Oompa Loompas

I arrived at Reflections Guest House.  The landlady reminds me of a Julie Walters character.  She looks like an Indian Ms Overall and moves about as quickly too.  You get the sense from her that she’s just about had enough of life and particularly guests staying in her house.   Everything seems to be a massive effort for her. She even charged me 30r for a toilet roll (bearing in mind I can get a meal for the same).   In spite of all that though, there is something about her that I like (it could just be that I love Julie Walters).

She employs a few old women to help around the house.  She calls them her servants.  I’m not sure if it's a requirement of the employment terms, but they are all midgets.  It is very strange.  I feel like I’m in Willy Wonkers factory.  Their hands are so small that even when they bring me a cup of coffee, they bring it on a tray. 

My room is very standard but it overlooks a lake and is one of the most peaceful places I have been.  India is the nosiest place on the planet.  This is blissful.  I went for a walk, dreading the worst but I wasn’t bothered at all.  It feels amazing to walk along the street relatively unnoticed.   The only time that someone spoke to me was to see if I wanted a lift on the back of his horse (this is a new one).  It is like the old Wild West in some parts (minus the guns).  I said no as I’m so fat that I didn’t have the heart to put the poor horse through it. 

I later went into town to find the travel agent.  The first thing I noticed is that all the ladies have cardi’s over their saris.  It really isn’t a good look).  All the men wear beany hats and puffer jackets.  I don’t think it’s that cold but to them it must feel like arctic.  I really liked the travel agent.  He looks like Danny Glover (I love Danny Glover, not in that way though).  He arranged all my trains for me.  He told me the price, which seemed really expensive, but he had based it on two people.  I told him that I was travelling alone and he immediately apologised for his mistake and then laughed for about 5 minutes.  It was very infectious, even though I know he was laughing at my inability to find a boyfriend (or at least someone to travel with).  It seems to amuse these Indian’s no end. 

It was soon bedtime.  I don’t want to bore the socks off you, and I promise not to make a habit of telling you about the various beds I sleep in on my travels (unless it is that of a hunky bloke), but this is noteworthy in that it’s the first time since arriving in India that I have slept the entire night.  It was freezing cold outside but I was tucked up in the warm between 2 duvets, with super soft pillows.  It made me feel safe and cosy.  I really like Ooty (and my duvet).

Snooty Ooty

I decided that I wanted to go to Ooty, mainly because I like the name.  My travelling plans really are as scientific as that.  The only way to get from Mysore to Ooty was by bus (deep joy).  I was told that it would take 4 hours and it would be a comfortable private bus.  Instead it took almost 7 hours and was the most uncomfortable mode of transport imaginable.  It was a tiny bus but that didn’t stop them filling it with as many people as humanly possible.  There was not even enough room to have my knees straight.  At one stage I was so claustrophobic I thought I was going to have a panic attack and for once I’m not even being overly dramatic. 

The bus made various stops but the driver announced everything in Hindi so I didn’t have a clue what was going on.  An old Indian bloke on board took pity on me and tried his best to translate.  On one of the many stops he did the universal sign of pretending to hold his willy to indicate to me that it was a toilet break (well at least I think that’s what he was doing). 

It felt like the journey would never end.  The only thing that cheered me up was when we drove though Mudumalai National Park.  It wasn’t that I saw any animals (not even a sniff of a tiger) it was the signs that they had displayed that made me giggle.  All over the park there were signs telling you how you should behave.  These are a few of my favourites;

Do not feed the animals, you will just invite menace. 

Do not drive fast, you may kill a wildlife.

Be quiet.  Noise enrages the animals

I finally arrived in Ooty 3 hours behind schedule (not that I really have a schedule).  Ooty is a hill station (apparently the most famous one.  It was nicknamed Snooty Ooty by the British in the early 19^th century (oh, the British are just too comical).  It is quite spectacularly beautiful, full of thick pine forests and mountains as far as the eye can see.  What is also nice is that it’s quite chilly.  It makes a nice change from the blistering heat of the rest of India.  I think I could really like it here.   

Dirty, rotten, lying bastards

Silla left for Puduchery, before she goes home, so I had the evening to myself.  I wanted a beer (I know, you’re shocked) but when I found a bar it didn’t take me long to realise that I stuck out like a bulldog’s bollocks.  It was the darkest, dingiest place, packed with about 50 old Indian men (not a woman in sight).  I felt like they all stopped what they were doing just to stare at the weird western chick at the door.   It felt like the most hostile environment I’ve been in (and I’ve been in a few).  I wanted to take a picture but was way too scared.   I very quickly turned around and walked straight back out.   I think I would have felt more at home at the bar in Starwars.  At least this proves I am not an alki.  There’s always a silver lining.

I plumped for some street food instead.  I love eating at the street stalls.  Not only is it as cheap as chips it is also some of the best food I’ve had while in India.  It cost about 30p and I was stuffed.  I had deep fried cauliflower, in case you were wondering.  I’m not sure how hygienic it is, but in my bid to lose some weight, getting sick is not so much of a concern anymore.  Can you lose a stone in one sitting (shitting)? 

As seems to be the case in India, you can never be alone for long and so after a while Seveed bowled up on his bike.  I have no idea how but these India’s have a knack of always finding you.  I suppose it’s not too hard to find a white girl wandering about alone though (maybe I should get a disguise?).  I wasn’t really in the mood so said that I didn’t feel very well and was going to go back to my room.  Saveed very kindly offered to come to my room to give me a massage. Oh, the life of a male prostitute.  Work, work, work.  Just so you know I declined his very kind offer. 

I went back to my cell, logged on to my email only to find an email from the company that I was volunteering for, saying that they were not going to give me a refund.  Dirty, rotten, lying bastards.  I felt physically sick.  I was replying on this money.  Again my friends came to the rescue.  I am the luckiest girl alive to have such amazing friends.  One of my friends is a lawyer (a real one this time, not like made up Ross).  He is going to look into it for me.  Steve/fats, you are absolute life savers.  I owe you my first born, or at least a kidney. 

If this trip doesn’t kill me then I will be as strong as an ox by the time I get back.  Fucking place! 

Male Prostitution

Silla and I went to a factory that makes silk.  I’m not entirely sure why.  It was a government run factory and I was surprised to see how clean and tidy it was (relatively speaking).  The noise inside was deafening.  This doesn’t seem to dampen the spirits of the workers though.  They seem to be as happy as you like.  Even tourists coming along to watch them work doesn’t seem to piss them off.  I’d be less than overjoyed with people watching over my shoulder when I work (that’s when I actually did any work).

It later became apparent why they were so pleased.  We spoke to one bloke (well shouted at him) and he explained that he got about a tenner a day.  This doesn’t seem like a lot but earlier in the day we had met a poor old biddy who knocked out between 6000 and 8000 incense sticks a day for just over a pound.  Factory boy thought he was in the league of Branson or Gates. 

We went for lunch and by way of a surprise it was a vegetarian meal (they love a bit of vegetarian cuisine in the South of India), of yet more carbs.  Every meal is either rice or bread.  I am now the size of a small family car.  So much for losing weight in India, I look like I’ve eaten my old self.  I’m going to have to start licking toilet seats before I come home to get a bout of dysentery, just to shift it all.   

