Cultural Ignorance tour - Part one

Borneo

I'm going to start with a story that you can commit to memory and, if you like, re-tell at work appraisals and kids birthday parties. I've been told this is absolutely true and like my favouite movie, The Human Centipede, 100% medically accurate.

In Borneo, there are leeches everywhere you go in the jungle. You'll be walking along and after even a few hundred feet, you'll be shocked to find that several may have hitched a ride from plants or whatnot and are now underneath your clothing, latched on and relocating your blood. In a village not too far from where I ended up staying, there was a young girl, around 12, who was down by the waters edge washing her families clothes. Unbeknownst to her, a river leech was making its way up her leg and found its merry way into her vagina. By the time she had felt something, it had all but disappeared. Not feeling any discomfort, she neglected to tell anyone about it. Fast forward an undisclosed time later and the said girl was the shame of the village as she sported an engorged stomach not unlike she was pregnant. Her parents took her angrily to the doctor who used an ultrasound and discovered hundreds of leeches inside her womb. Tragically, there was nothing they could do at that point and they literally ate her from the inside until she died shortly afterwards.

I wasn't actually planning to come to Borneo, but seeing how close I was in relation to Kuala Lumpur it seemed stupid not to. I was still looking for my fair share of wildlife and there's no better place for it. They say almost half of all animals on the planet are here, so you would be pretty unlucky to end up disappointed.

My plan was to head into the jungle on the homestay (I found one, recommended to me by my dorm mate, Robert) but before that I got to that I was going to hang out with a couple of folk in Kota Kinabalu, Sandra and her friend, Alex. Sandra is widely accredited with getting me my degree in University as she was responsible for writing notes for the dyslexic members of our course. I'm actually quite capable of writing them myself, but unfortunately i'm also struck down with a crippling laziness and it would mean I would have had to take time away from my real passion of that era, which was drawing awesome helicopters.

So we spent the next few days island hopping, snorkling, attending Orangatan sanctuaries (where, thanks to Sandra's gift of the gab, we were granted an illegal private audience with one of the babies, and i'm pretty sure I started ovulating.) sunbathing and attempting to swim in a soup of jellyfish. In the event of all of us getting stung, I suggested a Threeway Peeway to eleviate the pain. And y'know, for kicks.

With a pretty fun week done and the women heading back home, I boarded the bus to a Homestay in Sukau. Its about 6 hours journey to the junction, which is surrounded by palm oil plantations literally as far as the eye can see. A twelve year old kid captains a seven foot craft that looks like he whittled himself and whisks you down the Kinabatangan River towards the house. It's a fairly basic place, elevated to avoid flooding, with holes in the floor and a toilet that during my whole time there, I never really figured out. With the river about 20 yards from the front veranda, the backyard is the rainforest with a variety of monkeys and enough elephant tracks and shit to suggest they are never far away. The wife of the main guide greeted me warmly at the front porch and as I dumped my bags off, I realised she is tirelessly running the business at the same time as looking after six kids.

The other two guests were Americans Carol and Ashwin, who like me, had barely come to grips with surroundings before we were back on the boat for the River Safari.
All of us commented that the main guide (i'll call him Bob as I don't want their business affected) was inexplicably absent and we were instead being ferried around by his father-in-law. Regardless, the next two days were phenomenal. We saw literally everything there is to see, from monkeys to crocs and vast monitor lizards to snakes. The main draw for anyone visiting is the wild Pygmy Elephants (about 3/4's the size) and after almost two straight days of searching, we tracked them down. One of the perks of living with an independent homestay is the lack of safety procedeures that might go with more expensive lodges dotted along the river. This meant that we were the only ones of several boats (that eventually turned up) to get off and be within touching distance. One local guy made sure that we kept low, didn't make too much noise and weren't trampled to death.

                                                   ---------------------------------------

That evening, we were all sat on the veranda when a boat pulls up in the darkness and a figure stomps past us. He then returns to the veranda, without introduction, to say, "My family are trying to kill me with black magic. This is true. I bleeding from the nose, mouth, from here (points to crotch) and from my droppings (points to bottom)."

This, we deduced, was Bob. Now, I'm a guy who appreciates bypassing small talk, but with new people I usually leave it twenty minutes before discussing the blood in my stool.


He continued, "You have ten thousand Ringgit? I can have someone killed for you with black magic. I hide in the jungle, many days. I pray that an aggressive animal come and kill me. The voices are talking to me. Voices all the time in my head. I feel if it doesn't stop I will kill myself, my family, kill a tourist."

There isn't a huge lot of places you can go conversationally from here, so we all just stood in silence, realised the remoteness of our location and kind of nodded contemplatively. This continued for a while with him explaining that he has been hiding in the rain forest for days, hasn't slept in weeks, suspects his wife has been having an affair with the next door neighbour, thinks only one of the six kids are his and reiterated that indeed, murders will be taking place.

When he went inside, the three of us had a lively discussion about it and decided that while probably bullshit, it would be best to go to bed and exercise a little caution. I spoke to his wife and she seemed exhausted by the guy and with no let up (several families arriving the next morning), I said I would stay for a while and help where I could. So for the next week, I took phone bookings, greeted guests and even did some river guiding (this benefitting precisely no one as I discovered my animal knowledge barely stretches past correctly identifying my own pets).

