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Tim's Travels
Tim's Travels

Tim's Travels

Part-time worker, lifelong traveller. Off on some new adventures... Читать далее🇬🇧Brighton
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  • Tim's TravelsNew York - June 2025Tim's Travels
    1

    Day 5 - Sandwich of Champions

    9 июня, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsNew York - June 2025Tim's Travels
    Brighton Beach!
    PHEEEEEEEEEEEESHA tasty wiener.1#etc4eva

    Day 4 - A planned reduction in velocity.

    8 июня, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsNew York - June 2025Tim's Travels
    A soggy Brooklyn Bridge
    Nope. Just, no.Ghostbusters day!The style icon, the fashion guru.I want... No, I NEED a meat room in my house.A bit gloomy and hazy, but always a magnificent sight.I WANT IT THAT WAY.....

    Day 3 - Less a shower, more a downpour

    7 июня, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsNew York - June 2025Tim's Travels
    1A selection of over 30 cream cheese options...
    Holy giant bagel, Batman!1Heading under Brooklyn Bridge from the water is quite the experience...1Ali, with his just stepped out of the salon blown-dry look,Bar-fly thumbs!OMG. The burger. Top 3 all time.Washington Square Park chess hustlers.Er.....3Ali's free hugs

    Day 2 - OMG, the burger.

    6 июня, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsNew York - June 2025Tim's Travels
    Travelling buddies!
    Virgin's 'signature' Bloody Mary = a Bloody Mary.Karin's teeny, tiny little legsBrooklyn thumbs!Crazy cleaver lady

    Day 1 - From here, to there.

    5 июня, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels

    India? Tim? Or both?

    12 февраля, 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

  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    A £20 pint!!!!
    How much cabin baggage!?My babies!1Teeny tiny Gizmo....

    Day 35 - Homeward Bound...

    10 февраля, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels

    Day 34 - Bleurgh. Lurgy. All change...

    9 февраля, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    22

    Day 33 - Caves and Ting

    9 февраля, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Sweet, sweet beer....Quite busy in the Harry's BarWaiter dude insisted on pouring my beer, then did a piss-poor job of it. Hmph.Racket #1Racket #2

    Day 32 - To Aurangabad! Eventually...

    7 февраля, 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

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    An actual shirt.
    11

    Day 31 - Аҩы ҳақәгәыӷуеит.

    6 февраля, 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

  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Waiting for my cab to Kalyan...
    Uh-oh.1The majestic scenery of Maharashtra....1Deffo smarter than expected...So much so, that I am going bandanna-less for the first time on this trip.2Mmmmmmmutton biryani.Without the whine of a two stroke engine, it's quite worrying how rickety these sound...

    Day 30 - Heading for Wine Country

    5 февраля, 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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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Haze apparently largely due to wildfiresVery, VERY pretty views... And some rubbish in the foreground.1My hotel has a vaguely Chinese theme...My day-drinking buddies.1Complimentray (sic) = only 50 rupees....Quite a lazy bit of correction.Hopefully shows how poor visibility is...

    Day 29 - Matheran = Surprisingly Hilly.

    4 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 19 °C

    10:00
    I took a Zopiclone last night, to ensure a good night’s sleep. It worked - to an extent. I’m deep in my sleep, until woken by a very loud doorbell just after 08:00. I pad to my door, and am met by a very enthusiastic chap who tells me it’s time for breakfast. Now, I know that breakfast is served between 08:00 and 10:00, so knocking me up moments after breakfast has started is pretty much a sackable offence. I clearly have a scowl on my face, as the chap looks a little crestfallen. Guilt ridden, I throw some clothes on and head for breakfast.

    It’s served in a very pretty little courtyard by the swimming pool. There are 3 tables laid, and I suspect that reflects the incredibly low level of occupancy at the resort at the moment. It’s definitely not peak season, and I have to remind myself that I’m staying Monday and Tuesday nights, which are unlikely to be rush hour. The 08:00 unrequested alarm call makes sense now. I highly suspect that the service team are hoping to get everyone served ASAP - whether to crack on with other tasks, or take some time off, I’ll leave to you to judge.

    Breakfast is unlike anything I've had on this trip, but redolent of breakfasts I’ve experienced on previous journeys, particularly when I’m further off the beaten tourist path. It starts slowly, but food continues to emerge from the kitchen until I have to request, beg that no more is brought. I start with a small bowl each of a tasty dhal, and an aubergine and yoghurt based concoction. Both very tasty. I’m given a chapati, a paratha, and a bready concoction, the name of which I couldn’t even begin to tell. I think there’s some coconut in there, but beyond that I’m clueless. As I finish the one that’s on my plate, the next one is immediately placed down. I’ve a mouthful of food, so can’t even decline. While he’s there, the guy decides that I need another paratha, and another chapati - just in case, like.

    I finish the dhal and yogurt thing, and assume this means I’m done. Noooooo. First, the increasingly excited chap tries to offer me more of each. Not one to be done twice by the same ruse, my mouth is clear, and I quickly (but politely) say no. Next, I’m brought papads, some mint and coriander chutney, and some lime pickle. All delicious, but also rather unnecessary. I manage a couple of the papads, just to show willing. Surely that’s it now?

    Nooooo. A big bowl of watermelon slices are presented to me. I wish I’d known about these before. I LOVE watermelon, and would happily have polished off the lot. As it stands, I manage a few slices, before pushing the plate away from me, feeling ever more like Monty Python’s Mr Creosote. A final platter emerges. I use the word platter to distinguish it from a plate, because a platter’s bigger, right? There’s yet more bread on it, toasted this time, and served with butter and jam. Now, I’m of the generation of British kids that didn’t leave food on the plate, so my instincts, my very DNA is telling me that I have to eat everything presented in front of me, whether I asked for it or not. The reality is that I just can’t fit much more in. I have a piece of toast, because I feel I’d be being incredibly rude if I didn’t. But I BEG the guy not to bring any more food. I don’t know if they were planning to, but I want to get ahead of the game…

    The combination of Zoplicone and too much food takes me down. Back at my room, I can’t not have a nap….

    16:44
    I sleep for just over an hour, and then spring into something resembling action. Matheran has some great hiking opportunities to view points across the valleys that run down from the mountain. It’s noticeably cooler than at sea-level, but the sun is still warm and strong.

    I head out a little before 12:00, initially heading for the enigmatically named All is Well Khandala Viewpoint Café. The views are stunning, and I suspect would be even moreso if the heavy haze that sits across the valley were to dissipate. I’m unsure whether this is due to wildfires (of which there are many in the surrounding area) or a general pollution haze, or maybe even both.

    The town of Matheran is known as a hill station - a generic term applied to holiday towns that are (surprise surprise…) found at the top of hills. Their popularity is based largely around the ability of Indians to depart the steamy Summer in coastal cities, and head for cooler conditions in the mountains. This may come as something of a shock to you, but my hikes prove to be quite a lot hillier than I’d anticipated. To reach Echo Point, I walk for 25 minutes into the forest, and the path undulates more than just a touch. Most visitors are making the journey on horseback, but I’m stupidly determined to stick to movement on foot.

    The views along my hike are again beautiful, but hazy. At one point I’m attacked (I’m not kidding) by a couple of monkeys. I think they’re attracted to the straps on the back of my rucksack. They keep jumping up behind me and trying to grab onto my bag. I quickly learn that the universal cat command of ‘psssssht!’ does not work on monkeys. Neither, sadly, does a stern ‘NO’ that I would use for a dog. Exasperated, I deliver a swift ‘Bhaad mein jao’ and this has a little more effect. They follow me for a couple of hundred metres, looking increasingly grumpy.

