The Unforgettable Backpack.

24th April 2013

Bangkok, Thailand. It’s one of the worlds exciting cities and has that legendary anything goes attitude that travellers have embraced over the years. Although it still has those same attractions, its not the once cheap as home brand chips place anymore. But hey, we are here to have fun.

We first came here together back in February, after our trip to Jordan. Our purpose for coming was to have our India visa processed and while waiting we would travel about some of the country for two weeks, albeit a leisurely pace.

We had been on the go for a few months since our last “rest stop” in Ireland, so we settled on a week lazing about a nice and little bit fancy Bangkok Hotel. It was in an area I cant recall the name of; fairly non descript and located under an expressway, but across from a homely restaurant we called home for a few days, thanks to its offerings of the exquisite cuisine that everyone loves, Thai Food.

The hotel had a nice pool to cool us off from the city heat, although it was more like a bathtub thanks to its miniscule size, just without the rubber duckies. It was located in the car park of the hotel, and next to a 7 eleven, which was handy as we could jump out of the pool and pop into the store to stock up on some cold beers. I chose one king brown, which I thought, was lager, and brought it back poolside. I was stoked as it was half price compared to the usual Chang bottles, but this was because it wasn’t actually beer, but rice wine. Still, it had a percentage, which has been significant to some AA admissions of late, so we necked it, and suffered the consequences.

There is always something to do in Bangkok. There are many different areas you can find yourself in and be entertained in whatever way you wish. One of these hubs is Banglampu, or Koh San Road, the famous backpacker and budget area of Thailand’s capital.

The area is filled with cheap digs, street food vendors, non-stop bars, knock off watch and clothing stalls and fake ID shops. Its illuminated by neon and its buildings are seemingly held together by thousands of power lines snaking across the streets and back alleys. Its traveller central, and its quite possible that you could meet someone from every nationality on earth here on Koh San Rd.

Patpong is another highlight of Bangkok.  It is the red light area and tittie-bar and lady boy central, but that’s not why we came here. Although the offers from touts of the opportunity to catch Ping-Pong balls fired from the local ladies in your mouth did seem very inviting. When not shrugging off the invites for happy hours, happy ending massages or unique smoke ring demonstrations, we would be meandering past the vendors selling everything from ”real” Rolexes, pirate DVD’s and “Super Penetrating Dildos”. It’s an eye, and no doubt other parts, opening area, but away from that there are the usual collections of awesome street food that no one seems to be able to do like the Thais do.

At the beginning of our second week we headed north on a slow and laborious train to Chiang Mai.

The journey takes you through some splendid countryside scenery of lush green rice paddy fields, high mountains adorned with prized temples and other pretty Buddhist temples with monkeys, the kind that steal your fruit and cameras. The train was comfortable enough; in fact lunch was even included, and arrived into Chiang Mai three hours behind schedule. We were lucky in our seat choice, as some poor girls in the opposite aisle had a family of cockroaches to entertain, as they had set up residence in the tray stow hatch in front of them. We laughed a little but then cursed the stupid poetic justice when we had those exact same seats on the return journey a week later, bugs and all.

Chiang Mai is on every travellers itinerary, although I’m not sure why. The city itself gets my vote for the most overrated on the planet. It’s all guesthouses, travel agents and happy hour bars. Why people linger in the town itself is a mystery to me. It has a few bits of the old wall remaining but hardly enough to keep interest for more than six minutes. Its traffic choked and dusty. It generally takes about ten attempts at flagging a tuk-tuk as usually the first nine have tried to rip you off with their extortionate fares. What it does have that is of interest is that it’s a gateway to further travel in the South East Asian region, and in fact the hill areas around Chiang Mai are stunning and well worth a visit.

We rented a cheap moped (often renting a moped for a day was cheaper than getting a couple of tuk-tuks and took our time in the region, popping into see some peaceful parks with cool, fresh waterfalls, and watching some elephants play some darts. After eight hours we returned to the misery of the too big for itself Chiang Mai. Refreshingly, we did have a mosquito infested guesthouse by the river which was run by the very amiable Mr Something or other who spoke perfect Thainglish but for five days we had no idea what he was talking about.

