After 7 weeks, Dave and I were reunited in Dharamsala. I woke up in the big double bed I’d shared with Ricky in our horrid bottle and ash strewn apartment, showered and left to find my buddy. I got a tuk tuk up the mountain to Dharamkot, and asked a few local people for directions to a cafe we’d agreed to meet at. I walked down the mountain path all lined with pines, crisp air filling my lungs and snow-capped peaks peering at me from beyond the green valley. Continue reading
travel writing
India: Pellet Guns and a Glimpse of Tiger
The next stage of the road trip was a little less intense, thank heavens. Only 500km to cover this time, and with lovely company. Poppy and Michael were great, but something about the combination of myself, Ricky, Tali and John really kicked out sparks. Together they reminded me of some of my favourite people from Berlin. Tali was from Paris and wore floaty dresses that made it seem as if her feet didn’t touch the ground, and she would sing along to old French songs she put on the radio. John was from Vancouver and the same height as me and took nothing seriously. He spoke perfect French with Tali, and to my absolute delight we shared the same surreal anecdotal humour. Continue reading
India: Rapids, Ravines, and a Rant About Religion
Ricky, Poppy, Michael and I woke up from our hard earned naps at 4 in the afternoon. I was first up and went out onto the apartment balcony to gaze at the brand new landscape. It was green and pretty and a world away from Varanasi, but I’ve got to admit that I was a little disappointed in Rishikesh. But, if you’re willing to whip out the scalpel and hand mirror and perform a little key hole surgery into your soul, I reckon even crushing disappointment can teach you something. So here’s why I thought Rishikesh was wank. Continue reading
India: The Roadtrip and the Army and the Shotgun Wedding
Now, I wrote a 1000 word article that I thought I’d published on my last few days in Varanasi, but it is nowhere to be found, so whatever, let me summarise: I spent 3 days living for free in the basement of a temple waiting for the arrival of a mysterious man called Ricky who I was told was looking for people to split petrol costs to Rishikesh. I went slightly insane languishing in my basement with naught but a family of mice for company, but no matter. After I’d passed a week in Varanasi, Ricky arrived: a small Punjabi dude who has lived in Melbourne for 8 years, with a tattoo that says ‘such is life’ and a finely tuned moustache. And lo, you are up to speed. Continue reading
India: SpoO0Ooky Bats!
The first night at Goan Corner was pretty brutal. I slept alone in my dinky thatch-roof mud hut and starfished on the double bed beneath a light blue mosquito net. Through the cracks in the ceiling I could see moonlight. It was all very beautiful until the fan broke at 3am and I boiled alive, and a succession of coconuts crashed down onto the roof, and a pack of dogs got into a savage brawl outside my door. I forgot to drink enough water too, which meant I woke up periodically with weak trembling limbs, lurching in and out of tragic sleepy hallucinations of ex-girlfriends. But ahhhh, I’m used to it all by now. Continue reading
India: Ferris Wheel of Death
Lily, Conor and I arrived in Hampi around 7am after a relatively easy night bus. After gurning my way through several hellish rides, at this point I’ve got night buses down to a tee. Long sleeved shirt and jeans to avoid the inevitable snowstorm from the pounding AC, a bottle of water, a massive, forced piss before boarding, headphones w/phone charged, an emergency jacket, and a seat rather than a bed – you can stabilise yourself far easier in a chair than a bed, where you’re left to roll around and smack into every surface available. I’m getting good at this. Continue reading
India: Swervin’ the Cops
I’ve been in Goa for two bloody weeks and I tell you what, if I ever see a coconut again it’ll be too soon. I’ve not stopped sweating; even now I’m sitting a little bit drunk alone on the terrace and my arms are so wet I could fist a cow. Goodness, fist a cow? Where did that come from? Nevermind, we’ve no time to turn back now. So yeah, I’m ready to leave Goa and start travelling again. In Rajasthan I craved company and parties, but now I’ve been here a while with plenty of both, I’m ready to go solo and begin learning again. Continue reading
India: Goan Whirpool
I’ve had the time of my life and I’m filled with both the desperate longing for it to continue and the bittersweet reality that it’s almost over. Goa has been wonderful to me. It took me a few days to adjust to the humidity and for the guilt over doing nothing all day to abate, but after one week here I feel at home. Continue reading
India: Slums and Heatstroke
I’m getting way behind on these diaries now – I’m writing about the Jodhpurian desert as I’m sitting in the Goan jungle. But I’ll try and condense things. Continue reading
India: Bollywood Stars Pt. 2 (Stabbed by Amitabh Bachchan)
At 5 we gathered outside the old lady’s house and met a few other westerners who’d been picked out. I was the only Englishman, and we’d been told we’d be playing British soldiers – being killed. My great grandad on my dad’s side was stationed in Danapur in eastern India for seven years, which is an odd thought. Continue reading