utterly inoffensive, moderately entertaining, vaguely interesting premise, largely predictable plot.
The young woman in the seat next to me is a marvel. She’s slept for the very vast majority of the flight. Sadly, when asleep, she’s alarmingly flatulent. Thankfully not heavy stinkers, but she’s quite the trumpet.
20:30
Ended up waiting very nearly two hours for my bag at Heathrow T3. Cheers for that luggage handling dudes. As a result, I miss the 16:20 coach, and am only just in time for the 17:20.
As I get closer to the Brighton, I think the adrenaline that’s held me together for the past 24 hours is starting to disappear, as I’m feeling rougher and rougher.
I stumble through the door, dump my bags, and collapse onto the sofa. Within seconds, I’m covered in cat. It’s good to be home…Читать далее
Day 34 - Bleurgh. Lurgy. All change...
9 февраля 2025 г., Индия ⋅ 🌙 26 °C
09:00
I sleep pretty fitfully, waking up coughing on a few occasions, struggling to breathe through my nose on others. My throat is pretty sore now, an my glands are swelling. Fucksticks.
I wake for the last time around 06:00, and quickly make the decision to extend my stay in Aurangabad by a day, and find another means of getting down to Mumbai tomorrow. I’m beginning to feel pretty sub-standard, and I don’t feel like a day of marching around the city, followed by a night on a sleeper train.
I check with my hotel, and they’re fine with it. Satisfied, I head back to bed for some more sleeps.
15:00
A change is afoot.
I wake up at 12:00, and head downstairs to grab some food. Nothing fancy - just a mild Palak Paneer and some rice. It’s a bit of an effort though. I’m sitting outside at the roof bar, and the heat of the day (it’s not THAT warm, but…) is making me feel a little feverish. More fucksticks.
Back at my room, I decide to look into moving my flight up a couple of days, and heading back tomorrow instead of Thursday. The last thing I wanna do is get down to Mumbai tomorrow, then spend 3 days in a hotel room feeling like shit. There are economy seats with BA for a little under £300, and I can get cab to Mumbai Airport for around £40. I check with Virgin, and they’re happy to move my Premium seat to tomorrow’s 10:30 flight for a little less, so I bite their hand off. I book myself a cab to pick me up at 01:30, which’ll get me to Mumbai Airport around 07:00 for check-in. I’m way underspent on my budget for this trip, so I don’t feel too bad about the extra expense.
I’m disappointed to skip Mumbai, and even moreso to miss hanging out with Manas and Preeti. I’m conscious though that after 47 years on this blue marble, I might finally be learning to listen to my body. Having made a decision, I immediately feel happier. Tomorrow evening, I should be safely at home with my baby boys. I’ll miss Vicki, as she’s heading over to her company’s office in Newbury for a couple of days, but she’ll be back Wednesday. Until then, I’m heartened by the idea of being able to spend time in my own bed when I need to, and lazing on my own sofa the rest of the time.
Satisfied with my afternoon’s work, I get my head down for more sleeps. I’ll try and sleep in the car to Mumbai, but there’s no guarantee - and it’s a day flight into London, so again no certainty there either. I reckon this'll properly mess with my body-clock for a few days, but I've (still) nothing to be up for in the mornings, so I'll get by...
01:30
And so, it begins. I’m in the back of a moderately comfy cab for the next 5-6 hours. 24 hours from now, I should be getting home. I’ve got the A/C in the cab cranked up, as I’m feeling pretty warm. Here’s hoping that’s the worst of my troubles…
No photos today. Apologies.Читать далее
Day 33 - Caves and Ting
9 февраля 2025 г., Индия ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C
08:30
I wake with my alarm at 07:00, and have had a banging sleep. I’ve a driver booked for today, to take me on a tour of the surrounding areas of Aurangabad. To the North of the city are the Ellora caves, a series of monasteries and temples built into the cave structures. It houses temples for the Hindu, Buddhist and Jain faiths alongside each other, exemplifying the trait of religious tolerance. The earliest of these temples is around 1,500 years old. It’s rightly been made a Unesco World Heritage site, and i’m excited to visit.
After my and Vicki’s less than successful tempe visiting day in Bangkok last year, I’m mindful to check if there are any dress codes or guidance for visitors. One website helpfully tells me to dress ‘appropriately.’ Cheers for that. I can’t find any mention of long trousers, nor of shoulder coverage, but decide that three-quarters and a t-shirt is the way to go. I’m also advised to wear flip-flops, as it’s a shoes off type situation before entering the caves. Critically, I’m told that mobile phones are not allowed in the complex. This is an actual piece of newsworthy guidance. I grab my SLR, as these ARE allowed… I don’t quite understand the banning of mobile phones at some Indian monuments, but not all. Perhaps it’s the decision of the religion to which the monument is dedicated. I make a note to look into this later.
