New chat up lines

I have to tell you about this one - sadly I didn't witness this myself, my friend did but every time I think about it I just howl with laughter...

I'm jumping around a bit in terms of my direction but after Kerala (I stayed about a month and after Dan left I met up with my gorgeous sis, eve and her boyf Matt for Xmas) I flew (again, in true flashpacker style) to Goa for New Years Eve with Evie and Matt). Ended up staying there for 2 weeks. Stayed in Palolem for a week to celebrate NYE (messy - at least I was! plus also involved hundreds of Indian men watching us all dance which was rather amusing!) and the headed to Patnem beach which was much quieter and more chilled. Loved it there - if you go, stay at Cafe Copenhagen - really basic huts, great food, couple who run it are lovely.

After Patnem I caught the overnight death bus with Charlie (my other sis) and her boyf Greg. As I'm not part of a couple - single doom follows you all around the world - I was paired with another woman (thankfully) in a cell like compartment with a mattress (cue the sarongs). Ness was great. Totally on my wave length and not a nutter. I was relieved to say the least esp as for the next 10 hours and due to the erratic Freddie Kruger esq driving standards of the bus driver (thankfully he wasn't drunk - apparently they usually are or on LSD - not sure which is worse!) we would be thrown together at various intervals throughout the evening.

Anyway, I was chatting to Ness about this guy I kept seeing. From Columbia, I'd met him in Kathmandu, McLeod Ganj and now in Palolem. Turns out she'd met him last year. Thought he was totally cute and got chatting to him.

The Colombian (can't remember his name) teaches Tai Chi, is a tarrot card reader so very much a spiritual man. Fine. When he met Ness he asked if she wanted to feel the sea. Naturally she said yes, she closed her eyes, could feels the waves crashing around her (she wasn't drunk, stoned or anything else which is mind altering). So it all felt amazing and so he naturally rose about a million levels on the old 'hottie' radar!

Cut a long story shot the Colombian wanted to to her a favour. Due to her reaction from experiencing the sea he informed her that he wouldn't in fact be sleeping with her because, and get this as it's nothing short of hilarious, she wouldn't be able to handle it. It would be too good, too powerful for her. She wasn't ready. Well, I nearly woke the entire bus up when heard this. I literally screamed with laughter. Of all the chat up lines I've ever heard this has to be the best. 'I would love to sleep with you, but you're not ready - I'm just too good, it would be too powerful an experience for you and you wouldn't be able to handle it'....

I love travelling!

My new job.....

After Rajhastan, I flew (in true flashpack style) down to Cochin in Kerala, Southern India to meet the lovely Dan Pimm in Varkala. Mr Pimm was on a two week hols decided to spend it with me - hurrah! Always love Mr Pimms company so to have his words of wisdom for two WHOLE weeks was def a privalige.

We were both on the same page whe we met up - in terms of what we wanted to do for the next fornight ie nothing!. I was a bit over travelling, in the sense I'd been on the move roughly every three or four days, so to have the chance to settle for a bit and actually put my bits and peices ie makeup, creams etc out was too exciting for words!! Seriously!

We ended up sharing a bamboo hut opposite an internet cafe. Fine you'd think. And it was accept we had no idea the sights we were about to witness in the evening....

Hidayathulla is the owner of Cliff Manor Beach Resort, which was opposite where we were staying, a lawyer (apparently) and the proud owner of the internet cafe across from our hut. In the day time Hidayathulla (or Ali as he now calls himself) was the perfect gent. Polite, always smiling and bit cheeky. Ali is 35 but is slightly challenged in the hair line department. Not much but it's cleary something he's worried about due to the toupe he wears....sometimes.

During the day the toupe was no where to be seen. By night Ali turned into a girating hunter on the prowl for the ladies and so out came the toupe at particular intervals throughout the evening.