The next morning when the families arrived, Bob was still around and suddenly acting like a kids TV presenter. The previous nights demeanor was completely gone and he spent the next week doing a pretty good job. As first impressions seem to stick, we didn't really get on that well and I was fairly wary of the guy.
 And he is a crazy bastard. At one point as we were in the jungle and had tracked the elephants down, we all crouched low and took pictures from 100 yards away. Bob then got bored, turned to the both families (who were sporting kids of twelve and fourteen and mothers and fathers in sandals) said, "You want to see something?", before he started making barking noises.

This sent them apeshit (the elephants, not the families) and we suddenly realised by the trumpeting in every direction there were about fifteen more milling beyond what we could see. Bob starts shouting "BACK, BACK!" as the sound of stampeding and broken trees begins towards us. Most of the kids and parents scamper desperately through the jungle and back to the boat. The elephants saw us and were severely pissed off, one ploughing towards Bob and almost knocking him in to the water. We were told beforehand that when a wild Elephant charges, which they do reguarly, if they're female you stand your ground and they will stop where you are. A Bull will go right over the top of you. As another one came after him at a decent pace, he stood dead still before it was about to make contact and stamped his foot, growling at it. Sure enough, it stopped almost eyeball to eyeball with him. Say what you like, but the man has full size balls.

The routine for the week consisted of camping in the garden, getting up at 6am and accompanying any guide who didn't speak much english for the safari. Lunch at one, followed by a jungle trek with the guests at 3pm followed by dinner where we all sat round Malaysian style on the living room floor and eat whatever Bob's wife put together, which was always delicious.

 I took a trip on the second last day to the Gomateng Caves, which is both incredible and completely terrifying. On the outside it's just a hole in a rock, but as you venture in its the stuff of actual nightmares. The inside is vast, hundreds of feet high with a concentration of bats and swifts packed in such numbers that the entire middle of the floor is a mountain of shit. As you squint in the darkness you wonder why its moving, until you realise that its teeming with cockroaches. I can't stress this enough.

 The walkway ventures skirts around the sides and the 'roaches swarm all over the handrail and the floor meaning you have to keep moving or they will find you and run up your trouser legs. In addition to this, the cockroaches aren't even the worst aspect.  Scutigerid Centipedes (I hadn't even heard of them) have put my fear of spiders in severe perspective. Lightning fast and capable of putting you in a hospital for weeks, they were strewn all over the place. Also, I should mention a half dead bat fell off the roof and hit me on the head.

 With that over, the main event comes at dusk when what seems like millions of bats streak out the cave and spiral into the air, looking like a plume of smoke. This went on for about an hour and a half and was just phenomenal.

As I was leaving the next morning, Bob's wife got a call from Robert, my previous dorm-mate. I explained about Bob and how we didn't exactly get off on the right foot. He said, "Yeah, we think he's been spending all the families money on opium".

Well that made sense. A few of us headed to Sandakan and Bob ended up coming with us, curled up in the front seat and intending to see a doctor. I really hope for the family things work out, but if he's blaming his addiction on 'black magic' then who knows.

MAY CONTAIN NUTS

I've been to Thailand before, on a family holiday when I was 14. We were living in the middle east at the time where nudity and sex of any kind in media is censored. Movies were screened and edited before they came into the country and magazines like FHM came with all cleavage blacked out with (a surprising resilient) paint. So, boobs were something of an enigma to me.
This all changed when Dad helpfully took us to a transvestite caberet show in which my first real memories of tits were sullied by the fact they were grafted on to twelve ladyboys doing the can-can.

The Bangkok airport was the first stop post-India and it really hit me about how much I appreciated the simple things again. Walking down the supposedly chaotic Khao San road where all the backpackers stay, seemed serene to me compared to any street over the last five weeks.
One thing I didn't see in the whole time in India were cockroaches, and in Bangkok they seem to be like mints on the pillow or tea and coffee making facilities: standard in every room.
After a couple days milling around, I headed West to Tiger Temple. For a price, they lead you around a ground of sleeping tigers where you can pose holding thier heads and whatnot. Well recommended.
The trip was made more enjoyable by guy called Arthur (divorced, dad of three) I had to share the truck there with. In the 45 minutes it took to get there, he covered every homophobic and racial slur invented before dropping in, "Oive bin shaggin' moi gaelfrend for a year and a harf, and oi STILL don't knows if she's male or female! Doesn't bovver me oi suppose."
I couldn't help feel just a little bit sorry for a guy whose standards had slipped so drastically that it didn't matter if they previously sported a penis.

Another two days back in the capital and sleeping in a bunk next to a Korean guy who spent half the night snoring and half grinding his teeth, making a sound like a puppy getting kicked to death. Other than that, there was just a couple of people from England complaining that the lady from the ping pong show they saw the night before was stern faced and unenthusiastic throughout. To be fair, Id be pretty sombre too if i had to shoot sports equipment from my vagina for a living.