Cooking schools are popular in Thailand, and rightly so. The opportunity to learn from the best is irresistible. We took the opportunity in Chiang Mai. A full day course allowed us to escape the dreariness of the city. In a class of sixteen students, we were ready with the freshest ingredients, purchased by ourselves an hour before class from the local farmers market, with all equipment and a master chef. Each dish was as fabulous as the one before it, and we ate in culinary style on mats in the lounge. The lessons were simple and easy to understand, even for a kitchen idiot like myself who usually sticks a pie in the microwave and call success when I don’t have to reset the timer for an extra 45 seconds. For Kylie, who already cooks super Thai food at home, it was another string to her bow.

We received an email that our India visa was ready and that we should come to the madness that is the embassy (our foresight perhaps to the real thing?), so we headed south to Bangkok, and spent a few more nights in the Koh San Rd area, drinking cheap beer and eating green curry and planning a trip using our photocopied fake India Lonely Planet. This is Bangkok, after all.

We returned to Bangkok on the 14^th April right in the middle of Songkran, the Water Festival, celebrated as part of the festivities of the Thai New Year. It is arguably the best party on the planet. Thousands of Thai’s hit the streets to celebrate, with Koh San Rd the hosting the biggest gathering of them all. Revellers unite with water; bottles, pistols, buckets, hoses, you name it, if it carries and shoots or throws water, it was being used and everyone was fair game. We arrived into the furnace of festivities and the flood at peak hour, which is difficult to pinpoint exactly what stroke of the clock this was as the party goes on twenty-four seven for three days. Stupidly, we asked the cabbie to drop us off at the entry to Koh San Rd. He shook his head and smiled, and wished us luck as he watched us in the rear view mirror, entering the fray, loaded with our backpacks, all of our stuff. It took about three minutes for us to become soggy, waterlogged and saturated. We were sitting ducks to the hordes, which took every opportunity to unleash on us. We did our best to part the dense crowds, high on excitement and euphoria, jumping along to the live rock bands and techno reverberating from the streets. Eventually, the flow took us to our guesthouse, who were half expecting we would be this wet. Best in this situation just to dump our stuff, and get back onto the streets and join in the celebration, which went all night.

The following day, we were up early, grabbed a feed, some cans of beer, and hit the street for the final day of Songkran. We armed ourselves with some discarded water guns left by a temple rubbish bin, and went on the offensive. Our main targets for the day were the poor fuckers who rocked up with backpacks. And children were easy targets too. And anyone of Indian origin.

The party lasted all day, and all night. We drank and drank and passed out after a day of high energy and all our raucous exhilaration. At approximately 4am we still heard the noise. The party was still going.  Sore heads and sore bodies meant easy, empty streets the next day.

Just for kicks, we decided to turn a one-hour flight to the beach into an eleven-hour shitfuck. We managed to save about $100 by going the good old budget carrier, which although will keep your wallet in better shape for a night on the Changs, it will drive you insane. We awoke at 3am to get a 4am bus on Koh San Rd, driven at twice the safe speed limit by someone who may or may not have been on amphetamines, to the budget airport hub. Our ultimate destination was to be Koh Samui, but Air Asia don’t actually fly there, so they go to somewhere else, the name of the place I cant remember and in fact don’t think I ever knew in the first place, but it starts with an N. Or it could be a number 6. From Somewhereville, we took a three-hour bus to a pier from where we would take a two-hour ferry to Koh Samui, from where we would take a one-hour truck to our hotel. At 2pm, we said never again.

We were in Koh Samui for a very special occasion, which was my brothers wedding. He and his wife were to exchange vows in a surprise ceremony on the island. Of course we had known about this for quite a while, as I was lucky enough to be a groomsman and Kylie was my super hot date. And it coincided with the end of our trip, so were super keen to join in their five star fun. My family had also come over from Australia so it was also the opportunity of a reunion of some sort. There was also a mouse in our rubbish bin, so memories of India came back to us in a flash.

The Bucks day and night included bouncing off water at high speed after failing to stay on banana boats behind a speedboat. Actually quite difficult after many beers. As is football golf, which is what you think it is, in that you kick a round football into a giant golf hole. We managed 4 holes out of 18.  Later that night, a visit to the epic strength that is Muay Thai boxing was a highlight. The groom to be avoided a bout of his own when he commandeered the ring and the announcer’s microphone to offer a rendition of a John Farnham hit. And of course there were truckloads of beer. There was a stripper, who didn’t actually strip, so she may need to seek other career interests.