After lunch we got out swimming stuff and headed off to meet Saveed to go to the waterfall.  Saveed is local bloke we met the previous night.  I have a feeling that he might be some kind of male prostitute.  Everything that he owns seems to have been a gift from various different western women.  He must pull out some bad arse moves, as to look at you can’t imagine wanting to buy him a packet of fags, let alone a vehicle. 

What Saveed failed to mention was that to get to this beauty spot we had to travel over a river (a really fucking big one).  I didn’t realise how scared of heights I am.  It soon became very apparent.  We had to negotiate our way across the water by walking on concrete posts, each one no wider than a foot across.  I was shaking like a shitting dog.  I was utterly terrified.  I ended up having to be guided across by Saveed.  I think the imprints of my fingertips are still visible on his hands.  I was also worried that by holding his hand I might have to buy him at least a push bike. 

After what seemed like the most torturous 10 minutes of my life we reached dry land on the other side.  I could have wept.  Not only because I was no longer on the sodding bridge but also because what waited for us was quite possibly the most spectacular sight I have ever seen.  I felt like I was on the island in Lost (the name escapes me).  The water was the cleanest I have ever seen (and that includes the water I wash in).  There was a beautiful waterfall and not another person in sight.  It was without question the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

It is moments like this that make this whole trip worthwhile.  There are times in India when I could cry from pure frustration.  There are times when I hate the place with every bone of me, but being at the waterfall I realised how lucky I am and how there was no where else in the world I would rather be, at that moment in time.  It’s true that everything you want is on the other side of fear. 

It’s just a shame that I don’t have my friends and family with me to share it all.  I did take lots of pictures (not that they do it justice) to bore you all with.  I just have to find some wifi to upload them to facebook

Thank you

I received a message in the middle of the night from an old friend who I haven’t spoken to in a while.  He realised that I was in trouble and offered me an olive branch.   If this trip brings nothing else then this alone makes it all worth while.  Sometimes you need to be on the other side of the world and completely on your arse to realise who your friends are.  Thank you.  It means everything. 

Also I wanted to say thank you for the comments on here.  I never know who writes them (or how to comment on them).  Thanks to whoever wrote with places to stay in Bangalore.  It was impressively comprehensive.  I feel bad that it is wasted on me.  Bangalore will forever be tarnished in my eyes.  I have no plans to return.  I am mentally scarred. 

Whoever wrote about sponsoring me should be in charge of all my affairs.  I like the way you think!  Sadly, although I do smell and look like I should be selling the Big Issue, I don’t qualify as a proper charity case.  It’s just a minor breakdown/midlife crisis.  It’s good to know that I can get money straight away though, if I need it.   Thanks for that.

And whoever wrote about the toilet.  I have yet to master the Indian toilet.  I seem to, far too often, accidentally wee on my feet/trouser leg.  A month ago this fact would have horrified me.  I now don’t give a shit.  I’m genuinely past caring.  It all adds to the allure.  Traveller chic.  

Mysore

As soon as I got to Mysore everything seemed okay. It was the shortest train journey I’ve been on too.  Completely and utterly drama free.  3 hours and not a single soul spoke to me.  It was blissful. 

                                                                                               

When we arrived at the station everyone pegged it across the railway tracks to the other platform (and exit).  It seems someone may have forgotten to build a bridge.  There was a train coming too but this didn’t seem to deter anyone.  These people have absolutely no fear of oncoming traffic.  It’s quite extraordinary.   Having already been run over twice I feel the need to be a bit more vigilant.

I checked into the hotel where Silla was staying (the Swedish chick from the train).  I was showed to my room but I didn’t really pay too much attention to the surroundings.  I was so tired I would have happily slept standing up.  It was only in the morning that I realised just how depressing it was.  It was spectacularly bad.  It was that blue colour that only hospitals are painted.  It instantly makes you feel a bit poorly.  It honestly felt like a prison cell (although I would imagine they’re probably a bit roomier than my place).  In lieu of a window you could unlock the wooden shutters to peer out at the sky through the bars.  It was very romantic.    

Next morning Silla and I set out for an all day tour of the city.  It felt really good to have someone to kick about with.  You can go to all these wonderful places and have all these crazy experiences, but if you’ve no one to share them with then they become pretty meaningless.  It felt really good to be able to giggle again.  I hate being so chuffing serious all the time.  I’m worried the wind will change and my face will be stuck like this forever.

We went to see, yet more temples (I’m pretty much over temples now, to be fair), palaces (much more my bag), markets, etc etc.  All pretty standard stuff but it was just nice having someone to do it with.  Being Billy No Mates gets to you after a while.  We went for dinner at a nice roof top restaurant (reet posh).  I had a beer in my hand, amazing food to eat, was having great conversations.  I felt really happy and peaceful. 

I then got a text from Taylor telling me that Charlton had gone into administration.  My short lived bubble of contentment immediately burst.  I am so out of touch, I totally believed him.  He managed to last an impressive 20 minutes before he ‘fessed up that he is a lying bastard! Taylor you’re a massive cock (not to be confused with, you have a massive cock). 

You can see the pictures on facebook, as soon as I find some wifi (of my room, not of Taylor’s bits) as it’s too much of a ball ache trying to upload pictures on here.  

Bangalore

I arrived at 7am to Bangalore city station feeling absolutely knackered.  All I wanted was to find a nice place to stay for a couple of days so that I could finally get some sleep.  I arrived to utter chaos.  This was my first experience of a big city and I didn’t like it one little bit.   If you want to feel like a freak then you should go to an Indian city in the middle of monsoon season.  People either look at you like you have 5 heads (there must be a god with 5 heads.  There’s about a million of ‘em) or they become worryingly excitable and feel the need to come and talk to you.   

I was desperate to get rid of my rucksack as I felt like a sweaty, overweight, tortoise carrying that fucking thing about.  In my head, this mid life crisis was going to be a whole lot more glamorous.  In reality I smell, look like a bag of shite and haven’t the first clue what i’m playing at. 

I only had about 100 rupees on me, so went out to get money.  After trying, unsuccessfully to get money out at 5 different ATM’s (I’m nothing if not persistent), I realised that there was a problem with my card (there’s no flies on me!).  It’s fair to say that at that moment I wanted the world to stop so that I could just get off.  I was close to having a full on breakdown.  I couldn’t have wanted to get out of a place more.  To say that I felt hopeless and shit scared would be putting it mildly.  The thought of sleeping rough in India isn’t something I want to think about too much.

After 5 hours of sitting on the floor in a train station (having almost lost the will to live), with people, taking pictures of me, wanting to take me to various places (including an offer from an old boy, who must have been pushing 90, wanting to take me horse racing), trying to sell me things, or wanting me to sponsor tigers/people/tea plantations, Barclays finally pulled their finger out of their arse and sorted things out.  Hallefuckinglujah.

I still had over 6 hours before my train to Mysore arrived and now with money in my hand I was able to go to Cubbon Park.  This was the only place the girls on the train had said was worth seeing.  I didn’t really care what it was like, I was just grateful to be out of the train station.  There’s no such thing as peace and quiet though in India.  It wears you down.  Sometimes it would be nice if everyone just fucked right off!  I know I sound mean but it really is relentless. 

Two hours in the park, feeding the squirrels calmed me down and let me get things back into perspective.  I felt really grateful that everything had sorted itself out and actually felt relatively happy.  With my new found enthusiasm for life I decided to go to the Government run aquarium (it’s a non stop roller coaster of fun, this travelling lark).  Alarm bells really should have started ringing when I was asked for an entrance fee of 5 rupees.  Now, if you’re paying about 6p for to see something, I’m guessing its always going to be a little bit shite.  This aquarium did not break that rule.    It was so bad that I actually loved it a little bit.  It honestly took about 35 seconds to walk around.  The star attraction was some googly eyed goldfish.  God bless the Indian Government Aquarium. 