I’ve talked a lot about the differences between me as a traveller twenty years ago, and me as a traveller now. I have my own driver for the day today, and a lovely, big and spacious SUV. Twenty years ago, I’d have deffo looked for a shared trip, to cut down on cost. The $35 I’m spending on a private vehicle for the day feels more than worth it. I can stick to my own timetable, go where I want, and can sit and write this journal with impunity, in the knowledge that I’m not ignoring my fellow passengers. I’m also not convinced there would have been another 4 tourists with whom to share a vehicle. I seem to be the only foreign tourist in town…
10:45
Lies, lies, and yet more lies.
1) Taking your phone into the Ellora cave complex IS allowed.
2) There is one and only one of the 34 caves where you’ll be asked to remove your footwear. As the cave’s go, it’s one of the dullest.
3) Wear what you want.
Google AI proving that AI, whilst perhaps the future, is definitively not the present.
All that aside, the cave complex is stunning. As we arrive, my driver hands me over to a pleasant guy called Siddiq. Siddiq is going to show me where to buy a ticket and so on. As we walk towards the entrance, Siddiq points out his shop, that sells sculptures and crystals. I tell him I’m not interested. He says that’s ok - I’ll will buy on the way back. *sigh*
This kinda arrangement is incredibly common in India. Feroz, my driver, will be on a commission if I DO buy anything (which I won’t). Siddiq is very kind though, and lends me a guidebook for the cave complex.
Inside the complex, it’s immediately striking how much work must have gone into creating these edifices. I start at cave 1, to the East of the site, and work my way back to the middle. Some of the caves are much bigger than others. Cave 5, for example, was a congregating temple, and would have comfortably held 500. Cave 1 is a little more circumspect, and perhaps held 50. All feature intricate carvings into the stone. These are monolithic caves - i.e.they’re created out of a single piece of stone - the rock that forms the hills in which they’re located.
I’m struck by how well some of them have survived the 1,500 or so years since they were built. Sals and I visited Egypt with Mum and Dad back in 2006, and were similarly struck by the artwork in the famous temples at Edfu and Komombo. It’s staggering to me that I’m looking at broadly what the Buddhists, Hindus and Jainists would have been looking at over 1,000 years back.
Cave 16 is the most impressive of the temples, and is the largest monolithic structure in the world. It’s a Hindu temple dedicated to Shiva, and is littered with carvings of elephants. There’s one though that looks very different. Kind of an elephant crossed with a dragon. As you walk in, there’s a sculpture of the goddess Lakhmi being sprayed with water by two elephants.
Throughout my visit, I’m asked for photos.At this towering monument to human construction, I’m the tourist attraction for some. I get a little narked when one guy asks for a selfie, and as he’s taking it, yanks my beard. He gets a swift Bhaad Mein Jao…
Next, on to Daulatabad Fort, a citadel built into a hill 20km South of here. It was built in the 9th century AD, and survives in pretty good condition, apparently….
12:30
The fort complex is commanding, and impressive. It’s split into sections over the entire hill, from base to peak. I climb ‘most’ of the way to the top but admit defeat. It’s getting properly hot, and there’s next to no shade.
I pass by a large family of langurs, and hear a strange crinkling noise. They’re opening packets of food. What looks like little packets of individual sweets. I’m part impressed, that their dexterity is such that they open them without issue, and part saddened to see how humanised they’ve become.
I spend some time climbing a large minaret, apparently built in the 15th century after the Delhi sultanate whupped the Gujaratis in some kind of war type thing.
I mosey around the cannon gallery, featuring cannons used at the fort over the many centuries. I’m particularly struck by the ornate features of one of them - a couple of lions (or tigers) have been sculpted onto the cannon barrel. Very chic warfare. I’m also gladdened to see that there’s a sign identifying all of the key parts of a cannon, one of which is called the knob.
Feroz asks if there’s anywhere else I want to see. He’s on the clock until 15:00. There’s a miniature (not properly miniature, but just smaller) version of the Taj Mahal about 20km to the East of us, but:
1) I’ve visited the real Taj on this trip, and it won’t stand up well, and
2) Heat / shade combo not good.
I tell Feroz to head back to my hotel. I can foresee an afternoon of beer and naps, ahead of England’s game against France at Twickenham later….
19:00
Lunch was spectacular, in more than one way…
As I sit down at an outside table at Harry’s Bar, one of the waiter dudes is already on his way to me with an ice-cold Kingfisher, and a frosted glass from the freezer. Now THAT’S what I call service. I order some mutton kebabs, and when they arrive, they’re amazing. Juicy, well spiced, flecked with fresh chilli - delicious. I mop them up with a much needed cooling cucumber raita, and some roti.