The Hens day and night involved day spas and sunset cruises and cocktails of the magnificent, pristine coast of Koh Samui.  And of course the hens pecked at the nightlife and many drinks were had at a lady boy cabaret show and the girls arranged a stripper who did get his gear off.

Recovering the next day around the pool in the humid conditions was easy.

Late the following afternoon, the ceremony was held at Mae Nam, an idyllic spot on the northern coast of the island. The kids got married amongst fireworks and friends and family and will enjoy Thailand as a honeymoon as well.

And for our travels, that is that.

Eleven months ago we left Brisbane for Guatemala and began our Spanish lessons. We drank Mexican wine on barrels in San Cristobal and confused apples with mustard in Panama. We were the first to footprint deserted islands in the Caribbean and read comic books under high altitude in Colombia. We swam with sea lions and sharks on the Galapagos and fell into the same pub to taste irresistible beer three times in one night in Ecuador. We explored the side streets of Peru’s plentiful Plaza De Armas’ and bribed our way into the staggering salt flats of Bolivia. We caught snowflakes together in Chile and drank whisky off Patagonian ice near the very south of the continent. We let tender beef melt in our mouths in Argentina with the crazy, passionate football fans, and caught a glimpse of Jesus in Brazil. We didn’t attempt Gaelic in the far reaches of Ireland and froze through the historical back lanes of Hungary. We kept warm in the 500 year old Czech pubs and rode the Red Arrow in Russia. We threw snowballs to the dogs in Slovakia and became stranded on the Polish border. We set sail down the Nile for what seemed like endless enchanting nights in Egypt and marvelled at the sights despite the flooded canyons of Jordan’s Petra.  We crossed the cultural extravaganza from Europe to Asia in Turkey and proposed our lives together in India.

We travelled by plane, car, bus, truck, rickshaw, tuk tuk, boat, ship, train, motorcycle, moped and sometimes, we even walked. The distances have often been far, but cannot stretch further than the lifetime of memories we have gathered, collected and shared on our ultimate trip.  We have met lifelong friends along the roads we travelled down, even the ones by rickety bus.

And today, we are heading home, and the backpacks, will be put away.

For now. For the unforgettable is redeemable.

The Adventures of Kylie's Cat

13th April 2013

Pooh would always win the hide and seek games

Agra, and another railway station where the entire population seemed to be wanting to catch a train out of there (or that’s where the homeless live, who knows?). So we mingled into the pack and found our train that was taking us south towards a little adventure.

The pants thief had found another victim

We had a 2AC cabin again, but this time the beds were on the side, as opposed to a 4-berth cabin that has much more space than the side. Essentially, you have to learn to lie flat for ten hours due to the fact that there is no room to turn around or shuffle about. They are about 5 foot 9 inches in length; so ok for the average person but anyone who tends to graze the clouds will have an even more restless night on Indian trains, if that’s at all possible. Originally, I was meant to be in a four-berth cabin while Kylie was on the side, but we managed to change so that we were together. However, another Indian passenger made that decision for me, by stealing my bed. Right in front of my nose, he waltzed into the four-berth and re-visited the ill-fated planking craze and stayed there all night. This is not uncommon in India; unless you are chained to something, a bed, bus seat, earth, that thing is not yours, despite what your ticket or any human rights convention says so.

The blind monkey would never cross the road

Having a funny tummy is common in India, in fact it’s expected. And we have obliged many a time here. In fact, in the rare event of a solid stool or feeling of perfection for more than 24 hours, we will consider admitting ourselves to emergency to rectify that abnormality. We learn to handle things with good doses of Imodium and the occasional antibiotic bought off of the clandestine pharmacy on the side of the street, which may in fact be sugar cubes. The trick is to control things and hope that you don’t get crook on a public transport journey, especially a train, which would then mean frequent visits to the on-board facilities, which is actually just a hole in the train floor that opens over the tracks and becomes lunch for the cows and dogs of the rural areas we passed through. Unfortunately for both of us, a dodgy pasta, possible full of poison or simply just prepared with the usual lack of hygiene we ate from a guesthouse before boarding, decided to make quick exits at 2am, 4am, and 6am.