Here’s a bit of travel advice.   Don’t go to Bangalore.  

Ragu

I picked up a rickshaw to take me to Hospet train station.  The driver’s name was Ragu (apprently not named after the sauce).  Ragu’s rickshaw was quite possibly the oldest thing I have ever seen.  There was a point in which I thought we weren’t ever going to get up the hill.  It was such a bumpy ride that I thought my tits would bounce clean off.

On the way I was asking him how he coped with not being able to drink.  He said that it didn’t affect him as he only drank once a year.  I explained that this was similar to me but in reverse.  He left me at the station, only to appear on foot about two minutes afterwards.  He said that he had checked out the train and I still had an hour till it came, so he would take me somewhere for a beer.  So off we go to find beer.  I think that he'll order a coffee or something but no, he orders beer.  The waiter asked if we wanted normal or strong Kingfisher.  I ordered a normal one and low and behold old Ragu steams into a strong one.  I think he may have been telling porkies about his beer consumption.

On the platform I met a girl from Sweden called Cecila.  We swapped stories about Indian men.  She doesn’t find them nearly as pervy as I do.  She had no stories of being touched up or being sexually abused by toes.  I’m beginning to think it’s just me.  It turned out that we had beds near each other.  It felt really nice to have a proper conversation with someone and not feel like such a bloody loner.

The train was packed so the only ticket I could get was a three tier a/c ticket.  It is a lot more expensive than a normal sleeper ticket (by about £7.  I have started to lose all perspective) but by fuck, it felt like pure luxury.  Not only is there air conditioning, there are also sheets, pillows and even a cute little curtain.  As well as all this there is even a western toilet.  Woohoo!!

On the train we met 4 girls from Banglaore, who spoke amazing English and were super sweet.  I was gutted though when they asked why I was going to Bangalore as there is nothing to do there.  Great!!   I figured that they might just be saying that as they are used to it and so don't appreciate its true beauty (Oh, how wrong I was). 

Tour

I set off at 9am to go for my bicycle tour.  To say that I was nervous is an understatement.  It’s sad but I can’t really ride a bike.  I never really learnt properly as a kid.  I blame Dad.  He said that me and our Jo were so bad that it was too embarrassing to take us out on the street.  He said that with most kids as soon as you let them go, they would ride off into the distance and that's that.  Apparently as soon as he let go of our bikes we would immediately fall where we were.  I actually can’t even remember owning a bike (I might have to call Childline and report Dad, retrospectively). 

One of the thousand gods in India must have been looking down on me as when I got there I was the only one, so the tour guide asked if I minded jumping on the back of his motorbike instead.   I put on my most disappointed face and said well okay, if it makes things easier.  It's a shame he wasn’t remotely hot as I spent much of the day attached to him.  Oh well, you can’t have it all.

We started off at the main temple and while he was eagerly telling me about all the various gods and all the religious mumbo jumbo I was just completely preoccupied with the amount of animals that were roaming about.  Everyone was taking pictures of the temple and I was busy filming the monkeys playing.  I’m not sure that he was overly impressed (the tour guide that is, not the monkey).   He didn't even laugh when a monkey stole a woman's shopping bag full of fruit (nor did she come to think of it).

The tour lasted for 4 hours.  The place is utterly awe inspiring but my attention span means that I actually only absorbed about 20% of what the poor bloke was saying.  It’s really hard to keep a straight face when, not only do I not believe for one minute that there was a bloke who was half lion, half man, but I also couldn’t really understand half of what he was saying.  I found just smiling and nodding did the trick.  He constantly asked me if I had any questions.  All I could think was what time does it finish so I can have lunch.

When it finally did finish and I’d regained feeling in my arse again I set off to find some volunteering work.  I had called a place and they’d told me to come along at 3pm to help the children with their English etc.  I arrived and was taken out the back of the classroom to the sleeping quarters, where all the children were watching a Bollywood film.  I was asked to sit down and that is all I did, watch another bloody Indian film.  I give up!!  I am quite clearly not destined to be a volunteer in India.

Female?

I arrived in Hospet and quickly ditched my ginger god botherer.  Hopefully he is off somewhere now, praying for my lost soul.  It immediately felt like a good place to be.  Goa is so commercial and as much as I’m not sure what my purpose is anymore I’m sure it’s not to get pissed and stoned in Indian bars, whilst watching shit American films

Hospet is a small town with no tourist trade at all so westerners are to be stared at and fawned over.  There was very nearly a fight involving rickshaw drivers, as to who was going to get my fare.  It really is survival of the fittest.  In case you’re wondering Asif won.

It is a really dry and arid place.  I’m not entirely sure how this is the case seeing as on the way to Hampi I saw at least 7 old men slashing in the street.  There are animals roaming all over India but here there seem to be more animals than people.  Cute little piglets, and all sorts.  Who doesn’t love baby animals, right?  Especially between two slices of bread, on a Sunday morning.

Hampi is quite breathtakingly beautiful.  It is like walking back into an ancient land.  It makes Stonehenge look like lidl’s.  It has more temples than you can shake a stick at and is steeped in history.  It really is quite awe inspiring.  That is the good part.  The bad part is that it’s totally vegetarian cuisine and alcohol is forbidden.   So if you like temples and history you’re in for a treat.  If you like meat and booze, (or anything other than temples and monuments) it might not be your bag. 

I already have a tour booked for tomorrow so all I had left to do was to plan my onward journey.  I went to a little travel place next to my guesthouse to find the owner fast asleep on the floor.  At first I thought he’d passed out (I was desperately trying to recall any of my first aid training, to no avail) but then noticed there were pillows under his head.  When he finally woke up, he arranged my train ticket to Bangalore.  He was talking to the operator on the phone so was relaying the questions to me i.e. how old I am etc.  Then asked if I was female!?!  I know he’d only just woken up, and it’s fair to say that  I’m not looking my best, but give me a fucking break, mate.  

Dave

I booked a taxi for super early on Friday morning.  Travelling in India always seems to be in the middle of the night.  God forbid trains should run at a sensible hour.  David (Indian Dave.  My world is now complete) spoke really good English and seemed intent on showing off his linguistic skills by talking the whole way to the train station.  We were talking about a recent lesbian wedding in India.  He then asked me which gays I preferred, boys or girls.  He wasn’t joking either.  He actually wanted me to give him an answer.  I plumped for boys.  It was a very surreal conversation.

It didn’t get much better after that either, as the conversation quickly turned to prostitution (bearing in mind this was still not 6am.  Not that there is a correct hour to talk about hookers, I suppose).  I have a feeling David is quite partial to the ladies of the night as he told me how much I should expect to pay depending on the nationality of the girl.  Apparently Russians are more expensive than girls from Thailand.  I always wondered how Natalia could afford all those furs (jokes)!!

I met an old man on the train to Hampi (who had dyed his hair bright orange.  It must have a religious meaning because there would be no other reason to make yourself look that daft otherwise).  Initially I thought he was adorable.  He bought me a cup of chai and generally was trying to look after me (in a non pervy type of way).  I rapidly went off him when he started banging on about god and how I had pretty much fucked my life up by not being married and having kids.  Thanks for your input, ginge!!

