Mental Scars of India

MENTAL SCARS OF INDIA
Although I had expected India to leave me with many lasting impressions I was surprised to be leaving with so many fond memories. I'll miss the hot chai served in wafer thin plastic cups, the vagueness of the head wobbling and in a way I'll even miss the attention. Other, less obvious, memories stick in my mind like the sign at Trivandrum airport stating that under no circumstances is chili powder allowed in carry-on luggage or the use of the words 'West Asia' instead of the 'Middle East' in all of the newspapers.

At times India felt like a paradise, more often it felt like a lunatic asylum, but it was always a place where the unexpected was commonplace. Everything is possible in India as my friend Georg often said.

I was surprised and often offended by the luxury and the squalor. India has a fine education system with schools that the most developed nation would envy and a fast growing software industry providing sustainable jobs and security, especially in the south. The gap however between the rich and the poor is horrifying. At one point I thought I had encountered just about every type of beggar imaginable; blind ones playing musical instruments, men with no legs sitting on trolleys with squeaky wheels pushing themselves around on their hands, women with small children, children with smaller children, young boys on hands and knees dressed in rags sweeping the dirt from underfoot on the train, old women with no teeth, big eyes that watch while you eat, ones with things growing out of their head or neck, the curious ones that follow and try to engage in conversation, the cross dressers, ones that sit and jangle change, ones too weak to move, ones with deformed hands and club feet, the skinny ones, the amputees, the open wounds, fresh out-of-hospital, the sick, the dying, the faceless hands through train windows, the ones that touch your arm really softly, the hands-to-the-mouth kind looking for food, the one whose face sagged down to his chest and the bubble man with thousands of wart-like growths all over his face and body. But just when you think you've seen them all you see something new - somebody burnt beyond recognition or a once beautiful woman who obviously had acid thrown over her face. These are the memories that are most vivid. These are the images that are inside my head and the ones that first come to mind when people ask me what was India like. It was madness, it was amazing. It was hard.

India can be hard going at times - the poverty is everywhere, bureaucracy never has enough red tape, bus and train trips are often long and uncomfortable and the locals seem to enjoy testing the tempers of even the most experienced travelers. I'd heard more than one person tell me that 'having done' India is better than 'actually doing it'. I wouldn't disagree with that - especially since I'm not there anymore.

In a diverse country like India I know that my experiences are likely to be different from everyone else's. It's not a place that you simply see over a period of time but more of a journey through the sacred, the materialistic and the profane. I enjoyed the challenges of India the longer I stayed there. I got used to the cows wandering the busy streets, the aggressive street vendors and rickshaw drivers, I enjoyed the stately relics from the colonial age and the riotous Hindu temples and pilgrimage sites. The food was excellent, my money stretched a long way and after a while I even got used to the heat. I liked it while I was there - but I like it a whole lot more now from the comfort of home.

Indian kids from Chennai

Vientiane, Laos

VIENTIANE
There were two things I wanted to see in Vientiane - the Patuxai and the Great Sacred Stupa. From a distance the Patuxai looks like the Arc de Triomphe but up-close the temple-like ornamentation gives it a distinctly Lao flavour. Unlike the Parisian arch the Patuxai has four, rather than two, archways. It was built in the 1960s with US-purchased cement intended for the construction of a new airport - which has led some people to call it the 'vertical runway'. The fee for climbing to the top of the structure is only 1000 Kip (around 9c) and the views are well worth it. Most of the interior is barren except for the gift shop on the top two floors selling Beer Lao t-shirts and key chains. On the very top I found an old man selling old notes and coins so I stopped and completed my collection of Lao money.

The Patuxai, Vientiane

The view from the top of the Patuxai

Sadly, on the Thanon leading to the arch I watched as a motorbike turned in front of an approaching truck and was dragged under the front tyres for 50 meters. I kept my distance for a little while but as I slowly approached the wreckage the motorcycle driver and her female passenger were quickly taken away in the back of a rickshaw. Two unmatched sandals remained wedged under the motorbike but surprisingly there was little blood.

About 2km further north-east is the Great Sacred Stupa, a symbol of the Buddhist religion and Lao sovereignty, and the most important national monument. The current stupa was constructed in the 16th century on the site of a former Khymer monastery dating from the 11th century. It looks a little like a missile cluster from a distance but even under grey skies the golden spire shone brightly. The stupa is designed to be mounted by visitors who can walk around each level and up to the next. Each level contains Buddhist inscriptions which are to be contemplated as one takes the journey around and up the monument. The skies above me turned progressively darker so after half an hour I turned my back on the Great Sacred Stupa and began walking back across the courtyard to the main street.

The Great Sacred Stupa

TURNING AND WALKING AWAY
Slowly, images of the last 14 months flashed in my head. From Russia to China to Guatemala, Nepal and Sri Lanka I began reflecting on just where I had been and what I had achieved. After all this time, the Great Sacred Stupa in Laos would be the last thing I would see on this trip. My eyes welled up as I walked away, partly because I was saddened that the trip was coming to an end and partly because I had seen some of the most amazing sights that this planet has to offer - and it moved me. The world truly is an amazing place and it will never cease to amaze me.

HOMEWARD BOUND
My last night in Asia was a restless one. I was up late packing and by the time I lay down to sleep it was after midnight. I was up at 4am to shower before catching the 5am shuttle to the airport with a couple of other bleary eyed travellers. My first flight to Doha, Qatar was virtually empty. Most of us stretched out in the middle seats and slept but for most of the time I was tracking our progress over the Bay of Bengal, across India to the peninsular of Qatar. Landing in the brown dusty expanse of the desert kingdom could not have been more different from the lush green of monsoon Asia I had just left. I was barely at the airport an hour before boarding my next flight to Heathrow. The flight was much fuller but somehow I managed to secure a window and an aisle seat to myself.

My good friends Scooter (Scott) and his wife Jennifer had promised to collect me from Heathrow's Terminal 3 so I was particularly anxious to get off the plane. By the time I walked through the arrivals door I had been on the go for about 17 hours but I felt fresh and excited. I spotted Scooter and Jen and collapsed into their arms - relieved that I had done it. Around the world in 14 months without being robbed, mugged or losing anything that I couldn't replace. This was the end, but there was one more surprise.