In southern india many of the men wear what look like big nappies. They are infact called a lungi. Most of the time the lungi is worn long, so it finishes about mid calf, but when it gets really hot they pull them up so the lungi finishes just above the knee.

After a few whisky's or rum and cokes (the drink of preference in the south) Ali would be leathered. And I mean leathered. He would hoist his lungi so high it skimmed his arse. In fact the more he drank the higher the lungi would go. Then his shirt would come off and he'd walk around grabing his stomach and winking at the ladies.....you can imagine the response he recieved!!

To add insult to injury (if you will) his toupe would make an outing at various intervals throughout the evening. So one minute he's bowl over with the toupe on, nick a cig from me (yep, I'm back on the fags - dan's fault plus there was no way I could be a non smoker whem my sis, eve, arrived for xmas), take a swig of my water (he needed it and as the weeks progressed I actually kept a bottle just for him), grab his stomach, ask me if I thought he was fat and if any of my friends would like to be his girlfriend, girate in front of me for a few mins, while singing an Indian love song and then scurry off to seranade an unassuming woman trying to get into the internet cafe....30 mins later he was back, minus the toupe, but self conciously touching his hairline (awwww) to ask Dan if he could be his lawyer in London as Dan is 'a buisness man, very important'.

So as the night progressed, the more Ali drank, the higher the lungi rose and the more he'd gyrate. Maybe it was spliff but it was nothing short of hilarious to watch a grown man, semi naked, gyrating while singing Indian love songs. He'd also ad lib with the lyrics like 'you come at me, like a stream of something into my heart' and 'my heart is like a football pitch, wide and open'...he once said this to a woman who was trying to get into the internter cafe (I'm really surprised he actually got any buisness as all women were harrassed before they walked in) who responded by saying 'my heart is closed like a football'...underterred Ali replied with 'then you can play football in my field anytime'. At this point Dan and I were literally on the floor howling with laughter.

All manner of chat-up lines were tried and tested on various women. One which sticks firmly in my mind was when he spotted two women (about the same age and clearly friends) walking towards the internet cafe. He stopped one and asked if she was the mother. I couldn't contain my laughter any longer. I yelped, the woman scowled at me and told him she wasn't!! 'But you look so alike' was his reply. By this time I was doubled up with laughter. Dan nearly exploded and so each evening continued with us watching in complete amusement as Ali offended each and every woman he came into contact with.

The thing is he wasn't being mean at all and I doubt he has any idea just how amusing he actually is. He's in fact a really sweet guy, just split up with his wife, lonely, stressed about the buisness so drinks because of it. Pretty standard but a massive shame nevertheless however it does only take three drinks for him to be totally hammered so I suppose it's not exactly an expensive habbit - I'm trying to be positvie here!

Ali then appointed me as his 'girlfriend agent'. 'You are a western' he told me 'go and find me a girlfriend, email all your friends to ask them if they want an indian lover like me'. I told him all my friends were married or have a boyf but that did't deter him. He told me to send the email anyway in case they were bored with their husbands....

I asked him what his criteria was. Age, hair and body type, profession etc you know, the usual stuff. I was given a brief in the losest sense: female (that's a start), western (cos we're all sluts and sleep with random men during our lunch breaks - more on this in a sep post!), aged between 25-45.

Obviously I had some questions about his brief: did her prefer them alive or dead (he didn't get this joke!)? are divorcees okay? women with childre from a previous relationship? All were fine - I managed to establish that live woman were his preference (thank god for that!). And so each evening he'd ask for an update on my progress. Naturally I had none. I'd already mentioned it to some of the girls I'd met in Varkala but oddly enough none of them were interested.

And so the search continues...so if you know of anyone or you're fed up with your current man and fancy a walk on the 'wild' side then do let me know!!! Ali is more than up for it!

Welcome to NEVER, EVER land

Ladies and gents prepare yourselves for this one. If you're reading this at work, you will have to ice skate home as hell has officially frozen over.

I'm no longer a cynic and I'm actually open minded.