He said that he would pray for my soul and also pray for god to bring me a man who will love me.  Good luck with that, mate. 

Especially for Clarkey and Fish (don't open, Dad)

The first one is cause I miss you both.  The second one is to remind you of Spain.  hehehe

Can you imagine how suspect I looked on the beach doing this with a hundred Indian's watching me.

The cat and the Kid.

Yesterday was my last day in Goa so I finally went to the beach.  It's an odd experience lying on the beach fully clothed.  That still doesn’t stop everyone from wanting to talk to me though.  I might as well have just have landed from Mars.  No one can believe that I am travelling alone (neither can I from time to time).  When the rain came (which it always does) I took refuge in the beach bar (as you do) and befriended a little cat.  She curled up on my lap and we were both very content.  I’ll take any friends I can get at this stage. 

A little English girl told her Mum excitedly that I had a cat on my lap and could she come and talk to me.  When she came over (after her Mum had given me the once over) she asked if I had brought the cat from the UK.  Bless her little heart.  I told her not to be so fucking stupid (not really).  She stayed with me for about an hour.  She was like a female version of the little boy in the film Little Vampire, glasses n all.  She told me that she thought India was very dirty and she didn’t want to eat any of that curry muck.  She then ordered Fish and Chips.  You’ve got to love the brits!!

I felt really happy whilst I was with her but was a bit down in the dumps when I got home.  I am questioning what it is I am doing.  Purposelessness is the carrier of despair (I just read that in a book but by fuck its true).  I seem to be wandering around aimlessly with no real goal other than to stay out of trouble (which, as you know doesn’t come naturally to me).  Tomorrows a new day though and I get to see Hampi which is meant to be beautiful.  It does mean another train journey though, so anything could happen.  

Sunny

I have walked for miles today.  My little pinkies are red raw.  My opinion of Baga has not changed at all.  It is pretty vile.  It is entirely designed for westerners (although apparently they don’t get here till November).  The other thing that is super weird is the amount of dentists surgeries there are.  I am generalising but the Indian’s I have met are not known for there dazzling railings.  I can’t imagine there is a huge demand for dentists, but then what do I know.

Whilst out walking today I passed a couple of long haired bearded white blokes but I went shy and only managed a measly smile.  What’s happened to me?  I think I may have spent too much time alone.  I realised this may be the case today when I started inspecting my elbows (who does that?).  For the first time in 39 years I have realised that I have hair on my elbows.  Is that even normal?

I figured if I spent anymore time alone I may be taken away by the men in white coats so I went back to Sunny’s (travel agents).  All the boys were there with a new addition (Pete and his dog Nancy.  I am pretty sure that they make up English names to make things easier for me).  We played Rummy for hours.  These boys are so brilliant.  These are certainly my kind of people.  I have belly laughed for the first time since arriving. 

So, there is the main dude (his name I can’t remember, but I have a sneaky suspicion that he may be the town drug dealer).  He is married to a Russian lady and from what I gather they live next door to the travel agent.  They have an 8 year old daughter and she is quite possibly the brightest little button I have ever met.  She is set to break hearts all over India.  Pretty as a picture. 

Then there is Sunny.  Sunny is the funniest, most positive person I think I have ever met.  He is so laid back it’s surprising his eyes are even open.  I appreciate that I probably sound like a bit of a prick now but he has the most amazing energy.  I am utterly drawn to him (in a non sexual sense).  He has the most amazing wit and his grasp of the English language is quite spectacular.  He made me feel so welcome,   I could learn heaps from this man (If I wasn’t leaving tomorrow)

Then finally is the bloke from Kerala (again I can’t remember his name).  He looks like a human Wookie.  He has quite possibly the biggest beard I have ever seen (Members of ZZ top would be envious).  He is covered from head to toe in tattoos and he is a total dude.  He is also shitter than I am at Rummy, so I love him even more for that.  At some stage in the evening I was worried that he could see my cards only for him to reply “are you kidding. I can’t see past my beard”. 

These boys rock the world.  Maybe I don’t need westerners after all.  These boys have made me the happiest I have been since arriving.  Maybe Goa isn’t so shit after all. 

wifi

I woke up yesterday feeling excited to be leaving the hotel from hell and felt almost ecstatic when I found the cutest little guest house, out in the sticks (courtesy of Lonely Planet)  I almost passed out with excitement when I saw that it had a little fridge, and wait for it…..a TV!!!  Baga seems to be the equivalent of an Indian Benidorm, but my little place is tucked away overlooking the river and is so beautiful and peaceful.  I feel happy here. 

The grounds are so secluded (it takes me about an hour to get to the shops/bars) that to increase security the landlady has 3 fuck off Rottweiler’s, just roaming around.  They are lovely but pretty boisterous.  I was playing with them earlier but am now covered in cuts and bruises.  I think they thought I'm much more robust than I actually am.  I look like I’ve been in a road traffic accident. 

After being mauled by the dogs I set off in search of wifi.  I found an English bar so thought I would ask in there.  Turns out not only do they not have wi fi, they also don’t speak English.  I figured why I was there I may as well have a beer.   I ended up watching Hot Shots Deux (terrible American comedy) with 4 Indian guys who laughed at things that weren’t even designed to be funny.  This isn’t really how I saw this trip panning out.

I eventually found some wifi in a small side street.  This doesn’t sound like it should be so important but when something is taken away from you it becomes all you think you need in the world). Outside a small travel agents office (although I have the feeling that this may just be a cover for something else as I have yet to see any arranging of travel going on) was an even smaller table and chairs.  I was invited to join an old Indian hippy bloke and his mates whilst I used the wifi.  Within minutes we were all like old friends.  He then whips out the biggest joint I have ever seen, followed by some of the best samosa’s I’ve ever eaten.  I promise I don’t seek out trouble, I just have an uncanny knack of finding it.  I am uncontrollably drawn to the dark side.

I had a great night, but left before sunset, for the hour trek home.  It doesn’t feel safe after dark plus I was excited to get home to watch TV.  I watched American Ninja Warrior.  It’s like the ultimate tough mudder competition with a touch of Gladiators thrown in for good measure (it was very Vegasesk).  If you like watching blokes with big arms swinging from different apparatus then this is the show for you.  Funnily enough I am partial to watching blokes with big arms do just about anything, so this was right up my street.  

Bad trip

At about 9am I set off, like a little drown rat, to get money out. I went to about 6 ATM machines but none of them worked.  I went to a bank to ask what was wrong only to be informed that there was no money.  Well that’s handy.  What’s weird is that they employ security guards to sit at the machines.  You’ll know when you’ve made it as a security guard when you get to guard a machine that actually has cash inside.

My initial impression of Goa is that it is full of miserable people (although this might just be reflective of my mood).  So far all the Indians I’ve met have been super friendly.   This feels like being in France!!  People from Goa appear to have had their fill of westerners so make no effort at all.  I feel like a little white lonely fish in a tank full of goldfish.  On the plus side the place is full of booze.  So things can’t be all that bad.

I went out for breakfast and to search for wifi.  Wifi doesn’t seem to have made its way to Goa yet (thus why it’s been difficult for me to blog).   I was really down in the dumps.  I had no money, no way of contacting any of my friends, was soaked through from the rain (moan moan moan) so when Appu called to say that he would come to collect me I was overjoyed (it was relatively short lived).