On the walk to the car I saw a girl who at first I thought I met in Thailand a few weeks ago, but when I asked her she said that she had been teaching English in Sri Lanka for the past few months. As it turned out she was at the cricket test match in Kandy when I was there with Phil at the start of May. One last case of 'small world syndrome'.

Luang Prabang, Laos

LUANG PRABANG
I spent the rest of my time in Laos with some of the people from the minivan - there were some characters among them; the McKinstry sisters, Gail and Lyn, from Belfast, Lee and Laura from Scotland and Nicola from Chichester in England. Together we took a trip out to the Tat Kuang Si waterfall, about 30km south of the town, in the back of a pick-up truck. The promised rope swing beside the falls was missing but the setting was very nice even if the water was much colder than expected. I got goose bumps for the first time this year.

Over the next few days we created our own 'breakfast club', meeting at 9am at the same restaurant to join up for some sightseeing together. We ventured up river to the beautiful Pak Ou caves, crammed with Buddha images of all shapes and sizes, and around town to the Royal Palace and the Xieng Thong temple, probably the best example of Lao style temple architecture.

Pak Ou caves near Luang Prabang

View from inside the caves

There are some fabulous French style buildings along the side streets, scores of historic temples at every turn and a wonderful relaxed atmosphere around town. The street next to the Mekong River was being repaved while I was there so there were a few disruptions and some unsightly piles of rubble around the place but once finished the waterfront will be the place to be. Although there were many differences I honestly felt like I could be in New Orleans.

Temple in Luang Prabang

One cool cat

On the day that the All Blacks beat Wales in the rugby I celebrated 400 DAYS ON THE ROAD with a couple of coffee milkshakes and a few helpings of my signature dish - lemon sugar pancakes.
After four days in Luang Prabang, Lee and Laura left for northern Laos and Nicola flew to Thailand so I joined the McKinstry sisters on the bus back to Vang Vieng. One more night and a few movies later I was heading back to Vientiane - a city I had yet to explore properly.

Tuk-tuk with the McKinstry sisters

Bangkok to Vang Vieng, Laos

LAOS
It was drizzling when the bus pulled into Vientiane. The overnight bus journey from Bangkok was superb. We had a double-decker bus with only six people on board so there was plenty of room to spread out. After a quick SARS check at the border we were in Laos - the last country for me in South East Asia left undiscovered.

Like India and Bangladesh before, Laos left some very strong first impressions. I teamed up with a young Israeli bloke called Ido and together we walked to the bus depot, via the bank where we both become millionaires. At 10,540 Kip to the dollar it wasn't difficult. At the bus station a tuk-tuk driver convinced us to take a pick-up truck to Vang Vieng instead of the bus because it would only take two and a half hours instead of five. It was only a few cents more so we got him to drive us to the pick-up station and before long we left with only a handful of people on board, plus the compulsory bag of chickens on the roof. Just past the half way point at a town called Phone Hong (sounds like phone home) the pick-up broke down so we had to wait for the next one. The next one was full but we were both squeezed on board. In Laos, no pick-up truck is ever full. I tried to keep from standing on someone’s turkey as I nestled in beside a man in army fatigues for the remainder of the journey. The man’s face was badly burnt, he only had one eye remaining, his left arm was withered and the hand was missing. Every so often he would turn his smooth expressionless face in my direction and stare at me from behind his lidless eye. Occasionally he would belch uncontrollably and then offer an apologetic smile from his permanently open mouth.

Vang Vieng didn't come quick enough - but when it did it was worth the wait. A sleepy town beside a river, surrounded by massive limestone pinnacles, plenty of cheap guesthouses and restaurants showing movies all day long. A perfect place to wind down after a year of travelling.

INNER TUBES
I stayed at a brand new nameless guesthouse in Vang Vieng for 30,000 Kip per night. It sounds like a lot but a three night stay cost just a little over US$8 for a large single room with hot water and a balcony overlooking the main street.

My guesthouse in Vang Vieng

Typical sleepy street in Vang Vieng

Apart from eating and watching movies at restaurants the main attraction of Vang Vieng is the river and the nearby caves. I spent a full day on the Nam Song river in an inner tube, slowly drifting with the current and stopping occasionally to grab a bottle of Beer Lao or explore one of the many caves beside the river. The average trip is supposed to take 2 hours but after hooking up with a New Zealand couple and a Canadian guy the Beer became a priority and the trip extended beyond 7 hours. A few industrious locals had set up make-shift Beer Lao stops along the riverside, usually consisting of a small bamboo platform and a bucket full of ice and Beer Lao.

The inner tube group by the end of our trip

As it does when staying in sleepy towns the time passed too quickly and before I knew it, it was time to move on. For the five-hour trip up to Luang Prabang I bought a seat on the air-conditioned minivan to avoid catching the local bus - which would have taken close to 8 hours.

Chennai, India

WAS MADRAS, NOW CHENNAI
Chennai is another of India's big cities. Only Delhi, Mumbai and Kolkata are bigger. The heatwave in Andhra Pradesh hasn't spread as far south as Chennai but the mercury was still pushing well into the 30s when I was there.

I gave myself two full days in Chennai - the first to book my passage back to Kolkata and the second to explore the city. At the Central Railway Station I booked myself on the 30 hour Coromandel Express to Howrah Station in Kolkata and then at the Indian Airlines office secured a flight from Kolkata to Bangkok. Happy with my progress after day one I spent the evening in front of the television watching just about anything in English. Hindi language TV is perfectly awful. The volume levels of the channels are all different so as you surf through you have to turn the volume up to hear the sound on some channels while others almost blow the speakers, especially if it's some tragic Hindi music number. The programming contains about 30 channels of mindless Hindi movies with song and dance routines in ALL of them. The dancing almost always features 100 people doing the same dance but all of them perfectly out of time with each other. The locals love this stuff, and the louder the better.

