• Tim's Travels

India - Jan/Feb 2025

Trying not to get mugged this time. Lue lisää
  • Day 26 - Fond Farewells. Fish. Frolics.

    1. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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.
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  • Day 27 - The Saddest Goodbye

    2. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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…
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  • Day 28 - A Looooooooong Day.

    3. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ ⛅ 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.
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  • Day 29 - Matheran = Surprisingly Hilly.

    4. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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…
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  • Day 30 - Heading for Wine Country

    5. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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…
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  • Day 31 - Аҩы ҳақәгәыӷуеит.

    6. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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.
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  • Day 32 - To Aurangabad! Eventually...

    7. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ ☀️ 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….
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  • Day 33 - Caves and Ting

    9. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ ☀️ 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…
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  • Day 34 - Bleurgh. Lurgy. All change...

    9. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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.
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  • Day 35 - Homeward Bound...

    10. helmikuuta, Intia ⋅ 🌙 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…
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  • India? Tim? Or both?

    12. helmikuuta, Englanti ⋅ ☁️ 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…
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    14. helmikuuta 2025