Appu arrived on a bike with Chimppu (That’s a person as opposed to a pet monkey).  They took me to get some money out and then we set off to Anjuna (3 of us on the bike.  Nothing seems strange in India anymore).  It was nice to be out and with people but in reality I have nothing in common with these boys.  They are both 22 years old and had spent the entire weekend taking acid (India is like living in the 90’s).  Being in my room felt like having a really bad acid trip.  I really didn’t feel the need to do the real thing.  They said that we should go out to party that night.  Having already had an experience of an Indian “party” I decided it was much wiser to stay in.   See, I am learning!

Baga shite

Being completely devoid of any real plan I figured I would go to Baga.  I’d been reading up about it and it seemed to be the liveliest place in Goa (full of backpackers….apparently).  It was still too early for public transport so I got a taxi.  I said I’d get in the back so that I could sleep.  The driver said it was no problem and that he’d wake me when we arrived.   He seemed to forget this pledge and instead woke me up about every 20 minutes to point out various different roads. Even if I was wide awake I wouldn’t have given a toss.  You can imagine my joy at being woken up to be informed which road leads of Mumbai.

We eventually rock up at a hotel.  The taxi driver came in with me as there was no one in sight.  We saw that the receptionist was fast asleep on the sofa, so of course, the taxi driver wastes no time in waking him up (this seems to be his forte).  I was then told by the grumpy receptionist that a room would cost 800 Rupees for a night but I’d have to be out by 10am (it was already about 6.30am) so I paid for 2 nights so that I could have a lie in.  I was way too tired for any negotiations. 

Sod’s law meant that I was up at 8.30.  This might have something to do with it being the nosiest hotel (I use the word hotel very loosely) in India.  I went for a shower but had to wait for 5 minutes for the water to turn from brown to clear.  I actually felt more minging after I came out.  Everything about the room was depressing.  Outside wasn’t much better as it was full scale monsoon rain. I plumped for the rain rather than stay in the hell hole of a room.   It felt like it was sucking the joy out of me.  The thought of staying another night was giving me the willies (and not in a good way).  I want to go home!!

Going to Goa

Believe it or not the train journey from Ernakulem to Goa was pretty none eventful (by my standards).  I took sleeper class, which means that you get your own bed, although the term bed might be an over exaggeration.  It is just a big hard seat hanging from the ceiling (equivalent of the luggage rack in the UK).  My face felt like it was only inches away from the ceiling (because it was) and dangerously close to the fans.  I’m not sure if I was more scared about my face being sliced into pieces by the fans or of falling out of the sodding thing   I suppose you get what you pay for.  The train ticket was only about a fiver so I don’t really have any place to moan (although I’m bloody well going to).

There was a young boy travelling with his parents in my carriage (no, that's not a euphemism).  He was only about 10 years old but was quite possibly the most annoying little brat known to man.  He insisted on whistling (I hate whistling), whining and showing off the whole journey.  After about an hour I was ready to throw the little fucker off the train.  It didn’t help that I had no food with me (I was starving.  You’ll be surprised to learn that there are no buffet carriages on Indian trains) and had to watch him stuff his little fat face with an endless supply of food.  . 

At about 4am a couple of Swedish girls woke me up (no, it wasn’t an erotic lesbian dream) to say that we were at Goa.  I’m not sure how they knew I was going there but thank sweet Jesus on a keyring that they woke me.  I am quite clearly a novice at this travelling lark.  I thought Goa was the last stop.  Left to my own devices I would have ended up in Delhi or somewhere.

It was pitch black on the train so I had to gather my things as quickly as I could in the dark (whilst half asleep) then had to negotiate my way down from the hanging bed/luggage rack, all before the train pulled away. My arse was twitching like a bunny’s nose!  In my panic I left my book, which is an absolutely pisser as it was great (The hundred year old man who climbed out of the window – Jonas Jonasson.  I can thoroughly recommend the first 157 pages,), but I managed to get off the train just in time before it left for god knows where.  Phew!  Breathe! 

Judy

I spent my last night in Fort Cochin with Judy (having a night alone seems like an impossible task in India).  We went out for dinner.  Well that isn’t strictly true.  I had dinner whilst Judy watched me and continuously asked if it was okay.  Luckily it turned out to be delicious, but there are only so many times you can compliment food before it gets somewhat repetitive.  She seemed really pleased that I ate everything (She even clapped when I finished). 

Whilst at dinner she was explaining that her son was 28 and still unmarried (heaven forbid).  She asked me if I knew anyone suitable.  She said she wanted him to marry someone like me, but less naughty, which made me laugh.  I asked why she didn’t want him to marry an Indian girl and she said at this stage she just wanted him to be married, she really didn’t care where the girl came from.  Her only requirement was that the girl shouldn’t be too short.  Apparently in Judy’s eyes, midgets make for terrible wives.  

She arranged for her son to drop me at the train station the next day.  She had already told me that he was desperately shy so I think it had been orchestrated to give him experience of talking to women.  He looked terrified but he didn’t do too badly and it was only semi awkward.  He told me he doesn’t drink, goes to church as often as possible and his favourite thing to do is drive his car.  He sounds right up my street!!

I was sad to say goodbye to Judy.  She has been like my Indian mother.  I feel like I have been cut loose from the apron strings and am now all alone in the world once more.  Still I have the exciting 14 hour train journey to look forward to.  Yippeee!!! 

Party?

Steve invited me to a party.  His idea of a party is entirely different from mine.. This is my idea of a party; getting a bit dressed up (wearing inappropriate heels, which are so uncomfortable (but look hot) they don't stay on my feet past 9pm), talking to lots of people and generally laughing my tits off, a spot of dancing (this varies depending on the amount of alcohol I have consumed.  Pissed up and I hear lets get retarded by the Black Eyed Peas, I think I've got more rtyhmn than the cast of Sisteract.  It's sadly entirely untrue), drinking shed loads of booze (and invarably waking up the next morning with the fear), followed by a bit of a mild snogging at the end of the evening.   Now that's a good party.

Steve seemed to bypass the whole party part of the evening and instead took me to a room at the back of a restaurant where he had some warm beer waiting for us and some skanky old cushions and silks arranged on the floor.  It looked like a crack den.  He seemed very pleased with his efforts though and when he asked if I liked it I gave him my most amazingly dazzling false smile, whilst the whole time thinking that my spoilt little arse could manage about half an hour (maximum) in this shit hole. 

I think Steve is sweet but I had no intention of doing the wild thing with him.  Luckily for me I was spared the awkward “I’m not ready to sleep with you” chat as the excitement of the night seemed to be all too overwhelming for poor young Steve.  We were kissing (who doesn’t love kissing?), which was nice enough but it appeared Steve liked it far more than I did!!  I don’t want to go into too much detail (and Dad, you should look away now) but let’s just say Steve was spent (and not nearly as embarrassed as he should have been about the whole debacle) before he even got started.  I'd love to say that this was all down to how incredible a kisser I am, but alas, I think it has a lot more to do with Steve’s complete lack of experience with women (how was I to know?  This never happens in films)

It made me giggle and I couldn’t really stop.  I realised how insane the whole situation was.  This is entirely the sort of thing that I shouldn’t be doing.  I am such a fucking a cliché.  My fit of laughter was not helped by catching a glimpse of his Jesus keyring.  How had I not noticed this before?  (Picture attached, cause it must sound like I make this shit up).  