The next day I took a walk beside the Kuvam River along Langs Garden Road, a beautifully named thoroughfare lined on one side with some of the most spectacularly ugly buildings on earth, made of concrete and tinted glass, overlooking the river. The other side of the street next to river was lined with slums and populated with what the Indian newspapers would euphemistically call 'economically backward people'. I was mobbed by naked children asking for all sorts of things ranging from a school pen or my sunglasses. Women hung washing over the handrail of the bridge as I stepped over piles of human excrement and puddles of fresh urine. I took some photographs so I could remember the scene but what the photos won't capture is the putrid smell of the river beside the slums. For the first time I can remember I came close to vomiting because of the smell.

I carried on towards Marina Beach but it was so hot that I had to stop every 15 minutes but when I did I was mobbed once more - not by children this time but by flies. The kind that want to land on your eyelids and lips and fly up your nose and into your ears. Before I reached the beach I found Chidambaram Stadium (Chennai's cricket ground) found an open gate leading into the ground and made my way onto the turf where NZ lost to India in 1995. The groundsman was preparing the pitch for a game the following day so I chatted with him for a while and he told of all the great games played here in the past.

The beach was an eye-opener; filthy of course but massive. From the start of the sand it took ten minutes to walk to the surf. Grown men in singlets, some in trousers and some in their underwear, were frolicking in the water acting like small children. The grown men were trampling small children while the women sat fully clothed on the beach admiring the men and fearing for the children. No Baywatch here. There were about 200 people in the water, all males save for a few pre-teen girls. Carts filled with dried fish lined the shore and men selling ice cream relentlessly rang their little bells while everyone ignored them. There were also a few ancient looking carnival rides that looked like death traps.

The beach in Chennai

Bored with the beach I walked back up the main street beside the Bay of Bengal past the Fort towards Parry's but it was much farther than I thought. I ended up jumping on a city bus and got off near the High Court, from there I knew the way back to where I was staying on Kennet Lane, near Egmore Station.

Pondicherry, India

PONDICHERRY
From Madurai I caught a Chennai bound bus but got off after six hours in the town of Villupuram, about 40km west of Pondicherry. The bus ride up to that point was slow but comfortable - the bus ride the rest of the way to Pondicherry was another white-knuckle ride in an overcrowded bus at full speed. At least I managed to secure a seat but I was right behind the driver and his suicidal overtaking manoeuvres where absolutely shocking. Thoughts turned quickly to my life insurance policies - were they paid up? What about my will?

Arriving in Pondicherry was a relief. It was after dark but I decided to walk since the guesthouse I wanted to stay at wasn't very far away. It was full, so was the next one but I found a cheap room at a prison like hotel for the night and settled in. I fell asleep straight away and then woke around midnight to have a shower. No shower in the bathroom - only a tap. I had a quick wash and decided to move hotels the next morning.
I moved to the Amala lodge after breakfast and decided to spend a day looking around town. I don't know if it was because I expected to see lots of beautiful young French women wearing berets and smoking gauloises cigarettes but I was disappointed with Pondicherry, a former French colony. Apart from a few tricolour flags and the occasional 'Rue de la this' or 'Avenue de la that' it was just another Indian town with dirty streets full of ugly concrete half finished buildings.

The Amala Lodge - my room at the top left

Bored with walking, I rented a bicycle in the afternoon and rode north to the progressive international community town of Auroville - 'an experiment in international living where people could live in peace and harmony above all creeds, politics and nationalities'. About 1500 people from over 60 countries live in the area and although it's not a tourist attraction, people come by to look and point much like they do with the Amish. The centre of the community is the Matrimandir, which acts as the spiritual and physical centre of Auroville. It looks like a really big golden golf ball. With a heat wave in southern India I couldn't stand to be outside much longer. On the hour-long ride back to Pondicherry I stopped for water three times, choking on exhaust fumes much of the way.

The Matrimandir at Auroville

Madurai, India

TEMPLE TOWN
Another long day began at 5am when the family in the neighbouring room woke me up with their early morning rituals of spitting, chanting and yelling. When I checked into the guesthouse yesterday afternoon I was the only one there. After I went to bed at 9pm a group of 38 Indian pilgrims joined the guest list. It was impossible to sleep with them around so I watched the ceiling fan and listened to some music.

Later at the bus depot I saw another unique deformity. An older man had a pair of legs with knees that bent the other way, like a flamingo, and he hobbled around using a pole to balance himself. It was disturbing to watch and I guess that was the point but before long the Chennai bound bus turned up and I grabbed the front seat. I had to move my bag around a few times before the ticket collector was happy with it but apart from that the journey was smooth and the bus only half full most of the time. I got off after six hours when we pulled into Madurai - Tamil Nadu's self proclaimed temple town.

Madurai is one of those annoying towns with the bus depot six kilometres from the town centre. At the depot instead of taking a rickshaw I jumped on what looked like a city bound bus and hoped for the best. It's times like this that I wonder why I don't just pay the extra and get taken straight to a guesthouse. The bus was crowded, I was sweating still wearing my 20kg backpack and everyone was amused by the fact that I was obviously lost. After taking a gamble and jumping off I discovered that I was right where I needed to be - on one of the Veli streets. In the 1840s the British East India Company destroyed the city fort and filled in the moat. Four broad streets - the Veli streets north, south, east and west - were constructed on top of the fill and today define the limits of the old city. I passed a few interesting looking guesthouses including one called Hotel Excellent, which reminded me of my sister-in-law Julie. I could hear her saying 'excellent' over in my head followed by a little chuckle. I settled for the New College House, room 540, a massive hotel which I think should be renamed Hotel Ordinary. The counter staff promised me a television in my room but the excitement wore off when the floor attendant told me that it didn't work. No matter - nothing to watch anyway.

The Sri Meenakshi Temple in Madurai

Madurai is a popular pilgrimage place for Hindu's. Really you could say that about every second town in India given the volume of Indian tourists that do the circuit, but the Sri Meenakshi Temple is a classic Hindu temple decorated with images of gods, goddesses, animals and mythical figures and seething with pilgrims, tourists and the mandatory touts. I spent an hour or so wandering around the grounds, trying to avoid the crowds before the sun went down, then retreated to the main street for a cup of chai.

Blessed

Tomorrow I'll try and get as far as Pondicherry but the connections from here aren't very good. It would be much easier to go all the way to Chennai. Sometimes a challenge is good though.