    The sun is getting warmer. It’s up around 30C today, and I’ve walked about 6km. I definitely deserve a sharpener. There’s a bar in town, and I plonk myself in a booth. It’s the most stereotypically idiosyncratic Indian bar I can remember visiting - in that it’s entirely like every other Indian locals bar I’ve encountered off the tourist trail, but the individual characters I meet are unique. I spend a very happy couple of hours, day-drinking with gap-toothed locals. Our shared language map is not significant, but we form a bond over a fondness for beer, and a strong belief that a well structured forward defensive stroke is a thing of absolutely wonder.

    Time’s getting on, and I want to rest up a little before heading out for an evening hike to a sunset spot. Maybe just a quick nap?

    22:30
    What a fun / odd afternoon and evening!

    I head out around 17:30, conscious that I’m quite a bit further North than Goa, and sunset will be that much earlier. I’m heading for Lord’s Point, an acclaimed sunset viewpoint. I’m quickly conscious that I’m walking almost entirely downhill. I’m no idiot, and I’m fully aware that for every step downhill, there’ll be one uphill in return. After 10 minutes of clambering down some fairly steep gradients, I consider turning back. I have a quick word with myself, and head onwards.

    It takes me pretty much a half hour to reach Lord’s Point, and the view is incredible, if once again a little hazy. I won’t see the sun get anywhere near the horizon, as there’s a fucking great mountain in the way, but it’s very pretty to look at.

    I start the march back uphill. It’s tough going. I stop a few times, ostensibly to take a photo, but actually to rest and gulp some water. The return journey is markedly longer than the downwards version, and when I reach Matheran, I feel fairly smug about my achievement. I’ve done over 18,000 steps today, and the vast majority feel like they’ve been up or downhill.

    I reason with myself that I definitely deserve a beer, so head back to Pramod, scene of my afternoon fun. I’m welcomed back like an intrepid explorer, and am quickly wrapped up in the conversation of the bar. I don’t understand any of it, but it’s fun to be included. I’m slightly shocked when some actual white people walk in. They’re the first non-Indian faces I’ve seen since leaving my accommodation in Morjim early yesterday morning. I somehow get conned into ordering 3 large Kingfishers, at which point the bifta starts getting passed around. Oh dear…

    Whether coincidental or not, I can’t say - but I suddenly realise I’m acutely hungry. I’ve not had any food since my admittedly gargantuan breakfast, and I’ve done some moderate hiking since then. My guesthouse is apparently known for their food offerings, so I figure I’ll try there.

    The dining room team seem a little taken aback when I tell them I’d like some dinner. It’s about 20:30, and dinner is allegedly served between 20:00 and 22:00. They hand me a menu (of sorts) which is not in English. I *think* it’s Hindi, but couldn’t swear to it. I stand no chance. I ask what’s good, and am directed to something that I neither properly hear, not understand. I agree.

    The team set up a table for me in the courtyard, and then stand next to me. Not near me; next to me. They’re surreptitiously trying to take selfies with me in them. I ask if they’d like to take a proper photo, and they jump at the chance. Several times in fact. This town is full of drunks and lunatics. I suspect if I spent much more time here, I might get elected their leader.

    When my food arrives, it is some fried rice with some interesting looking balls. Yes - I briefly consider whether they are ball balls, but a quick Google tells me that the hotel only serve pure-veg (i.e. vegan) food. The balls are good! I think there’s some minced cauliflower in there, a ton of fresh ginger, quite a bit of chilli, and some onion, along with some spices. It’s served in a sauce with some of the same flavours, and I think some cardamom. Alongside is a perfectly serviceable fried rice. After the beers I’ve had, it’s just a great way to soak up some of the booze. I finish eating around 21:30, and realise that most of the team has already fucked off. I think the low season / low occupancy combo means that they’ll take every bit of down time that they can.

    I’m not mean-spirited, so quickly settle my bill, pad back to my room, and collapse in a heap on my bed. I’ve earnt my sleep tonight, for sure…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    2My new good friend, Denzil.

    Day 28 - A Looooooooong Day.

    3 февраля, Индия ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    13:00
    One train journey, as it turns out, is all it needs to restore largely my faith in the India I travelled through in 2007. But we’ll get to that…

    I manage to sleep pretty well. I’m awake a touch before my alarm, but not disastrously so. I’m up and packed pretty quickly. There’s some small confusion when I get two different messages from ‘my driver’ for the journey to Pernem station, but I suspect there’s a gremlin in the Indian administrative machine. My ‘actual’ driver knocks dutifully on my door just before 09:00 to let me know he’s arrived, and I dutifully trot downstairs with my various bags a few minutes later.

    The journey to Pernem takes maybe 40 minutes. I spend most of it saying goodbye to Goa. I’m sad to leave. I’d forgotten just how much I love this tiny Indian state. I/we WILL be back, for sure, and more quickly than the 12 year gap since our last visit.

    Pernem station is a small, provincial station, certainly compared to the other junctions from which I’ve joined trains in the past month. We’re only 50 miles up the track from Margao, where the train originated. Despite this, the train is running late. It’s 45 minutes late leaving Margao - which coincidentally was only a 20 minute drive from where we were based in Patnem. I keep an eye on progress on the Indian Railways app, which is woefully slow to update. It matters not. I’m perfectly content sitting and reading my book until the train eventually arrives…

    A weirdness of booking my trains a couple of months in advance is that I don’t know where my berth is. The train lists are typically written up just before the train departs, and the IRCTC (Indian Railway) website hasn’t had time to update with my specifics. I jump on board the train, and spend 15 minutes interrogating pretty much any passerby as to whether they know where I should be. I’m in the right carriage, but beyond that, I’m clueless. A guard finally takes pity on me, and shows me to my berth. It’s a 4 seater - similar to the one I travelled to Nagpur in from Agra. It features the same rock solid seating, so there’s that.

    As I stow my bags, it’s occupied by one other passenger, who quickly introduces himself as Denzil. We exchange pleasantries while the train is waiting to depart. It’s only after we’ve left the station that he conspiratorially asks me if I drink beer. I’m not 100% sure what’s going on, but I say yes - beer is my favourite. He rustles around in his rucksack, and finally emerges with a bottle of Kingfisher Ultra. He says it’s not that cold, so needs drinking quickly. I respond in the affirmative.

    With this friendship gesture behind us, we sit and chat contentedly for the next two hours. He’s 64, lives near Mumbai, and is on his way back to Mumbai from Kerala, where he’s been visiting his sister. We talk architecture, the change in Indian attitudes over the past 20 years, and cricket. About halfway through our chat, he passes me a second beer. It transpires he is diabetic, so has to avoid beer. I ask if that means he avoids alcohol completely, and he laughs the laugh of the demented. He passes me a plastic bottle in a black plastic bag. I sniff it. FENI.

    I cannot express strongly enough how much this smell brings back a mishmash of pleasant and unpleasant memories. Feni is poison - literally in some cases. It takes the worst of moonshine tradition, and blends it with shonky hygiene and even worse taste. It smells and tastes rank. Its alcohol content is somewhere between 30 and 70%. Even the producer of the Feni can’t tell you exactly… I first tried it on my 30th birthday, and fell off my chair. To be fair, I’d been drinking reasonably heavily all day, but the Feni quickly and violently finished me off. Denzil offers me a swig, and I refuse, in the most polite but firm terms possible.