Inside the bar, there’s a group of perhaps 15 women, having quite the good time. I wonder if it’s a hen party, or perhaps a birthday celebration. My wondering is answered a little later, when they come outside to sing happy birthday, with a cake and candles combo. I join in the singing, much to their delight, and they insist that I join them for cake. The birthday girl is Hattishah, and today is her 30th birthday. They’re a group of family and friends, ranging from 20 to 73 years old. I’m asked lots of questions about my trip - where I’ve been, where I’ve enjoyed most, which foods I’ve liked… Only a couple of them speak good English, but they translate effectively for the others. They’re incredibly fun to hang out with for a while, though at one point I have a suspicion that the grandmother is considering marrying me off to one of her family.
The combination of food, beer and conversation has left me sleepy, so around 16:00 I head back to my room, and put my head down for a nap. I initially plan on an hour, but change my alarm at 17:00 for another hour, and get straight back to sleep.
When I wake, my head is a little stuffed up. My throat was a bit thick earlier, and I suspect this might be the next step on the way to a cold. Hopefully it’s just a slight case of the sniffles. FINGERS CROSSED.
00:15
Allez les Blancs!
Around 20:30, I head down to Harry’s for dinner. I’m starting to feel a bit sub-standard, and don’t fancy heading out for an explore. I fancy something other than Indian cuisine this evening. The thickness in my throat has turned sore, and I suspect chilli heat will not be its friend. I have some lamb in black bean sauce (or to give it its menu moniker - lamp in black bean sauce) and it’s tasty. Also suitably un-hot. I forego a beer, and stick to water.
Time’s pushing on, and I’ve got a game of rugby to watch. The WiFi in the hotel isn’t the best. Spotty and slow. I test the speed over a cellular connection, and it’s much better. Still not great, but it’ll have to do. The game is streaming on ITV. I start watching the first half, and it’s buffering a lot. I get kicked out at one point, and can’t get back onto the live-stream. I hmmph quite a lot, and talk to my iPad quite a bit. Just for shits and giggles, I try the Sky Go app, as I can live-stream TV channels through that. ITV streams perfectly. I don’t particularly understand why, but I’ll take it.
The first half of the game is scrappy. France are a technically better team, but after a day’s heavy rain in London, make a ton of handling errors. It’s 7-7 at half-time, and that’s about fair. The second half is a ding-dong roundabout. The lead changes hands multiple times. England are 19-18 up with 10 to go, but France score with 5 on the clock, to lead 25-19. I fear an England capitulation, but am happily stunned when the cross for a try with all but the last play of the game. England win a cracker of a game 26-25. By no means the tightest of performances, but one full of heart and grit. It bodes well.
Knackered. Time for bed…Читать далее
Day 32 - To Aurangabad! Eventually...
7 февраля 2025 г., Индия ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C
10:00
I must have done something different with my hair today. I’ve been stared at for most of my trip - at least anywhere outside of Goa - but today I’m attracting more stares than at any point before now. One guy on the station platform particularly stares at me for fifteen minutes. Straight. I’m wearing my shades, so can keep an eye on him with my peripheral vision, and I just find myself wondering what on earth is going through his head while he’s looking. I get that I look different, but this is a little ridiculous.
I wake at 04:00. No idea why. I try to get back to sleep, but it’s not gonna happen. I get up and do some admin. My cab is due at 08:00, and my train should depart at 08:45 for Aurangabad, my last stop before heading to Mumbai, and onwards back to Brighton. Train ride’s about 4 hours, which in the UK would (*should*) get you from London to Edinburgh. Here, it feels like the merest of interruptions to my day…
I decide against breakfast, as there’ll be plenty of snacks to buy on board the train. Barely five minutes go by on most trains without a vendor offering fruit, soft drinks, pots of vegetable curry, samosas, bottled water etc etc. They’re always very cheap, and usually very tasty.
I get to the station around 08:20, just to be on the safe side. Remember what I said about two versions of the truth in India? Well - the IRCTC app reckons my train is arriving into platform 2, and the folks at Nashik Road station are adamant it’s platform 1. Once again, I’m trusting the human.
The train is running a little late. 10 minutes, then 20. Then 30. Then 40. Then back to 30. Then, just to shake things up a bit, 15. It eventually pulls in 25 minutes later than scheduled. There is a problem though. The train doesn’t have the carriages I’m expecting it to have. I’ve booked myself a reserved seat in a chair car carriage, but there doesn’t appear to be one. I ask the train manager, and he gives me a head wobble. My only option is to join an unreserved, un-air-conditioned carriage. I’ve travelled in these carriages before. They’re ok for a very short hop, but not comfortable for any kind of longer journey. The one I’m directed to is also already full. I do NOT fancy standing or sitting on the ground for the next 4 hours.