Colombo to Kanyakumari

TAMIL NADU
I'm lying face down on my bed under the ceiling fan at four in the afternoon. The fan slows and finally stops. The lights don't turn on when I flick the switch. The power has just gone out. It's 33c outside and about the same in my room. I put my shirt on and walk outside, turning right at the end of the street onto Main Road. 200 metres later Main Road ends and I'm standing in the bathing ghats of Cape Comorin - the southern most point in India. In front of me the Arabian Sea meets the Bay of Bengal. A few hundred metres off-shore to my left is a massive statue of Swami Vivekananda, a religious crusader, looking towards the mainland. The sea breeze helps to cool a little but it's still hot and muggy with no clouds in sight. Standing here I can't help but think of the overland trip from Calcutta, up into Nepal and then all the way here via bus and train, except for a brief foray into Sri Lanka from Trivandrum. I don't want to congratulate myself too much just yet as I still have to negotiate my way back up the east coast to Calcutta again, but it's a good feeling standing where I am. It’s easy to find on the map too.

Statue of Swami Vivekananda, Kanyakumari

It's been a long day, starting from Negombo at 4am with a bus to near the airport. I say near the airport because although the destination on the front of the bus said 'airport' I still had to walk for about 30 minutes to get inside the complex. After a long check-in and a brief flight I had to wait two hours at the Trivandrum bus depot for the next bus heading south so I didn't make Kanyakumari until late in the afternoon. Although I had planned on catching another bus north to Madurai to finish the day I felt exhausted and thought it would be best to call it a day. I've only been back in India for half a day but it's taking its toll already. Tomorrow night I'll be in Madurai, the following night in Pondicherry then Chennai.

Galle & Unawatuna

SIGHTSEEING IN COLOMBO
Back in Colombo a few hours later I explored a few of the sites using the public buses - the Government residences, Galle Face Green, the SSC Cricket Ground and the shopping centre at Majestic City. When I got to the Fort railway station I ran into another familiar face - not a traveler but a local. Last time I saw him he startled me a little with his huge shock of thick black hair, wispy mustache and teeth stained red from chewing betel. He is a mute, which I figured out after much grunting and pointing, mainly on my part. He works for the tourist information centre at the station and his job is to point (literally) tourists in the right direction, namely to the tourist information centre or counter number 4, where people who have no idea how to queue Sri Lankan style should go to get their ticket. My friend saw me as I walked away from the counter with ticket in hand and gave me the thumbs up when he saw that I had managed to figure it out on my own. I made a point of going to the tourist information centre to let them know what a great job he was doing. He was truly a genuine chap and wouldn't accept any kind of tip - not even a swig of water from my bottle.

Chased by an elephant

THE DRAGON OF GALLE FORT
Off the train in Galle I found a quiet guesthouse near the Neptune Bastion inside the Fort and watched the sunset. As the afternoon drifted into the evening the sky turned pink, then a brilliant red as the sun sank into the Indian Ocean and the waves continued their relentless assault on the unforgiving rocks.

In the morning I ate breakfast beside the sea at the Rampart Hotel then walked anti-clockwise around the top of the Fort walls past Flag Rock and the lighthouse. All around the perimeter were couples hiding under umbrellas - out of the hot sun and away from prying eyes. At the main gate I found a nice grassy area sloping down towards the cricket ground and the city so I lay down, using my bag as a pillow, and gazed at the view. I was thinking about how open the cricket ground was when a man approached me with a box of old coins he was looking to offload. He had some old Dutch coins from the 18th century so I bought a few of them and we chatted for a few minutes. He took much pride in telling me that Sri Lanka once beat New Zealand in a test here inside three days. I wasn't surprised. He left so I closed my eyes and hitched my shorts up to get some sun on my legs.

Shortly afterwards someone else walked up behind me as I lay still. With my eyes closed I blurted out a quick 'hullow' and waited for a reply - but none came. Knowing that someone was standing behind me I opened my eyes and slowly turned my head away from the sun to see a 3-foot monitor lizard sitting not 6 feet from me with his head propped up looking over his domain, which included me. At this stage I weighed up my options; two strategies entered my head simultaneously. The first comes from my old friend Pillow and is generally used for getting in to and out of scuffles late at night in Wellington - curl into a ball and squeal like a pig. The second comes from a South Park episode and is especially useful for natural disasters such as avalanches and lava flows - duck and cover. What I ended up doing was a typical Ian reaction when faced with imminent danger. I screamed like a girl. But before a sound came from my mouth the lizard quickly shuffled away. There was a chance that he was more startled than I was, but it was only a slim chance. Not wanting any further surprises I decided to stay on my feet for a while. I carried on walking around the Fort and saw another three lizards after that but none as big as the one that disturbed my slumber. Thoughts turned to the six-foot lizard I saw with the Beige Brigade last week near the Elephant Orphanage.

Sunset over the Indian Ocean

The Galle Cricket Ground

UNAWATUNA BEACH
The moon shaped beach at Unawatuna is a charming place packed with friendly restaurants and guesthouses with names like Pink Elephant, Happy Coconut, Banana Garden and Heaven on Earth. Unlike Hikkaduwa the street behind the beach is quiet and the surf is relatively calm. The beach itself is lined with massive King Coconut palms weighed down with large orange-coloured drinking coconuts called 'Thambili'.

Unawatuna beach

When I arrived at the beach one of the hawkers was trying to sell some wooden masks to a German couple. The man was trying to walk away, obviously disinterested, but after being continuously hounded finally turned and yelled "Do you know what it is means no?" in a thick German accent, to which the hawker replied "No" and continued with the mask routine. I managed to take a wide berth around them and chuckled at what is a more than familiar reaction from a weary traveler. I have been guilty of being that abrupt in the past, although I have always done so with perfect English.

I spent two days unwinding at the Sunset Inn, an intriguing name given that you can't see the sunset from there or anywhere else in Unawatuna for that matter. For much of the time I either sat on the beach or outside my room writing postcards and looking for monitor lizards in the back garden. The choice of seafood at the beachfront restaurants was varied and over the course of a few meals I tried Seer, Cuttlefish (Calamari) twice and lobster. Breakfast was supplied as part of my stay at Sunset and included fresh pineapple, papaya, coffee and partially toasted toast, also known as bread. The Sunset Inn owns the weakest toaster on the planet. It was a pleasant place to while away a couple of days but I wanted to return to Colombo for some last minutes shopping before flying back to India.