    At one of our scheduled stops, Denzil slips one of the chai boys 100 rupees, and he (the chai boy) returns with a small bottle of local brandy, called Honey Bee. It transpires there’s quite the racket going on. India trains are meant to be dry, but are anything but. On my very first train from Mumbai to Goa in 2007, my colleagues and I bribed the guard to let us smoke in our compartment. It cost us maybe £2, and the guard didn’t even stop to think about it. It’s a very civilised form of travel.

    Denzil is incredibly sweet. When the lunch guy comes around asking for out options, he orders for me (asking whether I want veg or non-veg), and asks for tourist spicy. He doesn’t check any of this with me, obviously. I think he’s quietly and slowly adopting me. He says I must message him when I arrive in Mumbai, as he would love to host me for dinner at his house.

    To be clear, we have another 7 hours to go until we arrive into Panvel, where both of us will depart the train. I’m a little concerned about what he’ll be trying to offer me by the time we actually get there…

    17:05
    My 4 berth compartment is now full. It’s 17:00 in the afternoon, and everyone is sleeping but me. Good old Denzil is snoring away on the other lower berth, opposite me. He’s wearing a piece of clothing called a lungi - think a sarong and you won’t be a million miles away. It’s worn by many men and women in India, and I’ve always wondered whether it’s like a kilt - i.e. sans underwear underneath it.

    Well, wonder no more. I currently have a less than ideal view of Denzil’s bum, winking at me across the compartment. His lungi has ridden up while he’s sleeping, and all modesty has been abandoned.

    The hours since I boarded have passed incredibly easily. Lunch was brought around 14:30. A very tasty and hot vegetable biryani. It transpires that Denzil was NOT asking for tourist spicy earlier. He was saying that I don’t need tourist spicy - that I’ll be ok with whatever heat they bring. I am, but only just. I feel pin-pricks of sweat on my forehead and upper lip after just a few mouthfuls.

    Around 15:00, we’re joined by a young lady, who immediately takes to the top bunk, and falls asleep. Another 40 minutes pass, and we’re joined my a middle aged gentleman, who immediately takes to the other top bunk, and falls asleep.

    I’m momentarily tempted to sleep, but the bench is pretty uncomfortable. I’m also not down on sleep, so don’t really feel the need. Instead, I zone out, and watch the world go by…

    20:30
    Arriving into Panvel is quite the head-fuck. The station itself is utter chaos. It’s clearly a big junction station, with 12 platforms. It’s hugely crowded as a result, I learn, of the many people who live here and commute daily into Mumbai for work. There are about seventeen exits, and my driver, whose English is slightly worse than is absolutely ideal, is waiting at one of them. It takes a good 20 minutes to work out which one, and locate him.

    We jump into the car, and he tells me it’s a roughly 90 minute drive up to Matheran. This is within expectations. I knew at the outset that today was gonna feel like a very long travel day. My remaining journeys will feel brief by comparison.

    The roads out of Panvel echo the train station. Chaos and carnage, with just a dash of crazy. We’re on the highway towards Pune, and it’s fully 30 minutes before we get out of 2nd gear. I can’t see the surrounds too well in the dark, but I get the sense that Panvel is quite an industrial city. The train passed some pretty full-on works on the way into the city. In the dark, all I can see are hulking shadows denoting where the giant buildings are hiding….

    23:15
    It’s possible I may have made a small error in judgement. When my good friend Manas recommended a trip to Matheran, I gladly accepted his advice, booked a train ticket and a guesthouse, and didn’t really think much about it again until a few days ago.

    It transpires that Matheran is a combustion engine free zone. In fact, no cars at all are allowed into the town. The only vehicles you’ll see are electric tuk-tuks. Now, my cab from Panvel was, I thought, going to take me all the way to my hotel. No. Oh no. No no no. We get stopped at the bottom of a mountain, and are told that I must take a different taxi up to the top, at a cost of 500 INR. Righto. I’ll wrangle with the cab company tomorrow - right now, I just wanna get to my hotel, and get my head down for some sleep.

    The guy then drops me about halfway up the mountain. Apparently, even he’s not allowed past this point. I have to walk 5 minutes into the darkness, and then get one of the e-tuks up to my guesthouse. It is at this point that the cell service drops out.

    I wait patiently at the e-tuk stand. There are a few young Indian lads sitting nearby. I approach, and ask what’s what. They tell me that the e-tuks stop running at 22:00. It is 21:58. I ask whether it’s likely another one will be along, and… I get an Indian head wobble. I push, I say that I’m actually going to need a verbal response. I get a ‘probably’ and sigh deeply.

    Ten minutes later, a tuk-tuk appears in the distance, heading towards us. My hopes soar. My new friend Santosh waves the tuk-tuk driver down, and asks whether he’ll take me to my guesthouse. He’d apparently been planning to head home. He acquiesces, but there's a price. Of course there is…

    We ride a further 3-4km up the mountain, and pull up at a cab stand. My driver points me further down the road, and tells me it’s another 7-8 minute walk. I dutifully don my various rucksacks and bags, and head into the distance. 12 minutes later, I’m beginning to doubt myself. I’ve walked past any semblance of a ‘town centre’ and appear to be exiting Matheran. I look at my phone, which has turned into an expensive and useless brick. I ask at a little street shack, and am met with blank stares. I ask one of the dogs running up and down the street, and am met with a bark. There’s one building that’s got lights on, up a few stairs from the street. I start up them, in the hope of finding someone that can direct me. I ask the security guard where Adamo is, and he looks at me like I’m an idiot. It turns out that this is the guesthouse I seek.

    Check-in is blissfully quick, and I’m shown to my room. It’s very pleasant, but all I can think about is my bed. It’s been a 14 hour travel day today, and I’m feeling every single minute of it.    Читать далее

  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Beautiful Morjim BeachA more than half decent Indian ChardonnayKingfish ceviche with Thai green curry flavours. Awesome.

    Day 27 - The Saddest Goodbye

    2 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 26 °C

    14:20
    Neither of us has slept brilliantly. I think it’s last day blues syndrome, but Vicki is adamant it’s due to snoring. The truth is perhaps somewhere between the two. Irrespective of the cause, we’re both a little on the jaded side, and not helped by the 07:45 alarm. What fuckery is this? We’re quickly packed up and on the road by 09:00. Vicks plugs into an audio book, and I watch the last couple of episodes of The Agency - a cracking spy thriller type thing on Paramount+.

    The drive is quicker than expected. I’d anticipated around 2 1/2 hours, but we’re pulling up to the terminal a little before 11:00. I’m gutted to be saying goodbye to Vicki. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks, but the joy I felt at our meeting 5,000 from home last Wednesday, is equally balanced by the sadness at saying goodbye at this end of her trip. Indian airports are highly reluctant to let anyone into the terminal who isn’t actually flying, so we say our goodbyes at the drop-off point, and I get back on the road.

    In a fairly unsurprising turn of events, it quickly becomes apparent that my driver doesn’t know how to get to Morjim, my overnight stop. He could get there from Patnem, but not from Manohar Airport. As a result, I direct him from the back seat. We manage to avoid getting lost - just.

    My hotel is fine. You can tell Vicki’s no longer along for the ride, as I’m back at the slightly rougher and definitely readier end of the spectrum. It’ll do for tonight though.

    I haven’t eaten yet today, so head down to Morjim Beach. It remains a very beautiful little place, but has become even moreso a Leningrad-by-Sea than our past visits. It’s weird - the whole vibe is a bit dulled and moody by comparison to South Goa. Even the service team in the bar where I eat lunch are less friendly than their southern counterparts - no doubt in no small part due to being used to being shouted at constantly by the largely Russian tourists that dominate the beach. In the hour I’m in the bar, there are 4 separate instances of voices being raised by patrons towards the team working there. I’ve not heard a raised voice in 3 weeks, so it jars more than slightly.