I quickly check to see if there’s another train running later that I can join instead, but they’re all fully booked and waitlisted. I look at coach and bus services, but there’s nothing that’s bookable this close to departure. As a last resort, I check Uber, and find I can get driven up to Aurangabad for a little over £20. It’s a good 100 miles / 2 hours away, and this immediately feels like great value. I love Indian trains, but I’m not afraid to admit, dear reader, that I feel very happy to have ejected from my original plan…
My driver actually seems to be from the saner end of the Indian driver spectrum. Uses his indicators a lot, rarely touches the horn, understands it’s a 2 lane highway, that sort of thing. I turn up the A/C, kick back, and throw on a movie.
13:00
The drive was a very easy one, helped massively by my driver being a v cool customer. We spent much of the time on an actual highway. One with lanes, and sensible driving. The speed limit for cars is 120kph, but my driver feels more comfortable (or more likely, thinks I’LL be more comfortable) at 90. All good with me. I’m in no rush. The highway is smooth, and fairly empty. Excellent work.
We arrive into Aurangabad, and drive past an outdoor sound stage. Or more accurately, an outdoor sound truck. The music coming from it is deafening. Keep this one in mind for later…
Checked in, I feel an urgent need for a nap. Last night’s sleep wasn’t the best, and the bed looks uber comfy. Couple of hours I reckon…
22:30
Lovely nap, followed by a late lunch. I’m feeling slightly lowe powered today, so decide against heading out for an explore. I’ve most of a day to myself in town before my overnight train to Mumbai, so will have a chance to get out and see the city. Instead, I find the interestingly titled Harry’s Bar. I’ve been to the original in Venice, and this one, well - it’s not quite doing the name justice. It’s a pleasant enough place to spend some time though, and there’s a peaceful roof terrace, with just a hint of warm sunshine… I finish one book, and start another. I *think* that’s around 10 I’ve done on this trip so far. I’ve not felt the urge to re-read Shantaram, despite thinking i would probably do so. It’s an incredible book, and if you haven’t read it, I strongly encourage you to do so. That said, there’s a mystique to it, a similar frame to the one I found on my first foray into India, and whilst I’ve hugely enjoyed this trip, it’s not swept me up in quite the same way.
Dinner is a treat. I have a kadai murg - a chicken curry, laden with complex spice flavourings. There are a couple that I’m tantalisngly close to identifying, but I just can’t quite put my finger on them. Alongside the curry staples of onion, garlic, turmeric, cumin and coriander powder, chilli powder - I’m pretty sure there’s some fenugreek, black cardamom and fennel seed. It’s a rich, tomato based sauce, and has a smoky flavour. I ask the waiter dude what’s in it, he misunderstands me, and brings me another roti.
Whilst I’m eating, the outdoor sound truck gets going. It’s a din. A racket. It starts off sounding like a cross between Bangra and Grime. It moves on to some kind of ear-bleeding industrial techno, before finishing with deafening Indian pop music. The truck is part of some kind of float or parade, and after 20 minutes of barely being able to hear myself think, the noise starts to move away.
I have a beer with my dinner, but it’s a fairly abstemious day all told. My driver is coming at 08:00 tomorrow morning for a tour taking in the Ellora Caves, so I’m tucked up in bed not long after 22:00. Zzzzzz….Читать далее
Day 31 - Аҩы ҳақәгәыӷуеит.
6 февраля 2025 г., Индия ⋅ 🌙 22 °C
10:30
The sensible bed time + comfy bed strategy pays significant dividends. Although I’m awake a little earlier than planned, I’ve had a cracking sleep, and feel super refreshed. I’m not particularly hungry after my fairly late and substantial dinner last night, so decide to skip breakfast. This may not end up being the wisest of ideas when I’ve a day of wine-tasting planned, but that’s a bridge we shall cross when it becomes a bridge.
I make use of the excellent high-speed WiFi in the hotel to download some TV and movies for the remainder of my trip, and to make sure my Kindle library is up to date. My driver is picking me up at 10:00, so I jump in the shower. Oh my goodness - it features both great water pressure and properly hot water, something I’ve not experienced in combination in a month. Were there a bathtub, I would have one.
I also decide to continue the trend of not looking like a cross between a Dickensian street urchin, and a redneck hick. I can’t quite bring myself to wear actual trousers, but a pair of three-quarters is slightly smarter than the shorts I’ve been living in for the past 4 weeks.