He didn’t seem to be mortally wounded by my laughing at him.  He asked if I would stay the night (in the crack den, on the floor.  Hmmm.  Tempting!) I felt like shouting "are you utterly insane" but instead went for the kinder option and said that Judy (my Indian mother figure and landlady) was expecting me home and that I should leave.   Thank you for the wonderful evening though!

I have spent the entire day hanging out in places that I don’t generally go, trying to avoid him, but of course he still managed to find me (this place is way too small). I explained that I needed a day to myself (and no, of course it's nothing personal, blah blah blah).  The massive spanner in the works is that he works in the bar directly opposite where I stay (I told you it was a cliche).  Nothing like shitting on your own doorstep, Breed.   Lesson severely learnt.  Thank sweet Jesus (in keyring form) that I'm leaving tomorrow.  I promise to be better behaved in Goa.  

SKK

I fully intended to go out and have egg on toast (you see how I am embracing Indian life).  I went the back streets so that I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.  I managed to get quite far away before Steve drove along with plans for us for the day.  You’d never be able to run away in this place.  They all have inbuilt stalker tenancies.  Someone always finds you.  So my egg on toast breakfast turned into an extravagant potato curry breakfast.  I’m going to look like a whale by the time I get back.

He then announced we were going to the cinema.  Oh goody.  Three hours I sat in that cinema for, not understanding the first thing that was going on. After a while it felt like my eyes and ears could bleed at any moment.  It’s only saving grace was that all the actors are a bit chubby and out of shape which makes for great viewing when there’s a fight scene but really not worth wasting 3 hours of my life for.

Later I bumped into John and his friend Suraj Krishnan Kutty (what a majestic name). SKK, as he will now be known, is from Varkala Beach.  The minute you meet SKK you immediately get the impression that this dude lives on the beach (he even makes me use the word dude).  He has thick curly hair down to his bum.  L’Oreal would have a field day with this man (if it were still the late 90’s|).   He looks like he was born playing a sitar.  He lived in London long enough to make a shitload of cash as a yoga teacher/guru or whatever the correct term is.  He sent money home, invested wisely, and is now reaping the rewards.  He looks like he doesn’t have a worry in the world.  I would imagine he spends most of his days either drunk or stoned but just incredibly happy.  I hate him a bit.

They’d just brought fresh fish, a shit load of brandy and some beers so invited me to share it with them.  I passed on the brandy but accepted the beer and fish.  SKK cooked the (unidentified) fish in a “to die for” homemade Masala mix with onions, tomatoes,   It was defuckinglicious.  We even ate with spoons.  Dead posh!  I felt a bit bad for leaving as soon as I had finished the beer and ate all the fish but not bad enough to stay any longer.  They were both steaming drunk from the brandy.  English was beginning to become a thing of the past (for them, not for me).  I’d already sat through a film and not known what the fuck was going on I didn’t want to spend the evening doing the same.  

Gig

It appears I can’t even leave my front door without ended up at an entirely different venue that I’d originally intended.  On Thursday night I planned to go for an Italian meal (as you do when you’re in India) instead I ended up in a small venue, packed with yoga loving, long haired hippies, listening to a live band.  It was pretty cool actually.  I didn’t fancy the drummer though which was a bit upsetting as I generally always fancy drummers.  The lead guitarist was away with the fairies.  He seemed to be channelling the spirit of Hendrix (badly).  The other one looked like an Indian Slash (minus the hat).  It wasn’t really my cup of tea but I thoroughly enjoyed it.  I’ve uploaded a video for your viewing pleasure.

I got a lift back from one of Steve’s mates who decided that he would try to kiss me.  This would have been bad enough anyway but at the time I was on the back of his bike and he was driving!!  Cheers for that mate.  You might want to watch where you're going and fuck right off.  My experience of Indian men is that they really don’t get a lot of action.  They are all like 14 year old boys who want to hump the world.  Walking erections, the lot of ‘em.   This could be a long and tiresome few months. 

I had to pop out to get some fags so wandered along to the shop and saw Machu sitting on the pavement.. Machu is a disabled guy I have met a few times.   He's unable to walk and has limited use of his arms but he is a fantastic artist.  I’m never quite sure how he gets about as he has no wheelchair or walking aids.  I think his mates just pick him and leave him places.  It’s all quite strange.  He said he knew I was going away to Goa but wanted me to know that he was going to draw a picture of me while I was away, which I could see when I got back.   I was quite touched until he asked what size and colour my nipples were, so that he could get the picture accurate.  Euukk!!! 

Shirley Valentine

When the alarm when off this morning at 6am I could have wept, but it was all worth it. I've had the best day. Steve picked me up on his bike at 6.30 and drove (really carefully, thank the lord) for about an hour and a half, off to see the elephants.

When we got to the water there was an old man washing in it. He had a little bottle of Pantene and was washing himself like he hadn’t seen water for about a month. He seemed to be relishing the fact that he had a crowd of about 10 westerners watching him wash his bits. I didn’t want to watch but there was something oddly and utterly fascinating about the whole thing. We even got a flash of penis (well it was like a penis, only much smaller) and a bit of arse crack, to boot. Lucky I hadn’t already had breakfast!

After a short wait Steve said that the elephants were late. It really made me laugh, as in my experience elephants are generally sticklers for time. The elephants eventually rocked up (with no apology for their tardiness). As soon as they arrived so did the monsoon rains. I had no umbrella (or camera. I would like to remind you at this point that I had to leave my homestay at 6.30AM!!! I was barely awake, let alone capable of collecting my belongings) so I shared an umbrella with a western bloke, who had worse pants on than me (honestly). It turned out he was a neuro-scientist. He is trying to cure alzheimers. How cool is that? I felt massively inadequate explaining that I used to work for an insurance firm. I was tempted to make something up but it was too early in the day. I could barely string a sentence together.

The blokes in charge of the elephants appear to be really mean to them. There’s a lot of shouting and poking with sticks. It’s an accident waiting to happen. One day dear old Dumbo is going to go rouge and kill the lot of them, thus why I declined getting up close and personal with them. The elephants looked pretty pissed off so I decided to stay back and watch from a safe distance. As beautiful as they are, there is only so much washing of an animal I can watch so Steve and I chipped off to get an egg curry for breakfast (as you do) and then went to the beach.

Steve said we should go in the sea (even though it looked like the Thames on a good day) and then almost immediately did the cliché splashing of water thing before diving in for a kiss. It was a little bit gringy but not unwelcome. We then went and sat on the rocks (covered in shit from the sea) where he put his arm around me. I did feel about 12 years old at this stage but it was sweet. In fairness Steve is probably not much older than about 12 himself, so that could have had something to do with it. It’s all very Shirley Valentine but fuck it no-ones going to find out (Oh, other than you lot).

Single White Female

Christ on a bike.  I am beginning to think that it wasn’t so bad in the house with a shitload of people after all.  I have spent the day alone, which generally suits me down to the ground, but it appears that the locals assume that any western woman travelling alone is looking to be rogered!!  It is a relentless barrage of attention (to which I'm normally quite partial but this is overkill).  This is where my new stalker comes in handy.  It appears that John is quite a big shot in town so I say that I am here as his guest and this seems to work.  I am now apparently the equivalent to a gangster’s moll.  Ace!