It's finally happened. The world may actually stop spinning on its axis. I've changed. It's a fucking miracle. Traveling has actually cured me of my cynicism and has made me open minded. And it's not something that I've purposely 'worked' on.

To be honest I was blissfully happy quite content skipping along the rocky road that is life, casting dispersions on anyone and everyone, giving sermons whenever I felt like it - usually inspired after a few bottles of wine and anything else I could lay my hands on. Some said I ranted and although it pains me to say it, I think they were right. (Er, please also note the 'I may have been wrong' ref which I think you'll find is a first from me!).

My preaching was out of control. Admittedly I was usually under the influence but to be honest that was pretty much most of the time so....I had an opinion on everything. How wrong he was/she was/the situ was and of course there was the list. The list of things I would never, ever do which were not only specific but also endless.

To be fair I was utterly convinced I was right in every instance. And at the time I was(obviously!). But now I've gone and changed I naturally have the right to retract any former beliefs and opinions without any repercussions from friends and family (some things don't change!).

You see it's like someone is playing a joke on me - every single thing I vowed I would NEVER, EVER do I am actually systematically doing. I am actually being forced to be open minded and lose all cynicism because I have no other choice. It's the only way I can get my head round the fact I'm doing some things I said I've never do. I'm meeting people I would never, EVER have thought I'd have anything in common with. Seriously, every single opinion I've ever had and hold has been challenged.

Clearly this is something to be celebrated. Being opened minded and not cynical were words that rarely really featured in my vocab (perhaps one Christmas and a friends birthday a few years ago). Occasionally I would make the half hearted attempt and the odd New Years resolution to try and see things from someone else's point of view. But to be honest as much as I tried I always came back to the same conclusion. They (or it) were wrong. It was bullshit.

It first started about a month ago. To begin with I started to notice the little things then a wave of 'oh my god what are you doing, you'd never normally do this' came at me like a tsunami out of now were. I was unprepared to say the least.

You see if someone had told me this time last year that I'd be wearing a toe ring ad ankle chain (used to think both made you look common), had a henna tattoo (used to think it was only 'try hards' who did this), gone on a date with an Indian guy (NO WAY, don't fancy Indian men), slept in a room with no adjoining bathroom but having to share a piss stinking one with randoms instead (not a chance in hell), preferred a squat loo to a western one (shut up), flicked a cockroach off my bed without even blinking (never), meditated with a Buddhist monk (impossible), forged genuine friendships with locals (doubtful, nothing in common), not screamed when a rat ran over my foot in a restaurant I was eating in (not a hope in hell), gone trekking, bit my tongue when someone was seriously pissing me off well, I would've roared with laughter and told you to fuck off!

So you can understand how shocked I was when I first noticed 'the change'. It was like an out of body experience. One minute I'm thinking exactly the same way I always have, i.e. toe rings are for tossers....the next thing I know I'm buying a toe ring! So you can see how this has meant I've actually had to change. I've had no choice. Plus I hate the word hypocrite.

The thing is not only have I waved good bye to cynicism and being closed off but the blue print of my life as I thought it may pan out is rapidly changing too. Everything, and I mean everything, I thought I wanted in my life and for the future has changed. Where I want to live (not the UK at least not full time), my job (not PR, want to carve a career in writing), the type of man or rather his qualities I'm attracted to..basically how I want to live my life has completely altered.

Look at it this way - you're talking about someone who would make lists out of lists, I'd meticulously plan my year ahead, was a boarding hypochondriac (lengthly conversations with various friends convinced I was about to have a heart attack...hello, paranoia!), drank excessively, had a questionable approach to anything 'bad' for me which included men with 'issues' and drugs, had a rather unheathly list of 'fair weathered friends' or rather drainers as I like to call them - you know, the one's you only hear from when they have a problem, they talk about themselves incessantly and basically when you have a problem they are no where to be seen...shite, I've had a few of those in my time. Again, the list in endless but I'm happy to report that all of the aforementioned no longer feature in my life.