POST OFFICE COMEDY
A few weeks ago in Rajasthan I bought a large Rajasthani wall rug weighing about 3kg. Today I decided to send it home to free up some space in my backpack to make room for some new clothes that Sara had sent me in Sri Lanka. After breakfast I wandered down to the local Post Office with the rug in a plastic bag and walked up to the parcel post window where a woman was there to greet me. She inspected the rug and then told me I needed a box. I pointed to an empty one behind the counter and asked if that one would do. She said it was okay but I needed some wrapping paper and some twine. "Do you have any here?" I asked, but she told me to go across the road to the shopping centre and buy some there. Across the street I found all manner of birthday wrapping paper and eventually some plain brown paper and a roll of wonder tape. Outside the shopping was an old man sitting on the ground with one hand missing, begging for money. I stopped, opened my bag and gave him my trusty green t-shirt - the one I had worn religiously for the past year. It was clean but a little worn. That didn't seem to bother the old man as his face lit up with a big beaming smile. Back at the Post Office the clerk switched the rug to a smaller box and I started wrapping it in brown paper. After about 11 seconds another clerk took the box from me and insisted on doing it himself. Five others joined the clerk and together they worked feverishly for half an hour. The end result was a shabby looking thing with wonder tape and flaps of paper hanging off at the corners. I nervously wrote Sara's address in Chicago on one side and my name and guesthouse address on the bottom. I also wrote 'Sea Mail' in big letters on the top. After filling out the customs forms and having the box weighed (3kg even) I went to the stamp counter and purchased 1,670 rupees (US$16) worth of stamps - no fewer than 23 stamps. Where was I supposed to put them? I looked at the pile of stamps and the box and wondered how I was going to get them all on properly. Again the box was whisked away from me before I could start and the same packaging team covered the box with stamps on the front back and all the sides. It looked so ridiculous that I had them pose with the box when they had finished while I took a photograph. It was covered in stamps, wonder tape, glue, some kind of Sri Lankan export stamp and finished off with complimentary twine. I looked at the box as they took it away wondering if I would ever see it again.
"Will it get there in time for Christmas?" I asked.
"Christmas this year? Maybe." came the reply.

Dambulla for the cricket

VESAK
It passed by without incident, apart from a two-hour bus journey during which I was forced to stand the entire way. The Sri Lankans celebrated Vesak (the festival of lights and lanterns) while I treated myself to Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC). The elephants were out in full force, covered in elaborate costumes and decorated somewhat haphazardly. Yesterday was one year since Sara and I packed up our apartment and drove out of Dallas. So much has happened in that time and there is still much to be done before it's over. We have agreed that June 30th is the end date - I'll be back in Chicago by then, and we'll both be in London about a month after that.

Decorated elephant 

BACK TO THE CRICKET
After a brief stop in Colombo to refresh my CD collection and have a hot shower I went back to tiny Dambulla to watch the last of the cricket games. New Zealand beat Sri Lanka in a thrilling match and I met five other London-based Kiwi's, all from my hometown in New Zealand - Tim, Shane, Carey, Grant & Tane. As it turns out I knew two of them from University but hadn't been good at keeping in touch. They had come to Sri Lanka to watch some cricket and in doing so had been to a local tailor to have replica kits of the 1980's New Zealand cricket team made.

In New Zealand fans who wear the 1980's kit are known as the 'Beige Brigade' after the colour of the strip. The following day we lost to Pakistan but the New Zealand team had already booked themselves a place in the final against Pakistan two days later. I returned with the Beige Brigade to their hotel in Negombo (north of Colombo) and spent a few days with them before making the return trip to Dambulla for the final - this time I had my own beige outfit and we were six. The final was a memorable game with New Zealand looking strong throughout and winning quite easily. By far the highlight of the Sri Lankan section of the trip was getting to pose in photographs with the team and the trophy they had just captured. For a keen fan like myself there is nothing to compare with getting that close to the action. Many of the team members thanked us for our support and the coach, Dennis Aberhart, made a point of coming over to talk to us after the players had left the field.

With the New Zealand cricket team after winning the final

Posing with the sponsors, including the motorbike Brendon McCullum won

ONE MORE WEEK
I have another seven nights in Sri Lanka so I will use this time to visit one of the fine coastal cities, Galle, before returning to Colombo to do some shopping. With just over a month to go it's now time to start stocking up on goodies for family, friends and myself. I'll be back in India for a short time and then back to Thailand before flying home.

BRING BACK BEIGE
The Beige Boys headed back to London early (4am) on Monday 26th May so I graciously stayed on in one of their hotel rooms until a more reasonable hour before taking the back exit on to the beach and down to Negombo town. As far as Browns Beach holiday resort knows, Ian Warner never stayed there for 5 nights on the floor in Tane and Carey's room. I was a ghost. Thanks guys.

Dambulla & Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka

DAMBULLA

We had a great time in Dambulla at the cricket. New Zealand outplayed Pakistan in their first match then lost a close one to Sri Lanka a few days later. In the rest day we went to see the impressive Cave Temples in town and then climbed the ancient fortress atop a massive rock in Sigiriya, 22km from Dambulla. After climbing Adams Peak a few days earlier, Sigiriya didn't seem that much of a challenge but with tight calves in the midday heat it was still very difficult. The ascent takes you past some well preserved erotic frescoes of Sigiriya damsels, a shiny wall with 1500 year old graffiti and through a giant set of lions paws carved from rock. The summit was blustery but being a strong Wellington lad I was able to cope with the wind better than my Hawkes Bay and Auckland companions. The views were fantastic despite the low lying cloud.

Dambulla is nestled in an area known as the 'Golden Triangle' because of the abundance of natural wonders and ancient ruins. After the loss to Sri Lanka we created our own golden triangle of 15 bottles of Carlsberg's at the local 'Arrack and Parrott' pub.