    Lunch is good. An aloo palak - potato cooked in a spicy and rich spinach sauce, mopped up with some roti. I power my way through it, washing it down with a couple of Kingfisher. I amble back to my hotel via La Plage, a French focused beach restaurant that is (or least was…) spankingly good. I book a table for dinner later.

    Back at my hotel, I read for a little while. I’ve got aims on a deep and delicious nap. At LEAST 2 hours. I hold on until Vicki’s boarded, and her flight’s ready to depart, but having been assured she’s ok on her flight, for me it’s next stop sleeptown, and no stops along the way….

    23:00
    WHOA. My afternoon nap turns into an extended sleep. Just over 3 hours. I wake up a little confused, but ultimately very refreshed.

    I mooch for a while, and have a shower. There’s some confusion (entirely my fault) with shower operation, and I only twig after I’ve had a pretty cold shower that there’s a switch for an immersion heater that I woulda/coulda/shoulda flicked before attempting the shower. Live/learn etc.

    I mosey down to La Plage for my 20:00 reservation. It’s a bijou and bougie little place, just off the beach. The menu is a wonderful blend of local ingredients, classical French technique, and styles from around the world. My starter is a great example - a ceviche (South American) of Kingfish (Indian) with green curry (Thai) flavourings. It’s brilliant. Astutely balanced acidity, heat and sweetness, perfectly seasoned. A sensational dish. My main is more traditionally French - a fillet of beef served with a peppercorn sauce, and some sauté potatoes that have spent quite a lot of time getting to know some beef fat. The beef is beautifully flavoured and well aged. I’m not typically a fan of beef fillet, but this is given some extra bang by being barbecued, and the charred finish is delicious. It’s comfortably the most I’ve spent on a meal for one throughout my trip, but worth every rupee.

    I head back to my hotel via the off licence and supermarket for some grocery supplies. My 3 hour nap earlier means I’m not particularly tired, but I’m conscious I’ve got another reasonably early start tomorrow. I read for a while, before drifting into a deep sleep…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Holy shit, the prawns.Holy shit, the kingfish.1One of the more cavalier of our tuk-tuk drivers in Goa...

    Day 26 - Fond Farewells. Fish. Frolics.

    1 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 25 °C

    17:00
    Saturday is brought to you by the letter ‘F’ apparently.

    Our early morning is thankfully peaceful, and I have the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Vicki has had a mere 9 hours, but is conscious she needs to start to return to a more normal sleeping pattern ahead of work on Monday.

    We’re (fanfare please) out before 11:00, and head to Cow Corner for a farewell breakfast, and to say goodbye to Andrex and Rufus. Darron and Debbie drop in to surprise us. They’re already packed and ready to go, and have a few hours to kill before their cab up to Dabolim Airport. Omelettes all round. 3 x Choris omelettes, and Vicki’s usual cheese affair for her. DD are wowed by their food, and rightly so - it’s a brilliant dish. Double D also order a bottle of wine. I’m instinctively tempted to join them until I remember it’s well before sun/yard-arm territory.

    We head down to Namaste for the last time, and grab a few beers in the sunshine. It’s properly hot today. There’s little to no breeze coming off the ocean, and it’s a melty one as a result. The sand feels scorching even through our flip-flops. Debbie sets forth into Margarita country, and Darron hits the White Russians.

    Wurzel and Zoe pitch up for a while, and we all say a fond farewell to each other. Not 100% sure when we’ll all be back together. Vicks and I may go to Sancho Panza’s Summer festival camping thing, as it sounds like a LOT of fun, and loads of our new friends will be there…

    We pop in to Round Cube for a sharpener, and to say goodbye to our friends there. Honestly, it’s been a hectic, and emotionally charged day…

    We settle back at our room for a rosé (me, obvs), rest and refresh before heading over to Palolem later.

    00:15
    An evening of highs and lows.

    We jump in a tuk-tuk over to Palolem Beach around 19:30. Our driver is an angry little chap. His horn seems to be broken, so he takes to shouting and swearing at other vehicles/passers by.

    Just walking into Dropadi, the smells of fish and shellfish on the BBQ are tantalising. We briefly consider the menu, before opting for a kingfish. When our favourite waiter dude brings over some specimens from which to choose, there’s one that is probably just too small, and that is almost definitely too big. We opt for the bruiser. We’re also presented with some incredible looking prawns, and it would be rude not to. We also can’t say no to some more of that amazing crab butter on toast that we had the other night. Fortunately, we’re both whatever the next one up from peckish is…

    The crab butter toast is sublime. Some Indian kids set off fireworks in front of us. It’s a somewhat lacklustre display. Lacklustre is the last accusation that could be applied to the prawns that turn up in front of us. They are sensational. Absolutely perfectly cooked, super-juicy, and incredibly tasty. We’ve gone for a simple herb and garlic marinade, and it works brilliantly with the shellfish. Huge handfuls of nom.

    The kingfish arrives to great fanfare. We’ve opted for simplicity to accompany it - some simple butter roti, and some stuffed naan. It’s a veritable feast. The fish is sensational - blackened in places from the BBQ, with enough heat in the marinade to keep things interesting. The flesh is moist, giving and a stunning texture. A dish for the ages. It is, however, just a little more than we can manage. We do, we believe, a bang up job, leaving only the merest morsels on the plate.

    As we’re readying to leave, we tell our waiter dude that we’ve been visiting Dropadi for 15+ years. It transpires the restaurant has been there 23 years, and several of the same staff have been there the entire time. It is, without doubt, the best food we’ve enjoyed together in Goa on this trip. Nothing too fancy - just very high quality ingredients, treated simply, and cooked accurately. It’s a winning combination.

    We jump back in a tuk-tuk to Patnem Beach. England are playing Ireland in the 6 Nations in Dublin tonight, and I’m keen to watch if I can get the tech to play ball. Happily, the tech stars align, and I get a pretty decent stream of ITV. Jams and buffers a few times, but actually pretty decent.

    The first half is a typically tight and edgy affair. England are 10-5 up at the break, and just about deserve to be. They’ve played with more structure and discipline than Ireland thus far, but Ireland look like they’ve got a couple more gears to go through. The second half is, sadly, a fairly ons-sided affair. The final scoreline of 27-22 flatters England. Ireland were out of sight with 15 minutes to go, and a couple of junk time scores from England don’t paper over the cracks of their inexperienced team. They’re a good side, who need time together to flourish. Ireland are pretty much the finished article though, and run out deserved winners.

    Curses.    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Sleepy pooch....Destiny!Frankie Knuckles - Your Love...

    Day 25 - The Final Countdown

    31 января, Индия ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C

    15:45
    Not gonna lie - today’s been a breeze. There’s a small interdiction when Vicki is woken up at 07:15 by the kid in the room next door vociferously playing outside ours. She pops her head out the door, and has a swift and stern word with the parents, before quickly falling back to sleep. I, on the other hand, am awake, so crack on with the day.

    I wake Vicki at 10:30, and we head out for some food a little later. Cow Corner - again. Their food’s just great, and it’s in a lovely setting. Vicki has another omelette, whilst I branch out into paratha with dhal territory. Delicious.

    We head to Sea View for a beer / coffee, and both read for an hour. Honestly, it’s an incredibly slow paced, and yet incredibly attractive pace of life.