I also managed to destroy part of the train. During my need for a quick escape from bed, I was unable to find the step down from the top bunk, so I decided that I would leap onto the floor and grab hold of what looked like a solid curtain railing parallel to my bunk. As the other passengers the length of the cabin found out when they were awoken in the middle of the night with an almighty crash, it was not so secure at all, and came apart with ease as the curtains and shingles all slid off the railing towards the central meeting point which was my hand. I let go of the evidence and ran and tried to claim innocence, and upon returning when the scene was calmer, noticed that a young lady from the bunk next to me had already started the repair work. I shook my head in disgust at the actions of this culprit, and snuck back into my bunk and tried to get some sleep while she got on with the job.

The mutant Bambi. All horn, no head

With sunrise came the obligatory views out of the carriage window of locals shitting on the side of the tracks and waving to us with their poo hand. A short time later we arrived in Katni, blight on the planet in the middle of Madhya Pradesh state in the middle of India. From here it was another three hours by road to our destination, but instead of taking the bumpy road by bus, we took the bumpy road by a pre arranged AC car, and sat back and enjoyed. The driver had some interesting adult DVD covers on the seat that he forgot to cover up. Bollywood Man Love seemed to be his favourite genre.

The purpose of our visit here was to spot some tigers in the Bandhavgarh National Park, world famous and home to some thirty odd beautiful big cats who were verging on the point of extinction not so long ago. Brilliant conservation efforts from the authorities here have led to a slow but steady increase in numbers of the years and now all can enjoy them.

Luxury tent porch, great for spotting nothing

We decided on a lap of luxury for this part of our trip. We ditched the simple lodgings and arranged for three days in the purpose built Monsoon Resort, nestled in scrub and bushland just outside the buffer zone of the National Park. Our home was a luxury tent with possibly the world’s most comfortable bed, and as far away from honking traffic and Indian noise as one could wish to be. All meals were all taken care of, so it is simply a superb opportunity to relax in comfort and enjoy the elegant natural surroundings that the national park has to offer, including a good supply of wildlife such as Langur and Rhesus monkeys and Kingfisher birds. There is a local village nearby where elephants roam and children only let you pass as long as you take their photo and show it to them on your digital screen. They then fix you up with a fresh papaya and cheerily send you on your way.  The resort even has a nice cold pool to relax by, essential as the daytime temperatures here are blitzing into the high forties at the moment.

Now it was Tiggers turn to hide

At 5am each morning the wake up call sounded to gather into waiting jeeps and head deep into the park on safari, to track down and view tigers. On the first two days we had no luck, such is the rule of the wild. We crossed bumpy tracks and followed footprints of the cats, and although some others on jeeps caught fleeting glimpses or prolonged scenes of feline mastery, we were unlucky. Although we were thrilled to have caught the rare sight of a family of Sloth Bears, complete with back-riding cubs, five in all. Even the guide and driver were super excited, as it’s extremely difficult to spot the bears in this type of situation. No sooner had they flashed upon us than they disappeared into the forest.

On the second day our lack of luck continued and we seemed to be driving around aimlessly, hoping a tiger would understand our plight and show his stripy face soon. After a dusty and incessantly hot 4 hours in the park, we returned to camp, dejected. We had only pre-booked two safaris; we thought that that would be adequate as this is the optimum time of the year to find tigers, and it can be difficult to arrange safaris locally at last minute. After some asking around, there was a spare jeep and permits into the park, and that afternoon we headed to a different section, more lush and marshy, with more shade and waterholes where the tigers liked to hang out.