NZ & Pakistan flags at the cricket in Sri Lanka

Plantains

CINNAMON GARDENS

Now I find myself in Sri Lanka's bustling capital city, Colombo. With attractive suburb names like Hulftsdorp, Slave Island and Cinnamon Gardens it always sounded somewhat romantic. And it is in a way. I'm staying at a house next door to the French Embassy in Cinnamon Gardens - a quiet leafy part of town with some lovely stately homes. The house is a wonderful example of modern architecture with large open spaces, long horizontal lines and sweeping staircases. One entire wall of my room is windowed with views over the garden and courtyard below. The opposite wall is only three quarters of the height of the ceiling but high enough to allow complete privacy. It's like something Frank Lloyd Wright could of dreamed up. I'm not long there though as this afternoon I catch the train to Hikkaduwa to have a few days on the beach before returning to Dambulla for the last of the cricket matches.

Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lanka

ADAMS PEAK
After the cricket test in Kandy finished, Phil headed back to Australia and I headed south to Nuwara Eliya to meet up with two Kiwis I had met at the game - Greg Collinge and Danielle Benjamin. They had also come to Sri Lanka to watch some of the cricket but mostly to see some of the country. They had both been living in London and now were on their way back to the Hawkes Bay in New Zealand to open up a guesthouse near Greg's hometown. When I arrived in Nuwara Eliya I called their cell phone a few times before finally getting through and met them in the main street of town. After finding a place to stay we headed out to the Pedro Tea Estate for a tour of the factory. It was just the three of us and the guide wandering through the different sections of the factory, occasionally picking up and smelling handfuls of tea in different stages of refinement. The tour concluded with the compulsory tea tasting in the guestroom overlooking the estate.

The setting for the Pedro Estate tea plantation

The tea leaf pickers

Tea leaves

Smelling some of the finished product

The following morning we were up at 4am for the two hour drive to the base of Adams Peak, marked by a 30m high standing Buddha statue. We had got ourselves a van and driver for the day. It began to rain lightly and the clouds closed in but it was a superb walk spoilt only by the amount of rubbish and stray dogs. By the time we made the summit I was dripping with sweat and my shirt soaked through. Adams Peak, the 2,224m mountain in the heart of the Sri Lankan hill country is the nations 4th highest peak.

Buddha foot

Depending on which legend you want to believe, Adams Peak is either;
     i) the place where Adam left his footprint after being kicked out of heaven,
     ii) the place where Buddha left an impression of his foot,
     iii) the place where Shiva left an impression of his foot or
     iv) Butterfly Mountain, where butterflies come to die.

The sacred 'footprint' in the rock is surrounded by a bland temple and a small shrine. Lower down is a charmless concrete assembly hall for the pilgrims to congregate in. The first thing I noticed was the massive amount of brilliantly coloured butterflies around the temple. Sadly though there were many more on the ground, either crushed underfoot or simply expired. After seeing this I felt more inclined to believe definition iv above. It was at the same time beautiful and tragic that these harmless creatures should come here to sacrifice themselves.

Reclining Buddha

Many pilgrims had made the trip up to the peak. Some where still hovering around the temple at the top but the majority of them had walked down already smiling at us as we made the ascent. They had made the trip up much earlier in the morning in the hope of watching the sunrise but there was no chance of that today. On the way down I took turns with Danielle and Greg counting the number of steps we had walked up - it came to 4,466. After a quick stretch we drove via Kandy for lunch further north to Dambulla for the start of the One Day Cricket series between Pakistan, New Zealand and the hosts Sri Lanka.

Kandy, Sri Lanka

DAY 350 - CEYLON
May 2nd marked a number of important milestones for me. 350 days since leaving home, two weeks shy of one year, first time on Sri Lankan Airlines and my first time to Sri Lanka. Arriving in a new place it's always the little differences that make the biggest impressions. First impressions are usually lasting and my first impressions of Sri Lanka were very good. The airport was quiet and the immigration procedures didn't take long and before I knew it I had changed some money and was ready to head for Kandy, the hill town where Phil was staying. Outside of the airport were various security staff but what got my attention straight away were the female officers wearing knee length skirt uniforms with ankle socks. Every single one of them had hairy legs. What a thing to notice first off.

It was just as hot as India so I didn't appreciate the fact that the air-conditioned bus to the city, 30km to the south, wasn't running. Instead I walked about a kilometre to the junction and caught a public non air-con bus to the busy Bastion Mawatha bus station in Colombo. As soon as I leapt off the bus I was almost run over by another one which, purely by coincidence, was heading to Kandy so I got the last seat, next to the driver and watched in horror for the next three hours at the suicidal Sri Lankan driving. No corner is ever too blind enough to attempt overtaking, no following distance too close. Maybe it was because I watched the road the whole time that I felt as if we could die any minute because the other passengers in the back seemed oblivious to the danger we were all in. Our driver was relatively inexperienced and it seemed at times he didn't really trust what he was doing. A number of times we came roaring up beside a truck or bus trying to overtake, only to pull back at the last minute and tuck in behind one second before another bus or truck came hurtling past in the other direction. The scenery was nice though and the countryside around Kandy is spectacular. It took me longer than usual to finally get my bearings in town but once I found the lake I just followed Phil's directions up to the guesthouse overlooking the lake. I last saw Phil at the All Bar One in Covent Garden the day before we flew to Russia so it had been about 350 days since I saw him last.

KANDY
Phil had given me directions to the guesthouse in Kandy so once I found my bearings I walked uphill through the main street past 'The Pub', around the lake, past the tree that smells like hash and up the hill to the Lake Inn guesthouse. After a few minutes Phil emerged. It was great to see him again after nearly a year - we went to school together in Wainuiomata and shared a flat in London for a year or so. He has a reputation as being New Zealand's biggest cricket fan and the reason for being in Kandy is to watch the second cricket test between New Zealand and Sri Lanka. Awesome for a cricket fan like me but dead boring if you don't follow it. For the record, after five days the game ended in a draw but we had an excellent time sitting in the sun for the most part, enjoying some of the local three coin lager.

Waving the flag randomly - maybe a wicket, maybe a four. Who knows?

After almost a week in Kandy, walking around on foot most of the time, I began to notice a relatively unique phenomenon. It was as I was walking uphill through the main street past 'The Pub', around the lake, past the tree that smells like hash and up the hill to the Lake Inn guesthouse that I realised that it's not very often you walk up hill towards a lake. It was weird but not quite as weird as the tree that smelled like hash. I spent a lot of time beside that tree looking out over the lake. Sniffing.