    We head back to our room. More reading, more chilledness, a glass of wine for me in place of a snooze. I’m almost (ALMOST) a little tense about returning to the faster paced travelling life on Monday…

    23:30
    Suitably rested and refreshed, we head out around 17:30 for sunset and some food. We’ll head over to Palolem tomorrow to have a last dinner at Dropadi, so tonight we eat at our favourite of the Patnem eateries, Casa Fiesta. Couple of drinks as the sun goes down…

    Vicki is hankering after a pizza, and has a more than acceptable version with anchovies and olives. I have an Achari chicken kebab from the tandoor which is fantastic. The marinade is similar to the tikka spice paste so commonly used, but includes some pickling spices, and some vinegar, which gives the final dish a great little hit of acidity, and some extra complexity in the flavour.

    Around 19:00, we set off down the beach to Columb Bay, the location for tonight’s last party of the LHM event. The venue’s great. A real Balearic feel to it, and it’s got plenty of cool little hangout spots. Jim (one of my cooking buddies from yesterday) is spinning when we arrive, and is dropping a cool mix of chunk and groove.

    The rest of the music is pretty eclectic. It’s neither of our favourite parties of the fortnight, but we enjoy ourselves. I don’t think this style of house is ever gonna move me in the way that some of the deeper and darker stuff that I normally play does. It’s cool enough to listen to, and fine for background. It’s more Vicki’s thing, but she’s not completely sold on tonight’s playlist. She has a few somewhat vigorous dances though.

    We hang out with DD, Worz and Zoe, Milly and her other half (Dave?), and the time passes everso easily. It’s soon enough 23:00, and kicking out time.

    There’s an after-party at a club a couple of clicks to the South of Patnem Beach, but we’re not tempted. We’re looking forward to a chilled day tomorrow, seeing Darron and Debs for a beer before they head off, and a banging dinner at Dropadi, and don’t want to do anything that might put these laidback plans at risk…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Getting our mise on....
    Crazy chef.Goan fish curry paste.Incredible lunch!

    Day 24 - Cooking up a Storm

    30 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 25 °C

    15:30
    I’m up at what feels like an incredibly early time for the past couple of weeks - 09:00. My cooking class doesn’t start till 11:00, but I’m not 100% sure exactly where it is. I head off at 10:00, stopping for the very briefest of conversations with my mole-esque wife, who declares something in fluent mumble, and goes back to sleep.

    I decide to walk over to Palolem via the main road, while the sun’s not too hot. It’s a bit up hill and down dale in parts, but I’ve got plenty of time. Walking along the main road into Palolem, I find where I’m pretty sure the class is going to be. I stop at a nearby café for a coffee.

    I pitch up at the cooking class a few minutes before 11:00. Jim and Milly from our extended party gang are here, as is Darron. Also a couple of young (early 20s?) French women who are currently studying in Singapore, and who have headed over to India over the Chinese New Year celebrations. Also Ash and her other half, whose name I probably hear but instantly forget.

    For the next 3 hours, we’re treated to a masterclass of cuisine from India generally and Goa specifically. Rahul is our Jedi-Master, and he teaches us to make 6 different dishes, all using different techniques or styles of cookery. There’s a mushroom masala dish, similar to the okra one that I’ve enjoyed so much at Art Resort; a traditional Goan prawn curry; a butter chicken masala; a humble dhal; a concoction the name of which I’ve forgotten, but which is a kind of cabbage and prawn stir-fry, but with traditional Goan flavours; and finally, the method to cook roti properly at home.

    All of the dishes are excellent. The standouts are the dhal and the cabbage stir-fry thingy. The dhal - I finally feel like I understand what it is that elevates this incredibly humble dish to such heights. This may not come as a huge surprise, but it involves quite a lot of butter…

    Lunch is sensational - a thali of our dishes, with the chapatti we made earlier, which I’m pleasantly surprised to find are excellent.

    Post lunch, I waddle down to Palolem High Street to grab some cash. We’re running a little short, and need a decent chunk for our cab back up to the North on Sunday. Soon enough, I’m in a tuk-tuk heading to Patnem Beach, and the promise of an ice-cold Bira Blonde. Vicki has had a suitably lazy morning/afternoon. Up around 12:00, and out for some fun with Andrex the dog, at Cow Corner. We’d planned to head over to Agonda this evening for a sunset beach party, but it’s been cancelled. As a result, we’ll reserve energy, and have a slow and lazy day…

    21:45
    The afternoon creeps by in a maelstrom of nothing. Around 16:30, I posit that we should probably get cleaned up, and Vicki concurs.

    Refreshed, we pad down to the beach, and find DD in Round Cube. We stop for a sharpener, then head further down the beach to Namaste to watch the sunset. It’s not a classic. Any sunset here is worth taking the time to experience, but the haze at the horizon robs us of the majesty of some of the sunsets we’ve seen in recent days.

    Around 19:00, we order some food. 90 minutes later, we are still waiting. Darron asks a couple of times if there’s any danger of our food actually arriving. There are a couple of big tables that arrived after us, but whose food is delivered first. We suspect subterfuge. Finally, FINALLY - some food emerges. I have a better than decent chicken seekh kebab, which is really very tasty. I just wish I had the roti I’d ordered to go with it. Vicks, Darron and Debs’ food arrives a little after mine, and is also very good. Darron treats himself to a proper 1970s style chicken Kiev, and has a broad smile plastered over his face as he eats it.

    Tonight’s not a late one. With the cancellation of the Agonda sunset party, we’re on a lazy go-slow. Vicki and I head back to our room around 21:30. We’re a little surprised to find a small pool party in progress. There are maybe 10 Indian kids (20ish?) sat around the pool, with a speaker emitting some questionable Indian hip-hop, and bottles of cheap alcohol strewn around them. Fair play to them, but hopefully they’re not gonna be noisy for too long…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Cows demand entry to bar.
    Stunning sunset...Sula Rosé is SO much better than 12 years ago...11Fish Malai Tikka = BANGING.Banging psy-trance for sunset....

    Day 23 - Hitting Our Groove

    29 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 25 °C

    22:30
    Our days comfortably meld into each other. I’m awake a little after 08:00. I catch up on some paperwork, and then realise around 10:00 that I’m still a bit tired. I pop my head down for another quick zizz, and wake up 90 minutes later. Deluxe.

    We collectively get up around 12:00. We’ve nothing planned today until this evening, so we’re in no rush. We head to Cow Corner, which is becoming something of a staple. Vicki has her fave omelette again, and I have a cracking fish-burger. Ultra crispy, lightly spiced, and served with some amazing chunky chips. Properly banging.

    We’re umming and ahing about possible naps. I feel like I could snooze, but actually just need a chilled afternoon. We reconvene around 16:00, when Vicki proposes a beer at Round Cube. An excellent notion.

    It feels hot today. The air certainly feels more still than recent days. A couple of Bira Blondes nicely hit the spot. I could put roots down, but we’ve got the formings of an evening plan. We freshen up, and head North down Patnem Beach towards Palolem. We slightly accidentally find a much easier path to get to the beach, that doesn’t involve quite so much mountaineering.

    We head for Art Resort for sundowners, and to have some of their amazing kebabs from the tandoor. Chicken for Vicki, and a stunning fish kebab for me. Not 100% what fish it is, but wouldn’t surprise me to find it’s kingfish. It’s marinated in a spicy cashew based sauce, then roasted in the fierce heat of the clay oven. Outstanding.