I did meet a nice bloke called Steve who has invited me out tomorrow to go and wash elephants.  Now as first dates go this is a complete winner.  It beats going to the Wimpy (and I actually, oddly love the Wimpy).  He said that he would take me on his bike which I agreed to.  He later showed me a whole bunch of pictures on his phone.  There was a picture of him looking not dissimilar to John Meric.  I asked him what happened to his face, only for him to casually reply that he fell off his bike (I really need to get this will sorted). Eekkk!!

I am now sitting in the safety of the princess palace and am as happy as a pig in shit.  I have managed to speak to Clarkey, Fish and Dad this week and laughed till it hurt so I’m a very content girl.  Maybe this is the turning point and you will no longer have to listen to me moan my tits off everyday.  Here’s hoping, for all out sakes. 

What Katy did next

I appear to have found myself a new friend who is going to Goa at the weekend and wants to show me around.  His name is Apu (I shit you not).  He is a local boy from a bar that doesn’t sell beer (again, I shit you not).  He looks as gay as a Christmas tree and he's young enough to be my son but at this stage I’m not really in a position to be choosy.  It’ll be nice to be with some locals while I find my feet.

My new landlady Judy is lovely.  As are most of the Indians I have met, to be fair.  How come it’s only miserable ones that live in the east end of London? She is organising my sleeper train to Goa.  She was worried for me as there is no air conditioning on the train.  I’m really not bothered.  All I am hoping for is to get to the other end drama free (sweaty is the least of my worries). 

Talking about worries, my old landlord John has now turned into a massive stalker.  He has been waiting about my homestay for me and calling every hour.  On the plus side he obviously didn’t take the finger jibe to heart.  He has invited me to an Independence Day party on Thursday.  I would rather gouge my own eyes out with a spoon than spend an entire evening with him, so I am going to have to fake illness (because it appears I am incapable of actually saying no).  The squits has to be a winner (not to actually have, just as a feasible excuse).  

Pictures I forgot to include.

Princess Palace

I have finally moved out of the house.  Yeaaaaaahhhhh!!!!  I now feel like the cat that got the cream.  My landlord sorted out, quite possibly, the poshest room I have ever seen (for a tenner).  The best part about it is that it’s all mine!!!!  I have a mahousive bed (with clean sheets) and my own ensuite shower room.  Get me!  I feel like a princess.  I’m tempted never to leave it (well until I get hungry or need a beer).

My landlord has been super helpful but I feel that his intentions may not be entirely honourable.  He tells me that I am the most beautiful and most interesting person he has had staying in his homestay for the last 7 years.  This is blatantly a massive lie as I look like a bag of shite.  I am wearing orange elephant pants for fuck sake.  As for being interesting, he must be easily pleased as all I’ve done is moan my arse off.  He offered me to stay in his (one bedroom) house (free of charge).  Hmm, let me think about.  NO!! 

He was born with a deformity so only has 1 finger and a thumb on one hand.  I completely forgot this earlier, when he was telling me about his various businesses, and said it sounds like you have your fingers in lots of pies.  Doh!!  Taxi for Breed. 

So the plan is now to chill out and relax for a couple of days (not chillax, as anyone who says that needs punching straight in the face).  I am then going to make my way up to Goa and see how much trouble I can get in there.  I am booking a sleeper train this time to avoid any wanton or wayward toes!!   Wish me luck. 

Pictures attached of my princess palace.  Nice, eh?

Rehab

I feel like I am in rehab and not allowed out until it’s safe for me, or the general public at large.  I have been pacing around the cocking house all day like a caged tiger.  I am waiting to hear back about my refund.  I think the mention of my (imaginary) lawyer (called Ross.  See Taylor, I knew you’d come in handy eventually) has made them shit themselves.  When I told her I had a lawyer she almost turned white, which is quite a feat for an Indian lady.  They think I am a big hot shot (mainly cause that’s what I told them) back home.  Little do they know that not only am I not a big shot, in fact I am officially an unemployed bum. 

I can’t imagine that anything will happen quickly, but if I were them I would want to see the back of me, quick smart.  We have daily team meetings and it’s like the Kate Breed show.  I even bore myself.  I am so troublesome (I know.  You’re all shocked aren’t you?).  I blame Dad.  He is the most militant fucker I know.  Like father, like daughter.  Well at least I hope so, cause as it happen,s my old man is the best bloke on the face of the planet.  I love you, Pop.

I’ve been told that I won’t get my money back for a month so for the next month I am going to have to be really careful.  I am told that it is super cheap in Goa so I’ll hold off on the arse selling (for now).   I’m not even sure how much I’d get for it anyway.  I haven’t been to the gym for ages so unless they like the Beyonce look I am dead in the water.

Ferry

I am under strict instructions from Clarkey to write more so this is me writing more.  Today has absolutely sucked cock.  I am bored out of my tiny mind.  I want to just lock myself away to read and write but this house is packed to the rafters with pricks (not literally, if it were I might be moaning less).  Actually that's not fair, they're not all pricks but most of them just bore the pants off me.  I like to think it's because I am super witty and intellegent rather than being massively unsociable and a bit of a moody cow.

Yesterday was marginally better.  The boys hired scotters so I hopped on the back of Robbies and set off to face the maddness of the Indian roads.  Holy moly it was terrifiying.  I nearly shit myself (and not for the first time since arriving in India).  The only rule is, there are no rules.  I would imagine that in your driving test as long as you don't kill a cow, dog or person you pass with flying colours.  Utter carnage!

I wanted some alone time (and realised that I have yet to sort out a will) so decided to ditch the boys in favour of getting the ferry back.  I love the ferry.  It is the perfect way to travel.  The sun was even out for a change (It's been lashing it down for days on end).  I'm not sure what it is about being on the water but there seems to be an unwritten rule the world over that if you pass another vessel everyone must wave.  A small boat passed and everyone waved, so I waved back but it seems that the the obligitory waving rule has bypassed the Indians.   They were all looking at me like I should have been travelling by sunshine bus. If there were any windows on the ferry I would have been tempted to lick them!

Priest

On the way to the orphanage yesterday we saw a monkey just walking down the street.  It looked like it was just out shopping for the day.  Super funny.  Things in India shouldn’t still surprise me but they constantly do.  Nothing more so than seeing a little boy from the orphanage jumping into the river to fish out a dead dog!!  Nice.

It was the last day at the orphanage so we had to give the kids a test on what they had learnt.  I tried explaining this to them but they all just looked very confused.  You can tell when they are confused or embarrassed as they do this adorable head bobble.  It’s quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.  The other cute thing is when they call me Auntie.  These boys make me so happy.  It was heartbreaking to say goodbye to them.  It is emotionally and physically draining though.  I feel like I have aged about 20 years. 

I am ashamed to say that I spent some of the day flirting with a priest who looks like an Indian Magnum PI.  I’m not sure if I can go to hell for this or if god looks favourably upon fraternising with this staff??  I seem to be a hit with the godly folk.  I met a nun who asked if I would be her best friend?? and invited me to her convent.  I said yes but only cause I am terrible at saying no.  I didn’t have the heart to say that I’d probably ignite into a ball of fire if I tried to set foot inside a convent. 

Just for Rach, here’s a picture of my beautiful elephant trousers.  Go on admit it, you all want me!!

New Girl

There's a new girl in the house (like we needed anymore people).  She is an absolute C word (I promised I wouldn't say cunt as Dad doesn't like it.....sorry Dad, last time I promise).  If I thought that the old coordinators were bad this one just takes the piss.  We have meetings each day and today we were told that we are not allowed out after 10pm. Hahahahahahaha.  Bunch of mugs.  I'm thirty fucking nine years old. How about you fuck right off.

