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
travel writing
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
India: Bollywood Stars Pt.1
Breakfast in the morning was as breakfast has been most days: cereal, samosas, a fuck ton of chai and a pensive cigarette on the balcony with James. We met the Colombian guy, Sammy, in the morning, and our quartet decided to explore together for the day. And man, what a day. Continue reading
India: Cold Sands
sI woke up in the desert, breathing in fresh morning air. I sat up in bed and looked around. The others were all a-slumber, expect for Papu, who was quietly making breakfast. He waved at me from across the dune, grinning. Continue reading