    We head up to Palolem Beach Resort, where tonight’s festivities are taking place. It’s pretty busy when we get there, and we’re starting to recognise more and more of the party crowd. We find DD easily enough, and bump into Brummie Steve, who I met at Feather Touch on Friday.

    The music’s good - some of the best I’ve heard since arriving into Goa. Chunky, with some funk and grit. A winning combo.

    Palolem Beach Resort has changed beyond all recognition. I stayed here in 2007, when my planned accommodation at Ordo Sounsar wasn’t fully constructed when I arrived. The slightly sad, terraced concrete rooms have been done away with, and in their place are detached wooden huts that look pretty good.

    We’re not planning a late one, so head off around 22:00. We’re both looking forward to deep and delightful sleeps tonight…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Rufus!
    Much needed medicinal...Rufus!Top notch strawberry daiquiri.1The bangingest of kingfish.

    Day 22 - The Day After the Night Before.

    28 января, Индия ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C

    15:00
    We wake up around 12:00. Perhaps not the most restorative sleep I’ve ever had, but it’ll have to do. I don’t feel as bad as I probably deserve to, but I’ll take it.

    We head out for some food at Cow Corner. I have my heart set on a Bloody Mary, but my dreams are dashed. A G+T is an acceptable substitute. Vicki has a 4 cheese omelette, and I tuck into a chorizo pulao - which is both hot and very tasty. It’s also huge. I don’t quite make my way all the way through it, but give it a decent go. We befriend a little cat who we christen Rufus. He sleeps contentedly next to us.

    Our room is being cleaned back at the hotel, so we sit by the pool for a while. I’m feeling pretty jaded, and suspect a nap is in my future…

    23:30
    Nap didn’t happen, but I enjoyed having a rest, write and read. We head out at 17:30 to walk over to Palolem. The walk is much easier, now we actually know where we’re going. We park at Art Resort for sundowners. The sunset isn’t particularly promising, but ends up being pretty spectacular. Crazy beautiful colours after the sun has dipped below the horizon.

    Dinner is at Dropadi with Double D. We’ve been looking forward to this. Dropadi is, for us, the best seafood restaurant in Palolem. We’ve been visiting the restaurant for upwards of 15 years, and have always been incredibly well fed. Our waiter brings some kingfish out to us to choose. There’s one that is the perfect size for the two of us. We share a starter of crab butter with toast. Exactly as it sounds. Delicious. Darron has a Cafreal prawn dish - a hot and spicy powerhouse. When our kingfish arrives, it is sensational. So beautifully cooked, moist and flaky, and a suitably hot tandoori marinade. Tremendous.

    We jump in a tuk-tuk back to Patnem, and head to Round Cube for a nightcap. It’s not long before we’re ready for more sleeps…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    2

    Day 21 - Leper Valley

    27 янв.–9 февр., Индия ⋅ 🌙 24 °C

    17:00
    I sleep pretty well again. Close to 8 hours, and only waking around 08:20. My stomach has been well behaved all night. There are still some cramps kicking around, but I think it’s the wind-down from the worst of it. Hope so, at any rate. I wake Vicki at the agreed 09:30, but realistically she’s not quite ready for today. She eventually wakes up at 10:30, and is on far finer form.

    We head up to Cow Corner for some breakfast, only to find it’s closed on Mondays. We’d largely forgotten what day of the week it was. We head to Sea View instead, and have some pretty decent omelettes for breakfast. We’ve no firm plans until this evening, so spend some lazy time on the balcony outside our room, in the pool (me), and just generally chilling out.

    Around 14:00, Vicki proposes a drink on the beach, and who am I to disagree with such sound judgement. We park at Round Cube, and watch the world go by.

    We end up staying a few hours, and having some food. I have my first Goan prawn curry of the trip, and it’s fantastic. Hot with chilli powder, sour with tamarind, earthy with cumin. Mopped up with some steamed rice and tandoor roti, it’s quite the dish. Vicki revisits the Haryali chicken kebab she had a few days back, and it’s also in the very very good category.

    Round Cube sits next to a street of shops that runs down to the beach, with some steps at the bottom of the road. While we’re hanging out, we hear something that sounds similar to a crow, but is not quite. When Vicki goes to investigate, it turns out to be an ultra-drunk tourist. He’s apparently been hitting the spirits pretty hard today, and is trying to commune with the many birds that occupy the nearby rooftops… He also sings. Very, very poorly.

    03:00
    Wow. This place is incredible. There’s something life affirming about raving outdoors, particularly in the heat of the tropics. We arrive at Leopard Valley (or as Darron has christened it, Leper Valley) around 21:00, and are struck by the beauty of the place. It’s huge - must accommodate 1,000 people, easily. It’s far fancier than other clubs I’ve been to in Goa - a smart swimming pool (which no one is jumping in - yet), a funky bar area, a cool DJ booth. The bar serves Bira beer, and I try their White (wheat) beer. Several of them. DD pitch up around 22:00 with Annalea in tow. We cavort, we make merry. It’s very much fun. The music isn’t exactly my bag, but it’s fun enough to listen to, and I’m mainly here for the company. We meet some randoms, have some boogie, and the time passes effortlessly. Around 02:30, we decide we’ve perhaps had enough for the evening. We pour ourselves (me) into a cab (WOW), and make for Patnem.    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Jeff wine bottle holder!
    Solid 7.5/101Drinking extra gravy from a bowl = de rigeur.1Pheeeeeesh.

    Day 20 - Roasting Hot Sunday...

    26 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 25 °C

    17:00
    The swings and roundabouts of Irvine sleeping are in full effect. I have a cracking sleep, much needed. Nearly 9 hours, which is going some for me. I wake up around 09:30, and gently nudge Vicki, as we’ve agreed an early (relatively) morning to get out and have breakfast. She is not best pleased. It transpires the 40 hours of sleep she’s had over the past three nights have caught up with her. She couldn’t sleep until 04:30 last night, and needs more naps before the day can start. We ultimately decide on a waking time of around 11:30, and when that time comes to pass, she’s in a much happier place.

    My stomach appears to be behaving itself today, which is not so much a relief, as just very welcome. Was getting a little bored of the tummy jips. Around 14:15, we head over to Agonda, to meet DoubleD, Worzel and Zoe for lunch. We’re aiming for Kopi Desa, run by a European couple, and apparently serving a half-decent Sunday roast. Now, I’m not convinced by this. Our roast season in the UK runs from maybe September until April/May time. Roasts outside of that window are absolutely permitted, but they tend to be a rarity. BBQ is our summertime food king. So the idea of a full on Sunday roast in temperatures that promise to hit 35C today? Not so immediately attractive.

    Kopi Desa is a cool little place. We sit and wait for 15 minutes for the others, because we don’t know in whose name the booking is. There’s a booking at 15:00 for 6 people in the name of ‘Adam’ but we can’t be sure if that’s Wurzel or not. It transpires it is. While we wait, I have a cracking mocktail called a Basil Smash - basil, mint, pineapple and ginger. Delish.

    The food menu is varied, and there’s a ton of stuff I like the sound of, but I’m not here to be a spoilsport. I do the decent thing, and order roast lamb, which I suspect will be roast goat. When the food arrives, I’m more than pleasantly surprised. The meat is tender and very tasty, the potatoes are better than a lot that I’ve had in pubs in the UK, the gravy is meaty and has great depth of flavour, the Yorkshire is a pretty good example. It does feel a little strange eating this most British of meals in the Tropics, but I can’t fault the effort. I manage a couple of beers with my food as well. Not entirely sure how that’ll pan out later, but it’s part of my strategy to test how my stomach’s doing.