The fans clearly found out that cheap seats didn't have the best views

An hour into the safari the driver heard a rumour that there was a tigress by the lake in another part of the park. This part was actually in the off limits section, but he turned to us and said “Hold on, we have to drive fast to get there, its illegal to be there, but who cares, lets go!” And fast did he drive. He motored through the narrowed tracks, barely missing trees and sending Spotted Deer and Wild Chickens scurrying over the forest floor. We even became airborne at times, as this adventure clicked up a gear. Eventually we arrived at his secret spot, as did seven other jeeps with the same message. And there in the short distance, was a thing of remarkable beauty like few other animals on earth. Resplendent in her black and orange suit, and her white chest. She strolled with poise and grace through the grass, stopping at times to look around at the interested human onlookers. She has the elegance and sophistication like no other. She rules these parts and has the looks to match her regal lines. But then again, she is still a cat, and proved it by slumping into the grass, and rolling on her back, exposing that stunning white undercoat. Her paws were shadow boxing the air, only returning occasionally to her face for a cleansing lick. Her long black tail was busy brushing flies away, and probably beggars, and every now and then she would return to her haunches and look around the place, only to return again to her playful state. All while a bunch of people looked on in awe and wonder.  I think she would have been equally as happy with a ball of yarn or a gecko on a string. We named her of course; Kylie's Cat was the best we could come up with at short notice.

Just before sunset and before we were required to leave the park and avoid the rangers ire, she rose and danced towards a cackling crow who was giving her the shits with all its useless noise. One glare into the tree from this feline and the chatter had abated, and the crow took off. One beast rules these parts. Know it.

Tiger in the rear view mirror means driver faster

We returned to camp on a high, after all, when we decided to go to India at that planning stage years ago, the number one reason was to spot the wild and elusive tigers in their natural habitat. It’s a shame we didn’t get to witness a kill, Christ, there were enough useless deer to feed on, but you can’t have it all. Apart from the tiger, we also spotted the aforementioned deer, more packs of masturbating monkeys than you care to know about, packs of wild boars and a birders compendium of unique avian species.

The last day in camp was spent in relaxation, eating and lying about in our air conditioned luxury tent, which was more like a canvas palace rather than something you generally camp in, trying to escape the blistering heat, while we wait for our afternoon transfer with our porn loving driver to Katni railway station. We passed and ignored the rickshaw requests from the red-rotten toothed drivers, stained from the tobacco like substance that is Paan. You see many red blotches on pavements, walls and anywhere else other than a bin or handkerchief in India, and this is not blood, but due to the spitting that along with railroad defecation, staring and cricket, is a national sport of the country. In fact, even signs announcing “No Spitting” are generally covered in phlegm and pawn.

Spotting tigers...

Not spotting Tigers

Delhi, is the capital of India, and of course it is nuts. It also has the usual depraved levels of poverty that no nation, let alone a so-called “modern” one, should have. It’s dirty and overcrowded in parts and reeks of noise din. However, behind this there are some redeeming features around, a grand Red Fort, many historical temples (not that we visited, we are over temples… zzz) and inviting open spaces, as well as an extremely efficient metro transport system that rivals many other first world cities. Delhi also has cricket, and fans that are nuts for it. We spent a night at the phenomenon that is IPL cricket, and watched some of the worlds best players knock about as part of this moneymaking extravaganza.

The evil masturbating monkeys. Look away

Now, finally, our seven-week trip around India has come to an end.

India has a love hate relationship with those that visit here. That is, you either love it, or hate it. We are somewhere in between, although in honestly the fence has leant far more to the latter for the majority of the time. It’s not possible to fully appreciate a country unless you are prepared to immerse yourself into it. By this you see the world that is India from every possible angle, both agreeable and never going back. India has both splendour and sadness. It has simpleness and downright difficulty. It provokes memorable smiles and frustration and despair. It’s incredible, in every way. You will shake your head in amazement, disbelief and dismay, in both positive and negative ways. It is a world of contrasts.

For every opulent Maharaja palace there is a family born into fetid, soul rescinding poverty. For every tiger there is a limbless street dog.  For every delicious mouth-watering curry delicacy there is a night on the loo. For every serene moment watching one of the country’s stunning sunsets, there is a chaotic, deafening polluted din of being gridlocked in notorious streets of an overpopulated nation. For every charming chirp of the Kingfisher, India’s national bird, there is the incessant rickshaw horn. For every Taj Mahal there is a shit filled river flowing by it. 

For every rupee there is none.

India. Will we return? No. Will we advise others to come? Yes. Make of India what you will, but bring some very, very, very long tethers.

After all, attitudes may change. Basic distribution may equate. People may be able to feed and clothe themselves.

We can hope for miracles.

If you look, you will find what you want in India. Occasionally, you’ll get what you didn’t ask for, too. 

The future. Encourage it.