Drainer friends have been dropped, I take each day as it comes, I barely drink, the guy I'm seeing is utterly lovely (and Indian), I'm the proud owner of an ankle chain, toe ring and currently considering yet another henna tattoo (subtle of course!) and I'm pitching my blog and a few feature articles to newspapers and mags. To say my and my life is changing or rather has changed would be an understatement. And what's even more shocking is I love every single change. Historically any changes were met with a healthy bout of 'fear' and general self esteem bashing. Not no more people.

I'm the happiest I've ever been. It's a sheer miracle.

Now get your ice skates on and watch out for the uneven ice!!

Move that monk! The virtues of being a 'Boooddhist'

The DL wasn't due to give a teaching at his residence in McLeod, so when it was announced at the last minute that he was (bit of a fav to the Mongolians as they were holding a festival in his honor), you can imagine my excitement as I sprinted (okay, fast walk) down to his office to ensure i was first on the registration list -they do a security check on you before confirming whether you can actually attend.

The teaching itself was pretty intense and incredibly inspiring. This is a man I've admired for years so for me it was a massive deal and meant I could tick off a zillion boxes on my 'things to do' list (which I hasten to add is getting longer and longer.)

The teaching was in the grounds of the temple in McLeod. I was was seriously close to his Holiness. So close that I had to stop myself from throwing myself in front of DL's feet as he walked past me - I was sitting in the carefully marked out 'English foreigners' section where oddly enough I was surrounded by several monks.

Couple of things I noticed during the 10 hour teaching over the course of two days(sitting on a cold concrete floor with my legs crossed):

1.) I have a tendency to misbehave when I'm feeling too virtuous
2.) After a few hours of sitting cross legged the pain actually does go away
3.) Some western 'pilgrims' are total idiots
4.) Some people have no self awareness whatsoever and think calling themselves a 'boooodhist' exempts them from all manner of pretty outrageous comments/behaviour

So after a two hours of sitting with my legs crossed it's not surprising I began to get a little twitchy at certain points. That said it wasn't really sitting crossed legged that made my eyes bulge out of their sockets. It was more the fact that what his Holiness was saying that was making me nervous. You see according to DL (and indeed Buddhism) we must be detached from all material goods and people. You don't own anything or anyone, it's momentary. Okay!

The thing is I can actually do detachment very well. I can totally detach myself from work, money (I often ignore calls from the bank - that's complete detachment in my book!), arsehole clients (detach or kill in my book), annoying colleagues, and fair weathered 'friends' and not forgetting the glorious list of ex boyfs. Detachment, for me, isn't a problem....or so I thought.

I must admit I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself as I listed quietly all the things I was detached from as his Holiness spoke about the benefits. There I was smiling to myself contently when Tenzin (new monk friend - tick another box, thanks!) lent over to me and whispered that he also meant detachment from handbags, shoes and clothes. I turned at him and gave him death stare eyes. I mean, had he gone mad? Had the holy water in the temple been spiked with vodka? Then it suddenly dawned on my that he actually meant ALL material goods. No, no, no, no, no...not my gorgeous white Fendi handbag (maxi size and I mean stunning), my Mui Mui, Jimmy Choo and Manolo Blahnik shoes, not my Smysthson diary, my Chole Kafatan....NOT my babies. Er, I don't think so DL. I can't possibly detach myself from such beauties in the name of enlightenment.

After the shock of realising I wasn't at detached as I thought, I decided to see if there were any other faux Buddhists in the area. Thankfully there was and there 'crimes' were much, much worse than mine (no surprise there then!).