    Chatting to DD, it sounds like a bunch of people have been sick the past few days, so I’m not alone. Lots of upset stomachs, some fevers, some vomiting. It could be that we’ve coincidentally caught some food poisoning from a dodgy batch of ice at one of the party venues, but most are beginning to think there’s a sickness bug doing the rounds of the party attendees… I briefly wonder whether I’ve brought the bug I had in Agra down to Goa with me, but keep that one to myself.

    22:05
    My stomach seems to be coping well with what I’ve thrown at it so far today, so I head out around sunset to catch up with DD, Vicks, Worzel, Zoe and some of the other party people. The sunset is a spectacular one. There’s a fishing boat on the sand in front of us, and the sun is setting just to one side of it. It’s a brilliantly clear evening, and we witness the sun taking its final steps beneath the horizon. Very special.

    We have a few drinks. I read a little, we chat a little. It’s a very easy going pace of life. There’s some football showing in the bar - a Spurs game I think. Not interested…

    Vicks and I decide we’re a little peckish, and probs wanna eat something this evening. We’re right next door to Casa Fiesta, who we think do the best BBQ fish on Patnem Beach. Their display is, as ever, awesome to look at. Countless snappers, bass, and prawns. A couple of smaller kingfish that we briefly wonder if we could manage between us. A huge bluefin tuna = easily 1.8m long, and a big kingfish, maybe 1.2m. We opt for a snapper. We’ve not had a whole fish on the BBQ since we arrived, and they look particularly good tonight.

    It is. A brilliant, brilliant piece of fish. Served on the bone as a whole fish, and crisped up beautifully on the BBQ. The tandoori marinade complements without overpowering. Just a sensational bit of cookery, and a sensational meal. A few fireworks are set off just down the beach from us. Most power into the sky, and detonate far above us. One seems to be a bit of a damp squib, and explodes all too close to the ground for our liking.

    Big day tomorrow, and my beloved needs to top up on her sleep, so early night for us…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels

    Day 19 - Welcome to Brown Town.

    25 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 26 °C

    22:00
    It’s highly possible that feeling much better yesterday led me to go at it a little harder than I perhaps should have. This devil-may-care attitude has come back to bite me in the figurative and literal ass. My stomach spends most of the day cramping, at times very painfully. My diet today consists of plain rice, water and flat carbonated drinks. Not the very funnest of days.

    On the up side, Vicki banks a further 13 hours of sleep, Debbie unblocks her Chakras, and the time that I DO spend out of the room is of the most chilled out and blissful type.

    Here’s hoping it’s Sunday funday tomorrow…

    Didn’t take any pics today, so am stealing one of my beloved’s instead.    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Teeny kitties!
    Andrex!THE Sasha? In Goa? AGAIN?Bira Blonde = WIN.Not quite Storm Eowyn, but still quite breezy.21Okra Masala = banging.

    Day 18 - Feet in the Sand

    24 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 23 °C

    16:45
    I sleep pretty well, and only wake at 08:30. Vicki, predictably, sleeps better, and only wakes around 11:00. Magical. At some point on this trip, she’ll stop sleeping 10+ hours per night, but it’s a ways off yet…

    We head out for a late breakfast to Cow Corner. I want another of those Choris omelettes, and I want Vicki to meet Andrex the dog. Success on both fronts. We also meet 4 cats. None of the cats are ‘big’ over here. Adults weight perhaps 2kg tops. The kittens are particularly scrawny. Our boys at home could comfortably eat any of them as a mid-morning snack. They’re awesomely cute though, and one of the 4 we meet today is a very shouty boy.

    Post ‘breakfast’ (it’s nearly 13:00), it’s time for hat shopping and beering - not in that order. We try and get a card advance from the main money changer in Patnem, and are told it’s a no go. We’ve got enough cash to last until tomorrow, but we’ll need to head over to Chaudi in the morning. I have a couple of Bira Blondes at Round Cube while Vicks tucks into an iced coffee. There’s a much stronger breeze on the beach today. The sea close into the beach is MUCH choppier, and a flag down at the waterfront is rippling in the wind. Vicks successfully haggles a hat down from 500 INR (£5) to 300, and is pleased with herself.

    Back at our room, I decide it’s probably time for a nap. I read for a while, before drifting into a blissfully deep sleep for a little over an hour. My alarm wakes me with a bit of a jolt, and from a slightly bizarre dream.

    Probs time for a quick shower, then over to Palolem for sunset….

    23:15
    What a fun evening!

    We pick up Debbie, who’s having a cocktail at Namaste, and proceed to walk over to Palolem via Colomb Bay. It’s 17:30, and the raw heat of the day has passed. It’s still beautifully warm, but cooling. We get a little lost clambering over the hill between Patnem and Palolem, but not disastrously so.

    We emerge onto the very southern tip of Palolem beach as the sun starts its sprint for the horizon. We park at up Art Resort, that I visited on Sunday. Debs and I share a bottle of Chenin Blanc and Vicki is delighted to find an alcohol free Heineken available. We collectively fill our boots.

    Darron’s not feeling his very brightest and shiniest, so we crack on with some food without him. A veritable feast arrives - okra masala, palak paneer, a few different chicken kebabs, and lashings of bread fresh from the tandoor. It’s quite the dinner.

    Debbie accidentally orders us another bottle of wine to share, and I’m beginning to see where the evening is headed.

    Sated, and noticing that time is creeping on, we walk the full length of Palolem Beach (about a mile) to the very North end, to a place that used to be called Dreamcatcher, and which is now called Feather Touch. Walking down Palolem Beach at night is an eye opener. There’s a LOT more neon lighting than there used to be, and many of the businesses look a lot more permanent and fancy than they once did. Many retain their slightly dishevelled charm though.

    We hear the party long before we see it. There’s maybe 250 people here - average age I’d say is mid 50s, and it’s properly bouncing. Feel good, happy house music. Bit of a moment when the DJ (Simon Dunmore) drops Prince’s Controversy, one of my (and Vicki’s) all time favourite records. Some of the DJing is a touch agricultural, but it’s a party atmosphere. No-one could give less of a shit.

    We meet a random guy called Steve, who originates from Birmingham, but who has lived in Goa for the past 8 years. Amongst various other topics of conversation, he invites me to spend the day with him tomorrow, feeding chicken carcasses to birds of prey - kites, eagles, the occasional osprey. Can’t say I’m not tempted.

    Debbie gets chatted up by some American idiot, who decides that her declaration of, “I’ve got a life partner who’s not feeling well,” is an open invitation to have a crack. Wanker.

    There’s an after-party on till 03:00 in the middle of Palolem but Vicks and I are both ready for sleeps. We jump in a tuk-tuk back to Patnem, and are headed for bed not long after 23:00…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Not terrible.Chilling in the sun...Sweet, sweet dance moves.

    Day 17 - The Incredible Sleeping Wife...

    23 января, Индия ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C

    14:30
    She’s awake, she’s awake!

    After a shade over 15 hours of sleep, my beloved wife is awake, and ready to take on (what’s left of) the day. She has an innate ability to sleep like this. We both think the last time she did so was when we were in Bangkok back in April, and had had a long overnight journey with not much sleep, preceded by a hectic few days (for her) of work before departure. She’s a bloody marvel, a freak of nature, a sleep thief.