THREE COINS
This is a quote from the back of the 650ml bottle of Three Coins lager;

"When consumed in moderation, Three Coins is an ideal thirst quencher, a mild relaxant or an excellent lubricant for social intercourse."

Goa to Trivandrum, India

BEING SET ON FIRE
I left Georg and Jo in Goa on a sad note. The hotel owner and I got in a rather heated argument about how much money I owed for four nights accommodation. Actually the disagreement was over the fact that I left my stuff in the room with Georg without legally checking out. Initially I refused to pay for an extra night but the owner threatened to set me on fire, using my own gasoline that I purchased the day before for the motorbike, and later promised me a bamboo massage. Neither of these options sounded appealing so after exchanging some colourful language (read as we swore back and forth using words that my Mum would be ashamed of) I relented and paid the extra 100 rupees for a night I never used. I never used it because I left for Trivandrum that evening. I should have caught the bus to Mangalore but I came up with another plan that would give me a better chance of making Trivandrum in time to catch my flight to Sri Lanka. I passed on the bus and headed straight for the train station and bought a seat on the Mangala Express to Ernakulam a town about 5 hours north of Trivandrum. This was risky because it still didn't guarantee me passage all the way to Trivandrum and I could well of been kicked off the train because I had no intention of sitting on a hard seat for 16 hours. We ran into a snag as we left Thivim station where I boarded. A woman got caught in the door of the carriage I was in and was dragged along the platform and then a few hundred meters down the way before the train stopped. There was the usual farce of two million people crowded around to see what happened and basically I got pinned inside on one of the seats with my bag still on, unable to move for the next half an hour. The woman was okay, but it could have been so bad. After the path cleared I made straight for the sleeper carriages and walked up and down the isles until I got a lucky break. A woman told me that she was getting off in a few hours and I was welcome to have her bed once she left. I had a few hours to kill so I stood at the end of the carriage next to the toilet and read the paper twice. I fell asleep while doing the crossword and for the SECOND time in six months a mouse woke me up. The Nicaraguan mouse climbed into bed with me but the Indian one just scampered across my foot on route to the toilet. By this stage though the bed became available so I propped by bag up as a pillow and fell quickly to sleep along with the rest of India. When I woke up the train was virtually empty; I had a whole eight-berth section to myself as I studied the Keralan landscape out of the window.

Beach in Goa

After the Goan argument I had to compose myself again because I knew the trip to Trivandrum would be taxing. Thankfully I had one of those days when all the connections line up and things flow smoothly. Off the train in Ernakulam I walked to the bus station had jumped straight on a southern bus to Trivandrum. In the Keralan capital I walked off the bus into a cheap guesthouse with an even cheaper shower - known in the western world as a sink. Dinner was good, I called home, but the day ended with an Internet café whose server crashed not long after I arrived. Rather than push my luck I decided it was time for bed. After three weeks with Georg and Jo it was another contemplative evening on my own but I knew it wouldn't last long. My old pal Phil Harrison was waiting for me in Sri Lanka.

Goa, India

FOR SURE WE ARE GOING TO GOA
At 10.50pm on the evening of ANZAC Day (April 25th), our train bound for Goa was scheduled to depart. At Victoria Terminus though we found out that the train had been delayed by over eight hours and wouldn't be leaving until 7.05am the following day. Rather than stay in the retiring room at the station, the three of us joined up with a Dutch girl and an Iranian guy and stayed at a cheap hotel few kilometres away. It wasn't the best finish to the day and it meant that instead of sleeping on the train and waking up near the beach, we would have to spend eleven hours of the next day on the train. The hotel was nothing special and the Iranian guy confused us with his family history that somehow includes Canadian, Australian, French, British, Turkish, Russian and Azerbaijani heritage. Along with this he lived in India for 6 years, speaks Hindi, Farsi, two types of Turkish and English and has two birth dates. After the two birthday story we all got bored and fell asleep while he lay in bed smoking cigarettes until he drifted off to sleep.

We had fun on the train playing cards and joking with the chai sellers but arriving in the darkness it was difficult to find the best place to stay near the beach. Before too long we settled on a place called Sonic, perched beside the shore overlooking some threatening rocks and the Arabian Sea. The beach proper starts 100m further to the south but the location of Sonic is hard to beat. It has a perfect view of the sunset, a large sitting area for relaxing and a massive set of speakers through which we played our own music. Perhaps one of the most relaxing features was sleeping so close to the sea, waking to the sound of crashing waves. We were the only ones staying there so we took over for a few days and made ourselves comfortable.

Sonic Guesthouse beside the ocean

One day we hired scooters and rode further south along the coastline. The scooter took a bit of getting used to but I was already familiar with the rules of the road, which can be summed up as 'anything bigger than you has right of way'. On a scooter you come pretty low down in the pecking order so it's best to stay as close to the side of the road as possible and keep watching everything. We didn't have many issues with the traffic; in fact the roads were pretty empty, but we did have a few problems with the bikes. The first required Georg to commission the use of a qualified mechanic to change spark plug but the other ones were mainly due to faulty gas tank needles and not much fuel. We ran out of gas on three separate occasions.

WHILE INDIA SLEEPS
I'm sure that the rest of the world gets a lot done while India sleeps. I get very little done. Sunset is the time of day around which all activities are organised. The most important plans revolve around where to watch the sun sink into the Arabian and listen to the waves crash upon the shore. After that the only thing to do is to watch the stars emerge and then trace them across the sky for the next few hours. While India sleeps I just watch. Tonight I'll be watching from the inside of a sleeper bus bound for Mangalore. The train all the way to Trivandrum was fully booked so I've had to book a bus ticket for part of the journey and hope that I can get the rest of the way either by bus or a different train.

Sunset over the Arabian Sea

Mumbai, India

GONE BOLLYWOOD
It was one of those nights that last all morning. The signs were poor from the moment we boarded our 'luxury' overnight bus to Mumbai. The stench of warm, sweaty feet and fetid armpits lurked in the air. It oozed from the seats and slowly worked its way into our clothes as the night dragged on. It was a terrible lingering kind of smell that not even the open windows could disguise. After three hours we had already made two dinner stops and when we set out again at 7pm the driver said that it would be after 1am before we stopped again so best get some sleep. I would have liked to but the music kept me, and most of the others, up. During the night we stopped for the compulsory flat tire change but most people stayed on the bus and opted for sleep. Georg, fed up with the smell, left the bus and stood outside for some fresh air but the smell was so intense that it leaked out of the windows and ambushed him while he stood there.