When you attend a teaching you 'secure' your spot by writing your name on a piece of paper and sticking it to the place you want to sit. It's all very polite and no one moves your place. So imagine the sheer horror when two hours into the teaching a guy comes along and asks a monk to move out of his spot. The monk naturally obliged, although the request did cause a few murmurs and dark looks. So after shoving the monk off his place the guy sits down and puts his hands into pray position. It was much as I could do to stop myself from leaning over and poking him in the back. I seriously thought about it but then figured that it was unlikely I would let him have the last word and it wasn't the time or place to embark on a slanging match. I mean, it's not very booodhist is it?!

Second faux Buddhist spotting was when I walked outside during the break while chatting to this woman who was banging on about the fact she was a practising Boooodhist and how at one she is with herself, mankind and nature. I have to admit I'm pretty good at zoning out when people bore me. In fact I have it down to perfection. 12 years in PR means you have to develop certain skills. One which I've found extremely useful is the ability to appear interested in a conversation when actually given the choice, you'd rather stab your hand than listen to the droll. I was just about to nod off into 'anywhere is better than listening to this crap' zone when she suddenly yelled 'get the f*ck off me!'. Shite, she made me jump. Once I'd accepted the fact that her outburst didn't relate to me (I could've quite easily gone to strangle her as I drifted into my coping with arseholes zone) she started banging on about the beggars outside the temple. How disgusting they were, they stank, hair was messy and really skinny, like urchins. Nice. Great. Very COMPASSIONATE coming from a Booodhist. I couldn't bear any more and I managed to shake her at the vegetable momo (Tibetan veg dumplings) stand!

The final straw for me and by far the funniest was at the end of the teaching. I was outside the temple waiting for a friend when I started eaves dropping on the two yanks standing next to me. One turned to the other and said: 'I'm leaving tomorrow so I'm not sure when I'm gonna see you again....so let me appreciate you. I just wanna appreciate you.' and with that he stared hugging the guy next to him. Good God sometimes I feel like Alice in Wonderland. And with that I started laughing, howling with laughter. Inwardly of course...blatant mocking wouldn't have been very 'Booodhist' of me!

The Golden Puke - The Golden Temple & Boarder Closing - Amritsar, Punjab

Originally I wasn't planning to head north towards the boarder but I'd heard on the 'traaavellaaar' grapevine the Golden Temple (the Sikh's holiest shrine)and the pomp and glory of the boarder closing with Pakistan wasn't to be missed either. So heeding the words of from my father: 'I wouldn't go anywhere near the boarder if I were you' I did what came naturally to me and promptly disregarded what said. Before I knew it I was racing (literally) along the windy roads of McLeod towards Amritser in the back of a car with a driver who would give Lewis Hamilton a run for his money!

For those of you who've had the er, pleasure of 'experiencing' the driving skills in India you'll know first hand the journey is well, erratic to say the least. The roads in India can only be described as disorganised chaos. An average one hour journey consists of at least five near misses (the head-on collision kind), car, bus, tractor horns blowing consistently - you don't indicate in India; you sound your horn continuously and pull out when a car on the opposite side of the road is directly in front of you. Most over taking 'maneuvers' are done on a bend, the brow of a hill or as the car/bus is chugging up a steep hill. Oddly enough a car (or bus) journeys have never really bothered me. I started to wonder why then realised I'd experienced it before - my sister Georgia's driving is not that dissimilar!

The drive to Amritsar was no different. After five hours of neath death experiences and endless 'banging' tunes ranging from Bollywood to trance esq 'world music' me, Sonny, Chris and Emma arrived in Amritsar. It was full on in the sense that I'd travelled from relaxing, sleepy (ish) McLeod to a dusty, sweaty, busy Amritsar. And back to the 'real' India with a bang. With that comes the starring, the pushing, the smells of sandalwood, curry and incense.

We'd come to see the Golden Temple. And as it turns out stay at the Golden Temple (well on the grounds) too. So far so good you think. So did I until I realised I would be sharing a bathroom, shower and eating my meals with 1000 pilgrims.