I can't imagine staying here for long as I am truly on the verge of knocking someone spark out.  I need to get my money and then go.  I might go to Goa and bum about there for a bit while I figure out a plan.  It would be rude to come all the way to India and not go there.  If nothing else I might meet some people to travel with.  I'm a bit scared of travelling alone.  Plus I will be bored shitless if I have no one to speak to for 3 months.

I have also been told today that as of next week I can no longer work in the orphanages as the kids will be at school and so there is no use for me.  I am pretty heartbroken.  I love these little boys so much (not as much as my L&G boys though).  There seems no reason for me to stay.  I just need to get my money back first (nothing happens quickly in India though so not sure how that will pan out) and then do one.

Rant over.

Arse action

Sorry I didn't write yesterday.  I was DYING of a hangover.  My landlord (Indian John) invited me in for beers and brandy (in the same glass??).  I got absolutely shitfaced.  Not my brightest idea as I had to travel miles to go to a girls orphange (I'm like the orphange queen now).  I was feeling pretty ropey before I got there but even worse after I had lunch.

I couldn't face eating anything but how do you say no to a Nun?  The girls were so excited to see me and so happy that someone had come to visit that I didn't have the heart to say that I didn't want to eat with them. When I saw what was being served up I nearly wept.  It was like something out of the film Oliver.  With each mouthful I thought I was going to chuck up.  I had to eat it all though as I didn't want to seem like an ungrateful western (even though I am).   It was quite possibly the hardest 10 minutes of my life.  It was a miracle I managed to keep it down (I was in a house of god after all).

As soon as I got home I was as ill as you like.  The only thing that made me feel better was one of the girls gave me a back massage.  She asked if I minded if she massaged my arse.  Damn straight I don't mind.  It was chuffing amazing.  In lieu of any man action I'll take a young girl from Switzerland caressing my butt.

Life is not so bad after all.  

Orphanage

Oh my shitting god.  Can you believe it, I'm finally happy (whilst at the same time pretty broken).   After a meeting with the director (and kicking off Breed stylie) I have been placed in an orphanage and I couldn't be happier.  You wouldn't believe how wonderful these kids are.  They are picked up from the streets, from all sorts of troubled backgrounds but are the happiest little kids I have ever met.  It is massively humbling.

I pretty much love them all and want to take most of them home.  I think about everything I have and it makes me so sad that I can't share it with them.   I'm embarrassed about all the times I've moaned about being skint. These poor little fuckers have absolutely bugger all.  They sleep 40 to a room and they shower outside.  All the food and clothes they have are donated so some of them are dressed in girls clothes or pyjama's (is that how you spell it?) All they want is to be loved and to have some attention(sounds a bit like me).

Life is so cruel.

Right I'm off to look at pictures of dog's dressed up to cheer myself up.

For Rach

I got told off (by Rachel) for not making my blog interesting enough so I am trying to upload pictures to go with it.  Here is my favourite so far (and I did promise).

If this works, you should now be able to see a dead rat the size of a small cat!

Enjoy.

Hope you're happy Rach.  You're a hard woman to please.  Funky trousers will follow. 

Road trip (continued)

We finally arrived in Thiruvananthapuram at 4am in search of a cheap place to stay.  We got a place that cost 700R which is less than a tenner.  The saying you get what you pay for has never been more true.  The bed was even harder than the one at the hostel (how is that even possible?) and was covered in hebbie jebbies.  I have lost any sense of pride so was just glad of a place to rest my head.  That was until I realised the pillow was as hard as a paving block.  Stefan was a complete gentleman and offered me his (which was marginally softer). How cute is that?  Stefan is now my favourite person in the world (see how easy I am to please….no comments on that please).

After about 5 hours sleep we went to visit the city.  As the boys had been there before I figured that they would be like tour guides.  Were they fuck.  We aimlessly wandered around, as grumpy as hell.  We looked at a temple (from the outside.   Brilliant.  Glad we came all this way).  We eventually went to the beach but  I was so tired all I wanted was to be back in my stone bed again. 

Whilst at the beach I realised that I may be slightly inappropriately dressed for India.  I had what can only be described as a camel toe on show.  I thought my top was longer than it actually was.  People were staring all day.  The final straw came when some young India boys asked if they could take their picture with me.  I can only imagine that I looked like (a really rubbish) porn star. I went to the only shop I could find and I'm now the proud owner of a pair of bright orange elephant print baggy trousers.  I have never felt so sexy.  Thank fuck none of you can see me now.  

This is the road (trip) from hell - Part 1

I really need to learn to temper my excitement.  It seems that it is all very misplaced.  I was so excited to get away (from the roof) for the weekend.  The boys and I headed off for the ferry, then to the train station to go to Thiruvananthapuram (I know it looks like my keyboard has broken but that really is the name of an actual place).

We had to wait for over 2 hours for the train.  Foolishly I thought that this was a hardship.  I nearly wept when the train finally rocked up.  It was like a travelling urinal.  I'm surprised you couldn't get a whiff of it from where ever you are reading this.

Never again will I moan about the Central line.  This train will haunt me for the rest of my days.  When I say it was packed to the rafters I mean that people were even rammed into the luggage racks.  It was funny for about 2 minutes but the thought of standing up for 5 hours filled me with utter terror.  After about an hour I thought I was going to pass out so managed to squeeze myself onto the floor.  The smell of feet was almost a pleasant change from the rancid smell of piss.

To say that I was uncomfortable was a massive understatement.  I didn't think things could get much worse, that was until I was sexually assaulted by a man's toe!!  We were all on top of each other so at first when I had a man's foot in my lady garden I didn't pay too much attention.  It was only when he started to wiggle it about that I thought that something may be wrong.  I gave him the benefit of the doubt for a while (let's face it I'm not going to get any action else where).  I tried to move but it was really difficult.  I managed to re-position myself but still his toe managed to find a way.  I looked up to give him my best death stare, only for him to give me a creepy smile.  urrghh!!!

I got up and squeezed myself through a gazillion men to the door (they have the doors open.  Health and safety has yet to reach India.  I hung out of the door for the rest of the journey.  Fear of falling out seemed like a better option than being toe raped!

Little ones

So I finally got to meet and teach some kids.  I think what they mainly learnt is that white people are scary. I was teaching little tiny kids, maybe 4 years old.  They were quite possibly the cutest little things I have ever seen.  Big shiny eyes (even more so after crying), eye lashes like donkeys and a little uniform that would melt the hardest of hearts.

They came into the teaching room, took one look at us all and their little expressions turned to sheer terror.   You can't blame them.  Not only are we massive compared to them, we are also completely alien in every sense, not to mention the fact that we were mob handed.  In fact there were more volunteers than children (I won't start moaning again about what a shit company it is as I think you already get the gist).

After a little while we managed to pacify them and for a while they seemed as happy as you like.  There is nothing more rewarding than making them smile.  I felt completely happy and content for the first time since arriving until the fat fuck of a (so called) coordinator pretended to be a lion and roared at them until one by one they broke down crying and had to be taken back to class.  I shit you not I am on the verge of murder. I'm assuming it's still illegal in India??  Answers on a postcard please.  If there is any chance I can get away with it, it would be great to know.