I wear a shirt. An honest-to-god actual shirt. I’ve been carrying this same shirt around the world with me for the past 18 months, and don’t think I’ve worn it once. It’s become something of a running joke. I ALWAYS pack it, I NEVER wear it. Apparently, Tamsin encouraged Felix to take some smart clothes to Thailand and Cambodia with us, as he put it, “Just in case we get invited to tea with the royal family…” I’ve simply never felt the need during my travels to dress more smartly than a t-shirt. I’m not 100% sure what to expect at the various wineries I’ll visit today. Some, I’m sure, will be pretty ramshackle and rudimentary. Others look to be more similar to the wineries we’ve visited in South Africa, Australia and California. and have cool looking restaurants attached to them. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll blend in better if I don’t look like I’m there to pick the grapes. All told, it feels part funny and part sad to be breaking out my shirt on one of the very last days of my extended travelling escapade.
Lots of folks have asked me (and I’m sure will continue to do so) whether I’m ready to go back to work / sad to be ending my sabbatical/ will miss travelling etc etc. I’ve had a lot of time to think about these various questions, and:
1) I’m genuinely excited to be going back to work. In an ideal world, Vicki and I could retire now, and still have the disposable income to travel whenever we want. So I HAVE to go back to work. Given that’s the case, I can’t think of a better combination of factors in a job to get me excited for work. Awesome people - check. People that I’ve worked with before, know and trust - check. Getting well remunerated - check. Working in an industry that I know and continue to find fascinating - check. Managing to negotiate 2 months of time off per year so I can still travel - check.
This all adds up to ‘not ideal world, but as close as I think I can realistically get to it while still holding down a job’ territory.
2) Of course I’m sad to be ending my sabbatical. The last 15 months have been amongst the most enjoyable of my life. That they came about after the loss of my Dad notwithstanding, I can’t imagine a better way to spend time than travelling the world, experiencing new places and cultures, meeting new people, seeing new things. I don’t think a world exists where I won’t want to do more of it.
My deal with my new company is that I can take a few weeks of unpaid leave every year, to top up their already generous leave allowance. Vicki is planning to do something similar in future years - which will allow us to take some extended trips together, while still having the time for music festivals, some ski trips, more local holidays, weekends away to catch up with our more distant UK friends… We both feel that some of the further flung places we want to visit will benefit from a 3-4 week trip, and balancing that with all the ‘other’ stuff we wanna do has been tricky in the past. The older we get, the more we both value and crave the opportunity to spend some real time in a destination to get to know it, its people, its culture and its foibles.
11:00
Well, that was a very pleasant drive through some countryside. We arrive at our first stop, a small winery called Nipha. They cultivate a mix of red and white grapes - Chenin Blanc, Chardonnay, Muscat and Syrah. Their wines get great reviews. Very excited to try some. As we near, my driver looks suspicious. His sat nav is directing us into a field. I encourage him onwards. Nope - it’s definitely a field. We look a little flummoxed, until I notice a small track leading away from the field. I urge Yash onwards, and we’re rewarded with a sign for Nipha! Unfortunately, it’s accompanied by another sign saying that their tasting hours on weekdays are from 17:00-19:00. Curses. This is not entirely in agreement with their own website, upon which I must say I’d slightly relied…
Nevermind - onwards to Chandon. This is a property owned by the Moet et Chandon people. They’ve been investing incredibly heavily in wine-growing estates outside of the Champagne region of France in recent years - I suspect largely as a hedge against global warming, and to ensure they have enough vineyards in suitably climated areas to continue to meet demand. They’ve bought up large estates in the US, Australia, Brazil and Argentina, and I think own some vineyards in the UK now as well. It looks a more organised affair, with an actual tasting room, and a restaurant and that sort of jazz. First, we need to traverse 40km of rough roads through Indian villages. Wish me luck….
11:35
Yash speaks no English. None. When asking him earlier to put the front passenger seat forward so I could stretch out my legs, he passed me his phone and asked me to type into Google Translate. The translation was to Abkhaz. Now, Abkhaz is a language of the Caucasus, that slightly chaotic region that effectively joins Europe to Asia. Abkhazia is a semi-autonomous region of Georgia, and borders the Black Sea. It must be 4,000 kilometres from here, and I find myself wondering why it’s Yash’s preferred language, and if he’s a native of Abkhazia, what he’s doing in deepest, darkest Maharashtra.
Of course, my ability to have this conversation with Yash is limited, because he doesn’t speak any English. To communicate with him, I have to use Google Translate to translate my English into Abkhaz, and send it to him on WhatsApp. I don’t wish to do too much of this, for fear that it might distract him from his already erratic driving. I do so only once on the journey between Nipha and the Chandon winery, and that’s to ask him (politely, natch) to slow down, that I’m no hurry. He looks a little offended by this, or at the very least, disappointed. Tough shit Yash. My safety > your ego.