Immediately my stomach churned. This was my idea of sheer hell. Questions and images raced through my head...what are the hygiene standards likely to be of hundreds of people? squat toilets - will they be properly drained of will it be like wading through the sea to get to them (I like to tell myself it's water I'm walking through to stop me from retching). Did they use a high quality brand of washing up liquid to wash utensils in the canteen which feeds thousands of people a day? How often are the toilets cleaned with bleach, whats the bedding like - is it clean? My worst fears and questions were answered when I walked into our room. Sorry, I mean cell.

My jaw would've dropped to the floor if I knew it had been cleaned in the last decade. It was a pit. It was disgusting. For starters there wasn't a window. It was a windowless hovel. And it stank. There were three metal framed beds. There were four of us. We were sharing. I can handle sharing a bed with a few people but not in a cell with the remains of food from the previous 'tenants' smeared on the walls and rubbish on the floor. What I certainly cannot handle is a stinking, dirty 'mattress'.

I made a few major mistakes during my stay in Amritsar. The first was agreeing to stay with a zillion pilgrims in a hovel. My second was smelling the mattresses. They weren't exactly mattresses. I'm exaggerating. They were like the 'mattresses' you get on a sun lounger. The type that means you wake up feeling like you've done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and you've aged 20 years. Anyway, back to the mattress - as my nose edged closer the stench hit me like a punch in the face. A mixture of sweat, dead skin cells and God only knows what else. I dry wretched.

Let me put this in context for you. Since I started travelling I haven't trusted one single guest house on the issue of cleanliness of their bed linen. When I arrive anywhere my ritual is to lay my sarongs neatly on the bed. I lay two on the bed itself and the third acts as a cover. Call it neuritic, in fact call it what you want. I have a phobia against catching skin diseases and crabs. Therefore my delicate sun kissed skin hasn't felt the crispness of bed linen since July. Needless to say there was no way my lovely sarongs were going to be tarnished with the dirty, stinking ma tress. There was nothing else for it. The sleeping sheet, which I only ever use in extreme circumstances ie trekking and train journeys, was pulled out hastily.

Why didn't I move you may ask. Good question. I couldn't. Well I could but my fellow travellers where not only in the mood for saving rupees but also on a quest to make me a 'proper' traveller. Apparently you're not one until you've stayed in a hovel and paid virtually nothing for it. I tried to argue that I was flashpacker - a back packer with money. I even offered to pay for a room in a guest house. I even pulled out the age card ie 'I'm nearly in my mid 30's you can't expect me to stay here at my age'. My pleas meant nothing to them. It fact I think it encouraged them. I then got annoyed at the fact they thought I wouldn't' be able to handle it so I agreed to stay. Pride is a terrible thing.

First stop was the boarder closing parade. With the words of doom from my father ringing in my ears and the ever growing paranoia that I was about to get nuked, (thanks dad!) we crammed into a taxi for the 50k journey to the boarder.

Basically army guards from Pakistan and India march up and down and have what can only be described as a 'march-off' to signal the end of the day. It's like a mark of respect for both countries. A bit like an extended goodnight or rather a 'we've not killed each other today so as a mark of respect I'd like to thank you for that!'.

Both sides cheer and jeer at each other - the atmosphere on the Indian 'side' was electric. It reminded me of a bollywood film. People dancing, cheering, singing. Brilliant. The Pakistani 'side' would then retaliate with their version.

I was woken at 4am by a million pilgrims and chanting. We were waking up early to watch the sun rise over the Golden Temple so you could call it an early morning wake-up call - literally. The temple itself is utterly gorgeous. Golden would you believe. It's open to all and surprisingly no-one asks for any money. It has a genuine spiritual atmosphere too. Pilgrims and visitors to the complex have to remove their shoes, wash their feet and cover their heads. The architecture, like the religion, is a blend of Hindu and Islamic styles but very different to both. The golden dome represents an inverted lotus flower, a symbol of Sikhism's aim to live a pure life.