An Udaipur Engagement

10 April 2013

Udaipur, a special spot

The state of Rajasthan is one of the highlights of India. It is located in the west of India and incorporates lakes and deserts and brushes the Pakistani border. The meaning of the word Rajasthan itself is Land Of The Kings, and its clear that Maharajas of yesteryear and modern times preferred to live here in palaces and forts, and built in accordance, rather than hang about the slums of other parts of the country. Mind you, I suppose if one of the Royals had a strong desire to hang out in some filth then there may well be more castles down the dusty backstreets of Chennai.

Cows, or motorbikes, for rent

Our first stop was Udaipur, seen by many as the jewel in the Rajasthan crown. This pretty place is dotted with ultra romantic palaces around pretty blue mostly rubbish free lakes. The old town is a maze of tangled alleyways and silversmith bazaars, with rooftop cafes and restaurants offering delicious food and cold drinks while you imbibe in the incense wafting from the stalls below. It is a walled city, home to the City Palace, a magnificent fort in the centre of town, which used to house armies and battalions of lore, and now simply serves as a tourist site with some of the most majestic views in India. Udaipur is also heavy on the cows, the street rubbish eating types who serve no other purpose but to get in the way of everything. I feel they would be of better use and happier if they were grazing in a meadow or on my plate covered in green peppercorn sauce. Traffic reports in India must be judged and based on the amount of cows on the road, so it’s important to know this before setting out on a planned journey.

The cats resented the vodka shots the night before

We found a four-dollar a night pad by the Ghats, which is the tiered area on a lake where the locals do their laundry and usually bathe themselves too. Often at the same time to save some minutes.  It was good value as the room was quite big and the bed had an actual mattress, rather than just a miniscule layer of foam about as comfortable as lying on a slice of cheese on a cracker. But some of the staff consisted of the all too common leery men for which India has the unfortunate reputation of possessing. The staring, unabashed type who need some urgent lessons in the gallantry that is respect for women. Kylie often feels uncomfortable here with all the stares and I have taken to making eye contact and finger pointing with the lads to introduce them to the starting points. I think a giant fly swatter might be better. An electric one.

Udaipur is also famous for clothes, and Kylie had some pretty fancy dresses hand made at a fraction of the usual cost, but I declined the offer of having a suit made for 1000 rupees (approx. $16). I’m not sure the threads will be anything other than a shirt made of kitchen tidy bags. Great for when it rains at the footy though.

Heading further west, we reached Jodhpur, also known as the Blue City. Over the years, residents have painted their houses all shades of the sky and sea, and it makes for striking sights when standing atop the mega impressive and awesome fort which rules over this otherwise boring, smelly as dog-shit town. Seriously, it is magnificent, and was such a relief to discover and explore this magnificent fort and meander along its walls and ramparts and peer mightily over the city below. From up here it was easy to ignore the scenes of sewage leaking into the streets below, being licked up by stray dogs.

The Smurfs lived a pleasant life

Tetris, fun for all

From the Blue City we travelled by bus to Jaisalmer, further west close to the Pakistan border, and in the middle of the desert. It is a tiny place, but unique in the world that in the middle of nowhere, like an inviting oasis, stands a towering sandcastle like structure, being the fort. A massive, protecting sandstone ring of walls around the city, and within it, peaceful, cobbled medieval laneways, from where the incessantly honking rickshaw drivers are banned; this is an absolute God-send; but unfortunately the travel touts and 6 for 100 rupee anklet bell girls are still hanging about.  But it truly is an intriguing place.

The starving sand swallowed the camel whole

Hey there, so, um , whats up?

The idiot tourist was unable to try on the shirts properly

Desert Safari’s are the thing to get onto here. For a rather overpriced amount, you can be driven to some sand dunes out in the middle of the desert. These dunes are impressive for India but having come from the mighty sandy landscapes of Peru and Egypt on this trip, its almost like making a mountain out of the sand stuck in your bum crack after a lazy day at the beach. But, we found our way over them, by camel. Most of the humpers were scratching like lepers; they had been suffering some skin disease or some sand tic that required them to balance on three legs whilst they relieved themselves with the spare. Staying put on one was not so easy. After a delicious and substantial meal under the stars illuminating the desert sky, we headed back to town to a comfy bed while a few others toughed it out in the sand with the itchy camels.