12:20
I’m realising already that today’s post is gonna be a long one.
I find myself sitting in the beautifully manicured gardens at the Chandon winery. The French heritage is plain to see. I’m sipping a delicious Délice - a style of sparkling wine that has sadly gone out of fashion in recent years, but which is the ultimate companion to my doing of absolutely nothing.
On arrival at Chandon, I find the tasting room deserted. Not even a Chandon employee. I wander down a corridor to something called the wine gallery, which turns out to be a collection of artworks inspired by wine. Pretty cool actually. I visit the gents, and when I come out, I finally find a human. My new friend Sarjat asks if I would like to taste some wines. My eyes clearly bulge as I say yes, and he chuckles. We sit at the otherwise deserted tasting bar, and he tells me about the Chandon wines.
There are 3 x sparklers, and a still wine. We start with the bubbles. A really good Brut, which is less dry than I was expecting. It contains quite a lot of Chenin Blanc, which explains the fruitiness of the wine. I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that the winemakers here aren’t trying to mimic Champagne. They use the traditional methods of creating sparkling wines, but use the grapes that best represent the terroir of the vineyard. As a result, 60% Chenin in a Brut style sparkling wine, and it works - really well.
Their Rosé is extraordinary. It’s made entirely from Shiraz. Sparkling Shiraz I’ve had in the past has been bold, and typically a dark pink colour. Chandon’s is a delicate and pale salmon pink, and has flavours of strawberry in the palate. It’s an absolute banger.
Next up is the still wine - also made from 100% Shiraz. The nose suggests rough tannins, but in the mouth it’s actually a lot more refined than I’d expected. Quite fruit forward, but without a ton of sugar. It’s been designed to pair with ‘Indian’ food. When I point out that there’s really no such thing, Sarjat admits that that’s a bit of marketing spin. It’s really designed to be approachable, without being saccharine sweet and characterless.
Finally, the sparkling Délice - which is off dry. Not sweet per se, but certainly a different character to the Brut and Rosé wines. It’s backbone is made from Muscat, which brings a floral character, and a hint of sweetness. There’s some Ugni Blanc and Chenin Blanc in there as well, to give much needed acidity and structure. It’s an incredible wine - the kind of glass you’d sit with in the garden on a warm, sunny afternoon. Which is rather what inspires me to do just that.
A tasting like this is a real treat. To combine the stunning setting, with some top notch wines, and a 1 to 1 experience with a knowledgeable and passionate guide puts a huge smile on my face.
Add to that, I’ve got that slight wine buzz that only comes from drinking wine before you’ve eaten a morsel. YUM.
15:10
Indian bureaucracy can still and easily catch in my craw, but I’m learning to live with it.
We arrive at Sula vineyards a little before 14:00. I’m now properly hungry. My plan is to grab some lunch, and then hit the tasting room. The Sula wines I’ve had before are all part of their Estate / entry-level range. Perfectly decent / eminently quaffable etc etc. Sula have a premium range and an exclusive range, and I’m looking forward to trying these.
Lunch first at an Italian place called Rasa. Seeing a menu populated only by Italian staples feels a little out of place, until I look around me. The verdant vineyards and white winery buildings could be in Italy, or France, or California, or Franschhoek… It’s a very pretty little enclave in the heart of Maharashtra. I order a pizza, and follow the instructions to order a glass of Reserve Sauvignon Blanc to accompany it. It’s good. I’m not sure it’s any better than their Estate Sauvignon that Debbie was drinking in Goa, but it’s good. The pizza’s great! Pesto, Feta, broccoli and spinach. Delish - and much needed.
Sated, I head up to the tasting room. I stop at the registration desk, and ask if I can do a tasting. I get a slightly funny look, and am asked if I want a winery tour as well. I decline. No thanks - seen tons of wineries. Just the wine please. Same funny look. If I want to do a tasting, that’s all good, but I have to pay for the tour, and I have to wait until the people currently doing the tour get back from their tour - around 45 minutes. I ask if I can just go in and do the tasting. I’ll happily pay the difference. No - not allowed. It's 15:02, and another tasting started at 15:00, and I’ll be a disruption. I point out that I can see into the tasting room, and the host hasn't event finished pouring the first wine, but to no avail. I huff a little, but there’s no point. Rules and regulations in India are typically inflexible, unless there’s an exchange of dirty cash…
There is, at least, a wine-bar upstairs, where I can go and order a glass. It’s not quite the 6 or 7 wines I’d anticipated, but it would be a shame to miss out completely. As a result, I sit here, with a fairly gorgeous view out over the vineyards and towards the Deccan Hills, tucking into a brilliant glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Not brilliant ‘for India’ - but actually brilliant. Tons of structure, but well integrated tannins. Heaps of blackcurrant flavour, with some smoke and pepper. It’s their flagship wine, and is excellent. There’s a Zinfandel I’ve half an eye on as well, but I do have another two wineries to visit…
19:20
My last two wineries are fun, it of slightly lower quality. These are happily just down the road from Sula, so no horrendous cross-country trek to get there. First up is Soma. When I arrive, I walk into what I think is the tasting room, but turns out to be a banquet area, in which a massive Hindi wedding is currently taking place. I briefly consider joining in the festivities, but I’m definitely not dressed for it. The music is deafening, and I’m standing a good 15m away.