Four priests form inside the temple keep up a continuous chant in Punjabi from the Sikh holy book and this is broadcast around the temple complex by loudspeakers. I actually got chatting to one of the priests. Really nice guy who was more than happy to talk about the religon which I know very little about. In fact everyone I met was really happy to explain a bit about the rituals (as such), do's and don'ts etc.

After embracing the sunrise over the temple we headed to the canteen for breakfast which consisted of Dal, a roti (pancake thingy) and chai). Sonny speaks Punjabi so we got chatting to a woman sitting next to him with her husband. Obviously Sonny was translating as my Punjabi isn't quite to up to conversation level yet (LOL). The conversation was pretty alarming. Turns out she was visiting the temple to heal her face which had a fair few scars on it plus you could tell she's suffered from a broken nose. When we asked what had happened to her face she smiled, pointed at her husband and told us that he did it. Just like that. As bold as brass. I nearly spat my chai out there and then. I had to really stop myself from giving him severe dagger looks. Just goes to show how different the cultural differences are - but then maybe not. I think it seems to be more hidden in the UK. Anyway, she seemed totally fine with it - well, accepting at least....

I have to admit I was pretty horrified at the wife beater experience - having been woken up with the birds I toyed with the idea of going back to the cell for a rest but then reconsidered. In stead we decided to try a few delicacies from one of the street vendors.

MISTAKE NUMBER THREE.

The street vendor was such a sweet lady, all smiley and happy for us to sample her snacks which comprised various fried foods ranging from samosas, bahjis and few poppadoms. I gobbled them up and then promptly threw the lot up. Imagine if you will sprinting to the shared toilets. Trying to dodge the various people lying on the floor along the way. Being starred at like you belong in a zoo (the cubical doors don't lock and swing open all the time) as you throw your guts up. Repeatedly. In the end I just wept. I wept for the fact I was puking into a squat loo, for the fact I had 10 women watching me as I did, because I had slept on a bed which hadn't been cleaned since Noah built his arc and I'd OD on fried foods, for the fact that there wasn't a 5 star hotel near by and for the horrifying realisation that I had a horrific choice to make. Do I stay in the cell and try and recover from sick gate or brave a 10 hour bus journey. I chose the bus journey.

Don't get me wrong the Golden Temple is fabulous and the board closing parade is a definite must-see. Just don't stay at the temple or eat from food stalls!!

The Temple of Rats - Bikaner, Rajastan

The first thing you notice about India, aside from the fact everyone seems to have a mobile phone, is the vast array of colours every where. From the colours in the shops, the pastel colours the houses are painted to the Sari's the women wear. India is definitely a country of colours which seem to come to life even more when you enter Rajastan. The region has been described as 'real' India - how the country used to be before the claws of the western world seized the country. It's certainly got a certain rawness to it.

The setting for Bikaner is the arid desert so the deep reds, bright greens and yellow colours of turbans and Sari's really jump out at you. The main attraction to Bikaner is the Karni Mata Temple at Deshnok, about 30 mins drive in a tuk tuk from the town centre. The drive through the desolate dessert adds to the fact it's probably one of the strangest temples and definitely not for the squeamish.

According to legend, Karni Mata, in incarnation of Durga, who lived in the 14th Century, asked the God of Death, Yama, to restore to life the son of a grieving storyteller. When Yama refused, Karni Mata re-incarnated all dead storytellers as rats, depriving Yama of human souls.

Thousands of Kabas (holy rats) now live at the temple. If you don't like rats - which I don't - then it's verging on fairly traumatic. Firstly, don't be lulled into a false sense of security when you see the temple looking all pristine. Sparkling in the sun. The silver doors with their intricate details is also misleading as behind those doors are thousands of rodents. Literally.

First shocker of the day was that you have to remove your shoes. Of course you do. It's a temple. That's what you have to do before you enter a temple. Picture if you will a grown woman whimpering and wincing as she takes her first step and places her clean delicate foot onto the white (cleanish) marble of the temple. All manner of things were running through my mind. How many diseases can you catch from rats? How many bacteria can happily live on marble floors? How good is the Indian health care system - is there one?