    I, on the other hand, have been awake since 08:00. Had a slightly ropey night’s sleep, and had to get up at 02:00 for a somewhat emergent bathroom trip. Couple more visits through the night. Nothing too horrific - but probably just something I’ve eaten or drunk that’s not quite sitting as planned in my stomach. I feel a touch jaded this morning as a result, but need to get over to Chaudi, the nearest town, to get some more cash. The reluctance of local bars and restaurants to accept cards means that I need to top up.

    The ATMs are India a bit hit and miss. I find one in Chaudi that will accept my card, but will only allow me to withdraw 10,000 INR at a time. That’s about £90, and won’t last long. I’ll check out the money exchangers at Patnem Beach, to see if any of them can do a cash advance on one of my credit cards.

    I’m back at Patnem by 11:20, less than 30 minutes after I left. I said I’d give Vicki another hour or so of sleep while I’m out. I’m not quite feeling up to food, but have a masala chai and a banana lassi, on the basis that some caffeine would be nice, and the curd in the lassi should be good for the tum.

    Around 12:00, I head back to our room to find Vicki in the deepest of sleeps. I figure that if you can’t beat them… I wake up around 90 minutes later, and gently nudge Vicki to life. She declares that she needs one more 30 minute nap, and then she’ll be ready to go. She wakes for what I think/hope will be the final time at 14:10. It’s an extraordinary achievement. One of her very, very finest.

    22:55
    My stomach’s still not in the very best of conditions. Not tragically broken, but I’m taking it easy today. Shortly after Vicki wakes, we pad down to the beach in search of a very late breakfast / moderately late lunch. The guys at Round Cube do well - my palak paneer is the best I’ve tried yet. The beach feels quite quiet today, and we find ourselves wondering whether the Wednesday party at Kala Bahia was a late one for many.

    We decide to forego the sunset party at Agonda, and focus on rest today. I have a couple of minor toilet incidents, but feel well / confident enough to hit the beach to watch sunset. It’s a belter. Incredible colours. We watch it from the laid back comfort of Om Shanti’s beachfront deck, and it’s quite the breath-taker.

    We’re both peckish, so order some food. A plain fried rice for me (in the interests of stomach recovery), and a chicken curry for Vicks. BOSH.

    Vicks pops out around 21:00 to meet Darron and Debs for a quick drink. They’ve somewhat bizarrely found somewhere on Agonda Beach that serves a competent Sunday Roast. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but we’ll head over there Sunday to check it out…

    By 22:30, we’re both flagging. Vicki’s been awake for almost 8 hours straight, and is urgently in need of more sleeps…    Читать далее

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  • Tim's TravelsIndia - Jan/Feb 2025Tim's Travels
    Andrex! Destroying a plant.
    Happy, smiley, sunny Vicki...2 cows walk into a bar...1

    Day 16 - Fresh Meat.

    22 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 23 °C

    12:15
    I sleep pretty well - sans Zopiclone in the end. Not that I decided against it, but just completely forgot to take one. I wake up around 07:00 feeling pretty bright-eye and bushy-tailed. I check on Vicks’ flight, which is somewhere over the Arabian peninsula, and looks to be arriving a little ahead of schedule. I mooch for a while, and head out around 09:00 for some breakfast, to a cool little bijou place called Cow Corner. They have a very cute little puppy, who I immediately christen Andrex.

    It’s only a 300m walk from our hotel, but the sun is already beating down. Feels like a warm one today. Breakfast is a Goan sausage omelette, and is delicious. Goa was colonised by the Portuguese from 1510 to 1961, and there remain some clear links to Iberia - in the language, food and culture. Choris is a locally made pork sausage, which shares a ton of DNA with xorico/chorizo from Iberia. Air-drying meat doesn’t work brilliantly well in the humidity of Goa, so the tradition has become to pickle the meat in vinegar before it’s stuffed into a pig gut to mature. It’s flavoured with chilli powder, paprika, garlic, ginger and cumin. Here, they’ve been crumbled and fried to a crunchy finish, and added to a fluffy omelette. Banging.

    I meander back to the hotel to get packed up. The reception folks weren’t entirely committal on what time I could get into our new room, but I’m hopeful It won’t be long past midday.

    Contact from Vicki! She’s landed, navigated her way through immigration, and is in her cab heading southwards. It’s a good couple of hours from the new airport in the North of Goa, so we’ll hopefully see her around 14:00. Maybe I should kill some time by heading out for a beer. Oooh - Rosé in the fridge! That’ll do…

    22:30
    I write this as Vicki lies next to me in bed, gently purring as she sleeps. Bless - she’s had a tough day. She arrives a little after 14:00, and it’s great to see her! It’s also slightly strange, being 5,000 miles from home when we meet. I don’t *think* we’ve ever done anything quite like this before - travelling separately, and meeting in such a far-flung location. She’s managed a few hours of sleep en-route, including a good doze in the cab down from Manohar Airport, but I suspect today will be a low-powered one.

    We head out for some lunch, and pitch up at Namaste, on the beach. Vicki’s on the lookout for alcohol free drinking options, but I’ve not seen any since I arrived in Goa a few days ago. She makes do with a banana lassi today, and declares it delicious. A lassi is part smoothie, part milkshake, and uses yoghurt as its base. V tasty. Vicki has a palak paneer, and also declares this delicious. I opt for a chicken xacuti, a wonderfully complex and smoky curry that’s indigenous to Goa. I’ve cooked it at home, and can attest to the complexity of the spice blend used in the curry. My recipe uses 18 different spices or flavourings. Where I’d feared this would lead to a massively confused dish on the palate, the spices are actually added at various stages of marinading and cooking, meaning their flavours are distinguishable. The one I have today is awesome - hot with both fresh chilli and chilli powder, and comforting.

    There’s a party this afternoon on Colomb Bay, which sits between Patnem and Palolem beaches. We’re a bit non-plussed, as this has always felt like a bit of a hinterland to us, with much clambering across rocks needed to get from one to the other. We’re a little surprised (but not shocked) to find that there has been some significant development of the area. Several bars / restaurants, a small market, and some accommodation options. One of those new bars is Kala Bahia, the party venue. It’s a very cool spot, overlooking the water, with a decent sound system set-up. We arrive around 17:00 and pick up our event wrist-bands for the next week’s festivities. We grab a drink with Darron and Debbie.

    I have to head back to our room, as I’ve a work call / job interview this evening at 18:30. Vicks decides to come with me, as she’s flagging more than just a little after intercontinental travel.

    My interview is less interview, and more catch-up - with a couple of folks I used to work with at SHL. We quickly decide we’d like to do more of that, so get into specifics of what the job will look like, when I’ll start etc etc. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d had some nervousness about how quickly and readily I’d be able to rejoin the workforce. That’s largely based on having been out of the workplace for a little over 18 months, but also in no small part on the basis of age and relevance of experience. I’ve been humbled by the interest I’ve had in the past couple of weeks since updating my work status on LinkedIn to state that I’m open to work opportunities. I’d fully expected to take 3-4 months before finding the right role, culture fit and purpose. Having done so before I’d even planned to start my job search is gratifying and satisfying.

    We collectively decide that heading back to the party at Kala Bahia is off. Vicks needs a really good sleep overnight to fully recharge her batteries, so she can go fresh at it from tomorrow. I briefly think about leaving her to sleep, and heading over on my own, but I’ve not had a nap this afternoon, so decide instead that a quick visit to the beach to eat some banging fresh fish is in order. We share a kingfish fillet and a couple of monster tandoori prawns. SO good. We womble/wobble back to our hotel, and Vicki declares she’s going for a MINIMUM of double digits of hours of sleep. I set an emergency alarm for 10:00. HOLD TIGHT.    Читать далее

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