I’m pointed in the right direction, up a small hill, and arrive at the tasting room. They make a fairly mind boggling 23 wines here. They do a tasting of 9, so I pick from the extensive menu. Some of the wines are, let’s be frank, not great. Not actively unpleasant, but just not good. Some are decent - perfectly drinkable. A couple are very good. They offer a Reserve Viognier which is rich, opulent, fragrant and silky. This is the first year they’ve made it, and it’s a knockout. Their Pinot Noir Rosé is also a cracker. Dry, crisp, fruity. Yum.
A couple of minutes down the road is York. It’s a bit rougher and readier, and whilst I know I shouldn’t take this into account, the graphic design work for their bottles is horrible, and I find myself assuming that the liquid they contain will be equally miserable. I’m wrong. I taste six wines - all are decent, three are good, and one is banging. It’s a red blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah, and is awesome. I hadn’t planned to buy any wine today, as - you know, backpack etc etc. I decide I can squeeze one in though, so grab a bottle of this red blend. It’s a screw-top, so it’s very possible I’ll start it tonight, and finish it somewhere further down the track…
My day of wine-tasting has been great fun. The quality of the wines has been surprising at times, and as the wine industry in India continues to evolve, I suspect it’ll only get better. The market for consumers in India is in its infancy as well, and it’s been fascinating to hear winemakers talk about their mid to long term plans to change their winemaking style to adapt to Indian palates as they grow more accustomed to and have a stronger appetite for different wine styles.
21:45
The combo of an early start, quite a lot of wine, and the need for another early start tomorrow has left me feeling jaded. I manage a quick dinner at the hotel, manage to avoid opening my lovely bottle of wine, and collapse into bed for an early night.
#rockandroll.Читать далее
ПутешественникI’m pretty sure Sula was Neil’s favourite wine when we’re were on Patnem beach 🏖️
Day 30 - Heading for Wine Country
5 февраля 2025 г., Индия ⋅ 🌙 21 °C
11:00
It’s moving day, and I’m heading around 150 miles North East into India’s foremost wine country, centred around Nashik. I’m currently in the back of a cab, making my way to Kalyan Junction, a big station on the suburban network out of Mumbai. My journey is very much a reverse of the trip up the mountain on Monday. 10 min hike to the tuk-tuk stand, e-tuk to the car park, crazy fast van driver down the last bit of the foothiils. Now I actually know how it works, it’s a pretty straightforward proposition.
What is less straightforward is my cab to Kalyan Junction. I have the same driver as Monday, Santosh. The road between Neral and Kalyan is in a significant state of disrepair. As is his cab. I don’t think it has any rear suspension at all to speak of, and the front springs are on their last legs. He’s fairly conscientious about avoiding the worst of the bumps, but as he spends 90% of his time shouting at someone on his phone, he does miss some. It’s a nausea inducing experience. It’s about 90 minutes up to Kalyan, but I suspect will feel much, MUCH longer…
12:10
Santosh deposits me *near* the station, but says he cannot get closer because the traffic is too bad. He’s not entirely lying. The traffic is awful. I’ll try and get some pics for you. It’s a head fuck. I make my way to the station, mainly to prove to myself that it is where I (and GoogleMaps) think it is, and then consider how best to spend the 90 minutes until my train departs. Definitely a toilet visit of some description required, and ideally a beer.
I set off in the direction of I know not what, conscious that I’m a big guy, carrying a lot of luggage, and doing my utmost not to bump into people. Ultimately, it’s a fruitless task, as the walkways are SO crowded with people, many carrying bulky items. I pitch up at a bar/restaurant a few hundred metres from the station, and order the coldest Kingfisher available. Down the mountain, the temperature is noticeably hotter. The mercury should nudge 35C today, and it feels it.