So there I was picking my way through the rats, wincing with every step and trying to avoid touching anything that a rat may have been on. Which is pretty hard when you're on tip toe, dodging running rats and trying to ensure you don't 'step' in anything. I was trying to spot where the rat crap was on the marble floor but I gave up when I nearly mistook shite for a rat and screamed as I thought I was about to step on it. See pics above for living proof - I came pretty close to the rats many times!

Don't get me wrong. Rats aren't scampering around your size 6's. They keep pretty much to themselves. And I have to say they did look a little un healthy so I don't think there's any danger of you leaving the temple thinking rats are cute and cuddly. These one's certainly aren't!

Having said that apparently it's lucky for a rat to run over your foot. Even luckier for you if you spot a white rat. You can also eat prasad - holy food offering covered in rat holy rat saliva which is claimed to bring good fortune. I was willing to take their word of it in this case!

The second shocker of the day was the fact I spotted a few babies on the floor of the temple. Happily crawling around ON THE FLOOR OF THE TEMPLE (see pic above). It was as much as I could do to stop myself from picking them up off the floor. But to Hindus of course the temple and its rats are holy. Thousands of pilgrims head there every day. No place for me to be simpering and wincing around in!

The 'experience' of the holy rodents definitely earned me a look around the shops. Namely the spice market in the old town. It's one of India's biggest. The old town itself is set within the old Bikaner fortress. It's pretty with winding alley ways which are home to over 500,000 Indians. There you can buy an array of spices ranging both common and obscure.

Rajasthan is the home of 'home stays' where you basically stay with an Indian family, home cooked food and definitely not as clinical as a hotel/guest house. It's quite a nice idea and means you're slightly out of the way from the usual foray of travellers. The place I stayed at - Vino Paying Guest House - was more sophisticated affair but very much still family run. The room was great for 250 INR (that's about 3quid), food was good too.

Some lovely people were staying at the guest house. Although I nearly threw myself out of the window when the inevitable 'traaavellaaar' talk began. It's the usual 'who's done what, been where and who's out done who on the "I've been to the most secluded place on earth" front. God, it's so bloody dull. I asked an Italian girl where she'd stayed in Pushkar as that was my next port of call. She smirked and then proudly (and loudly) told me that I wouldn't have heard of it as only Indian people stay there and then went on to tell me that Pushkar was so 'last year...it's all about Udaipur you know'. I went to bed before the inevitable narcalepsy that I tend to suffer from when these type of conversations start. Aaaaah, you gotta love the travel snobs.

I'm getting married!

On the 27th May 2008. I know because the tailor in McLeod's told me so. There I was talking to Mr Seeklam about the trousers I wanted him to make when the inevidtable question about my marital status was asked. Mr Seeklam was horrified when he found out I wasn't married. After nearly choking on the news he told me about his son who ran another tailors in Delhi was actually looking for a wife. He even showed me a picture. Mr Seeklam looked genuinley sad for me when he told me I could have married his son if I was Indian and Hindu. You can imagine my dissapointment on hearing the news. He seeded a lifetime of textiles in Delhi right before my eyes then cruely snatched the 'dream' away from me. I was crest fallen.

Mr Seeklam then looked at me like he'd just remembered he had a couple of grand stashed behind the counter, grabbed my hand and read my palm. Pointed at a few lines with his biro and grunted. He then declared that I wasn't to worry. I'm to be married 27th May 2008. He even wrote the date on my palm in case I forgot I suppose!

He also went on to tell me that there in fact 3 men after my affections. None of them will talk to me about it. Can I just take this opportunity to say if any of the men he's talking about is reading this then please feel free to approach me. All applicatants are considered on a case by case basis. Although I must admit I do have a strict criteria!!