The bully would never kick down this sandcastle

It was a big night out for pride dog.

Back in town, we discovered the Bhang Lassi shop, which is quite famous in Jaisalmer. The Bhang Lassi is a yoghurt and fruit drink laced with excessive amounts of wacky weed. Its perfectly legal but as we were moving on early the next day, we decided not to try and instead watched the stoners with skateboards float in and out of the shop. It’s really cheap, I’ve heard.

Bhang Lassis. Results are obvious in 7-10 days

Metalwork school 101

We really weren’t sure where to next. We didn’t actually plan on going to Jaisalmer in the first place. A man from Jaisalmer that ran our guesthouse in Jodhpur said it was an awesome place, because he was from Jaisalmer. So we took his advice and a bus and drifted into the sand. After the desert, we had planned to visit Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan and known as the Pink City, with yet another fort, but the man from Jaisalmer we met in Jodhpur who told us to go to Jaisalmer also said that Jaipur was ugly and to just spend time in Jaisalmer instead. So we took more of his advice and bypassed Jaipur, although our train ended up there, and after another excellent overnight trip we took the 6am connection to Agra.

People come to Agra for one reason, and that’s for the national monument and symbol of India (which is not a cow, a villager shitting in the creek or a honking madman in a rickshaw), but the Taj Mahal. Everyone on the planet knows what it looks like. It’s as iconic as the Statue of Liberty or Eiffel Tower, and it stands proudly as an ode to love, in the centre of Agra. The cool thing about Agra city is that it is home to dozens of really good restaurants and guesthouses that have the most amazing and immaculate views from their rooftops, where one can while the time away gazing into the spectacular domed, marble creation that is the Taj Mahal. The white marble actually changes colour with the sun and full moon, alternating from a hue of red or misty pink to a pale blue in the moonlight. Up close, in the Taj gardens itself, its even more impressive. After paying the entry fee that’s twenty-five more times the price for a foreigner over Indians, you shuffle beneath an archway and into sight immediately comes the Taj. A narrow waterway (currently empty for maintenance) leads to the mausoleum entrance, where you mingle past the forty billion other people there and admire the echoing hallways. Then you sit and stare like an Indian man. All very impressive indeed.

Agra isn’t a bad place to spend a few days. Apart from the famous Taj, there is an amazing fort and some ancient monuments, and the city can also lay claim to having the most annoying touts in India. How many times do you have to say, “I don’t want a fucking rickshaw” before they realise that you don’t want a fucking rickshaw?

Sir, you want rickshaw?

Oh, and something happened in Udaipur.

I found a man with a motorbike who drove me to a man with fancy rings for sale. At this time Kylie was led to believe I went shopping for chocolate or some lime soda which I have become addicted to. We rode on bridges past cows and one giant elephant with blue face paint. I found a sparkly sapphire ringy thing and put it in my pocket and came back to my girlfriend who believed my story that I ate the chocolate and poured the lime soda over a cow, and on the third afternoon of our stay, we shifted to a five star palace resort with comfy pillows and toilet paper, overlooking the lake, in a serenely quiet part of town.

It was Good Friday so we had the obligatory fish and chips washed down with mocktails that resembled a glass of make-up. As the sun made its way into the water I disappeared downstairs with another excuse that was barely solid; I think this time I said I was going to find a newspaper comic section to catch up on the latest crazy Calvin and Hobbes situation. Its not easy to make silly excuses, as we spend all our time together and there is no reason for us to ever be apart during the days so it is odd if I ever go for sneaky leaves of absence. I phoned the room and asked Kylie to meet me in the bar by the lobby. I’m sure she was onto me by now.

I took her hand and walked out into the car park, ignoring offers of rickshaw rides on best price tours around the city. I found a sandstone bandstand alone under an oak tree in the corner of a lush green manicured lawn, with a perfect view of the setting sun carving the hills and the lake. Interested birds looked down with curiosity and hungry squirrels scampered over the wall. A man in a nice waistcoat strolled over and gave us some wine, and eventually moved on back to the palace. He was relieved as he thought I required him to spend the whole night with us. My eyes met my loves, and I gave her that ring that was in my pocket that the man with the motorbike took me to get.

We are getting married.