The waiter dude brings me my beer. It’s a Kingfisher Strong. Uh-oh. I’ve at least spotted it before ploughing into my 2nd, 3rd and 4th, as I so nearly disastrously managed to do in Cochin many years ago. Kingfisher Strong is a close blood relative of Tennents Super / Carlsberg Special Brew. It has a notable bitter twang in the palate, and is rated at ‘approximately’ 8% alcohol. The truth is that it’s typically between 8% and 11%. In the years since I was first hoodwinked by this little bastard of a beer, there have been strengthening in the regulations of Indian brewers to try and bring some consistency and control to the fermentation process. Everyone I speak to says that this has failed miserably. I shall be cautious. No-one needs a drunk Tim on the train to Nashik…
There’s a pervasive smell to Kalyan. I’m not 100% sure how to describe it. Were you to press me, I’d probably say it’s fetid. It’s almost like you’re constantly walking 10m from a toilet that’s overflowing. It could be a result of the part of town in which I find myself, but I suspect not. Maybe there’s been a plumbing catastrophe, and it’s only temporary, but I suspect not. It reminds me of my very first arrival into Mumbai, and the heavy blanket of odour that sits across the city. It was noxious to me on arrival, but even a few hours later, I barely noticed it. I’m always amazed at the human brain’s willingness and ability to adapt to most situations with which it’s presented. The new normal can become the new normal incredibly quickly…
13:30
Not gonna lie. Very nearly ended up the wrong train just now. I would like to be absolutely clear that correlation does not equal causation, and that my recent Kingfisher Strong escapade had nothing to do with my error.
From the bar, I manage to find platform 4, and find somewhere to sit down at what I think is the right end of the platform. Indian trains are LONG - typically about 650 metres, and are formed of 20+ carriages. You want to ensure you get on at or near the right point for your berth, or you could spend upwards of an hour trying to reach where you should be.
I check IRCTC’s website, and it says my train is running on time, and should arrive into Kalyan at 13:07. Sure enough, a train DOES arrive at 13:07, but it’s allegedly the 11011 train, not the 12071 that I need. To be certain, I check at the train manager’s carriage - yes, he has a whole one to himself. I ask if this is the Nashik train. Yes! Yes he nods! No equivocal head wobble here. Yes! Jump aboard! I do so. But something feels not quite right. The train carriages aren’t in the layout I was expecting. I’m supposed to be in coach C1, but there’s no C1. Where is C1?! I jump off, and ask a platform guard if this is the 12071 to Nashik. No, he says, that’s coming in fifteen minutes… I’m struck that much of life in India is choosing which version of two truths to trust. IRCTC say this is my train, but the human in front of me disagrees. Whilst tech in India has come a long way in recent years, I’m trusting the human on this occasion. 10 minutes later, my trust is proved to be well placed. My train arrives, and the a/c carriage car is blissfully cool…
22:40
Biryani! I’ve finally got my paws on an amazing mutton biryani, but more of that later.
The train journey passes in the flash of an eye. Just a shade over 2 hours. I spend most of it gazing out of the window, which sadly is the muckiest train window I think i’ve ever seen. The passing scenery is fairly arid, with occasional outbreaks of lush greenery around rivers or bodies of water. We pass through countless small villages, each showing a simple version of life in progress.
We pull into Nashik pretty much on time at 15:30. I ping my driver to check where he is, but he’s still 15 minutes away, I park up in the shade, using my rucksack as a seat. A very sweet chap called Mahendra asks if it would be ok to talk to me. He’s in his late 20s, and speaks pretty serviceable English, but likes to take any opportunity to improve. He works as an engineer at a robotics company - cool! We talk cricket, politics, and religion. We should probably fall out over one or all of these, but don’t. It helps pass the time.
Arriving at my hotel, I discover it’s several steps plusher than I’d expected. My room is proper smart. When I head down for dinner, I do so wearing an actual t-shirt, and sans bandanna, for fear of looking like an urchin.
Dinner is a treat. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and am pretty peckish. I order a chicken kebab of some description from the tandoor, and a mutton biryani, apparently cooked in the Hyderabadi style, not that I know what that means. The kebab is sensational. Highly spiced, hot with chilli powder, and incredibly juicy. The mutton biryani is beyond good. Tender pieces of goat, braised on the bone, and served with an incredibly tasty baked rice. It’s served with a dough dome over it, which serves to keep the steam in, and keep the rice moist and tender. I’ve been so excited to have a proper mutton biryani since arriving, and was sad to miss out on the chance to enjoy this special dish in Lucknow, where it’s revered to almost religious levels. This is a good stand-in though.
While I eat, there’s a guy warming up on the acoustic guitar. He noodles for far longer than I think is appropriate, and I start to worry that this is all he’s going to do. He eventually launches into some actual songs. I could swear that one of them is a cover of a Smiths song, only sung in Hindi. Maybe not, but you get the gist.
After an early start this morning, I can feel the fatigue around my eyes. I head back up to my room, and briefly consider chucking a movie on, before realising this is overly ambitious…Читать далее
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