Only two things need to function on an Indian bus - the horn is the most important and the stereo is a close second. Peripheral stuff like headlights and brakes are seldom required to be in any kind of working order and few buses can boast both in good condition. The horn must be ear shattering, particularly in the passenger cabin where it can do the most damage. It should only be used when overtaking, braking, accelerating, pulling out, pulling over or any random moment as deemed necessary by the driver. The stereo should be functioning but the speakers should be in the worst possible state to ensure perfect distortion at any volume, particularly the highest one, which is where the knob finds its way eventually. All foreign tourists should be placed in the seats closest the speakers. At rest stops the front windows should be thoroughly cleaned by the cabin assistant with screwed up pages of dry newspaper.

At 11am, four hours behind schedule, I peeled myself off the seat and onto the streets of Mumbai's northern suburbs. My oldest brother Jeff and Dad came to the city formally known as Bombay in 1984 and returned with horror stories of filth and poverty so I didn't have high expectations about my time here. For the past hour we had driven past slums next to expensive high rises, and watched as people lived the intimate moments of their lives in public view. Bathing, cooking, weaning the young, playing, arguing, smoking but most of the time doing nothing but abstract busy-ness. These are reported to be Asia's largest slums.
Indians have a great knack for doing very little but creating the illusion that they are actually working very hard. I'm not sure if they are trying hard to look busy or if just comes naturally to them. No one however, is ever too busy to take the time to stare at a foreigner. I can get used to cows walking in the streets, and tourist prices at all the attractions, and extra charges for cameras, and maybe the heat but I don't think I'll ever be comfortable with the staring. In Russia I responded to people staring by picking my nose and usually they stopped, but here that just whips the crowd into a frenzy. "Look Ajit, he's picking his nose. I wonder what he'll do next. He's reading... look everyone! He's reading the newspaper. I wonder what he's reading." Sometimes I'll pick up a Hindi newspaper and pretend to read it, even though I just look at the pictures, to try and create the illusion that I know what they're talking about. It never works.

I'm uncertain exactly where we were let off the bus but after a short taxi ride to the southern peninsular, past Chowpatty Beach and Wankhede Stadium, a different Mumbai appeared. This was the heart of the old colonial settlement, where the dismantled city Fort once stood, home to many fine colonial buildings and the Gateway of India. The Gateway is a massive basalt arch of triumph facing out into Mumbai Harbour and the ceremonial departure point of the last British regiment in 1948. We chose a cheap hotel very close to the Gateway in Colaba right next door to the massive Taj Mahal hotel - we didn't plan staying in town long so we needed to be in a good location. I found the Fort area very refreshing; no cows on the streets, the cars seemed to be obeying a few traffic laws and the streets were nice and wide. In the middle of it all was the Oval Maidan - a massive grassy park flanked by the High Court building and the beautiful University of Mumbai. At one end was a serious game of cricket with umpires and sight screens and all around the perimeter kids were playing their own games with tennis balls and typical enthusiasm. It was a wonderful sight so I lay in the park for a while wishing that I had either Sara or my Discman with me. I looked in my bag and found neither. I wandered up to Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai's international cricket ground, to see if I could get inside and take some photographs. Like Eden Gardens in Calcutta I wasn't allowed into the ground so I had to satisfy myself by taking a photo of the outside of the stadium, with the security guard standing in front of me.

Myself and Georg at the Gateway of India

For the next couple of days we slowly made our way to a few tourist spots - the busy Chowpatty beach at sunset, the Dhobi ghats where hundreds of men wash laundry from all over the city and of course a Bollywood film. We chose a new release called 'The Hero - Love Story of a Spy'. I was expecting a dreadful production but it turned out to be quite good. It was in Hindi for the most part but the plot of any Bollywood film is usually so simple that it doesn't take much to figure out what is going on. The singing and dancing was typically farcical as were the absurdly superhuman stunts but the audience loved every minute of it. The Hero was helping to defend Kashmir from the evil Pakistani invaders and with every Pakistani shot dead (of which there were close to 1,00) the crowd cheered wildly. Often before an important kill the Indian Hero would say something profound about Hindustan or the glory of Kashmir and the crowd would erupt with massive applause and cheering. I had felt much anti-Pakistani sentiment over the last few weeks, beginning the day that India defeated Pakistan in the cricket world cup, but that evening I realised that there is a deep sense of hatred for Pakistan that runs much deeper than cricket. In India they are truly despised. The dancing and singing brought some light hearted and sentimental moments to the film but its prime message was to underline the menacing nature of Pakistan and its leaders; and everyone loved it.

Dhobi ghat

Udaipur, India

OCTOPUSSY
I'm glad I saved Udaipur for the last stop in Rajasthan because it is by far my favourite city in India. It's a shame that Sara isn't here to enjoy it with me because it's a very romantic place with a beautiful lake surrounding the Lake Palace. All of the guesthouses along the lakefront boast superb views of the Palace and each night, you can find Octopussy playing just about anywhere. There are plenty of other palaces, temples and ornate residences around but none of them capture the imagination of the Lake Palace - the ultimate in luxury hotels covering the entire 1.5-hectare island at the northern end of the lake.

We've seen a few of the sights - the City Palace, the Jagdish Temple etc - but the best way to enjoy this city is just to sit at one of the many open air rooftop restaurants and enjoy the beautiful view. It's difficult to imagine a day starting of better than slowing lowering a couple of banana pancakes into your stomach, washing it down with a sweet lassi then putting your feet up to read with one of the finest views in the land right in front of you.

Rooftop terrace overlooking the Palace at Udaipur

Tomorrow George, Jo and I catch an overnight bus to the home of India's Bollywood movie industry - Mumbai (Bombay). The bus leaves at 3.30pm and is scheduled to arrive in Mumbai at 7am the following morning. Another overnight bus - add it to the list.