I decided to instead try out a thai boxing training session. The first signs of issue came within the fifteen minute skipping warm up, where I was so shattered id have happily left and felt like id gotten my moneys worth. We all had our hands wrapped and gloved, before going through striking techniques (punches, kicks, elbows and knees), combinations and pad work in the ring. Two hours of that and I limped back to my hostel utterly destroyed.

The next morning feeling spritely in no way whatsoever, I boarded a bus to Khaon Kaen to see my friend Cara.
Having moved out to Thailand four and a half years ago, Cara is the kind of person that, after one conversation, can make you feel like you've completely wasted your life. Her and her boyfriend Mon (an ex pro-bmx rider. God, im pathetic.) welcomed me into their home for a few days and introduced me to a variety of Thai foods, (including beetles, crickets, grubs and locusts), a local rapper called Fukking Hero and most importantly, thier three dogs, Wii, the notorious b.o.b and a gay one that I never remember the name of. For all of that and their company, im hugely grateful.

So on Cara's recommendation I headed to Krabi to see the beaches and islands. It was pissing rain as I boarded the bus and as i moved up the aisle, I took the only seat free. It was next to a rejected Jermaine Jackson Bo Selecta character, who seemed harmless enough. She was in her late thirties and immediately asked if I had a girlfriend. I replied yes, and that we had been together for four and a half years. This seemed to piss her off somewhat and she went on a mumbling rant about her several boyfriends back in Israel and how when she comes on these trips, shes free and easy. After a few minutes more of her rambling, i realised I had managed to sit next to an actual lunatic. Faced with listening to this yakking for hours or simply pretending to be asleep, I decided on the latter. The lights went down and that is when the problems started.

First she (I say "she", but really, Christ knows) started playing with my hair while I was fake-asleep, then promptly spooned me and put her hand round my waist. I fake-woke up and acted a little surprised at her position.

"Are you embarrassed?", she asked.

I placed her hand back on her lap and replied, "Unfortunately, i've got a girlfriend. But thanks.", which caused her to grumpily thrash around in her seat.
Christ almighty. I looked around desperately and realised there wasn't a single other seat to escape to, so I just went back to being fake asleep. And what do you know, twenty minutes later she starts spooning me again, to which I am much more specific.
"Hey, listen. Im flattered and if I was single i'd totally go for it but UNFORTUNATELY, IM NOT."
This was all said in a rasping whisper as to not draw attention from the rest of the packed bus. She responded by saying brattily, "I CAN'T HELP IT."
Brilliant. I was pining for the good old days when my bus journeys consisted of simply vomiting uncontrollably.
I spent the rest of the trip trying to sleep in a kung-fu stance.

Despite the previous twelve hours, it doesn't take away anything from Krabi. Its probably the most beautiful place ive ever seen. I stayed in a wooden hut where I had to dust ants off my bed nightly like breadcrumbs (the little bastards, I discovered, ended up nested in my bag), toured the islands, including Maya Bay where The Beach was filmed, snorkled, rockclimbed and sunbathed, all of which was surreal. White sands, surrounded by dense jungle and warm green ocean. 

You can't truly appreciate this unless, like me, your childhood summers consisted at some point of a day trip to Largs. If you haven't been, it's like holidaying in the future, after the nuclear holocaust.

Follow @blackchapters

*INTERMISSION* Oprah Releases The Bees

God, I wish her last show had actually ended like this.

INDIA part 3

The day before I left Mumbai, we did a tour of the Dharavi slums which is as about as obnoxious feeling as a bunch of middle class people gawking at poor people would be. 
The same ones feature in Slumdog Millionaire and cover 500 football fields. The whole place has been turned into a recycling mecca, doing the shitty jobs for companies who in turn reuse materials and make even more money. Every concievable material has its own tin shed that a bunch of guys squat and salvage from. 

Families reside in houses made from plastic bags while the kids play nonchalantly on a huge yard of compounded litter and shit. £650 million is made from Dharavi revenue every year. And the kids still play nonchalantly on a yard of compounded litter and shit. 

About four days prior to me stepping on to the fifteen hour bus to Goa, I remember thinking how unusual it was I hadn't gotten sick (3 weeks in) and in particular, not to have it happen on any of the long bus or train journeys. This was about to change. The first bubble of potential issue being the initial minute of sitting down and I managed to hold it until the restaurant stop, where I got off, found a quiet spot and spent the next 20 minutes vomiting myself inside out. I reboarded the bus and over the next fourteen or so hours, I became a minor celebrity, with the sort of retching you only see from a sickly cat who's eaten too much grass.
Bizarrely, as we were finally pulling in to Goa and I was approached by a guy looking for foreigners to star in movies made at his Goan film studio. Ive heard of this happening with travellers who hang around certain parts of Mumbai where they shoot Bollywood flicks. I know what you're thinking, but at this point, the consequences of me top billing in an indian gay porn and/or snuff movie would have been a welcome diversion compared to the way I was feeling. Anyway, whether it was the way I smelled or looked close up, he must have decided I was unsuitable for either genre as he never emailed back.
I staggered off the bus looking like the guy who chewed off his own tongue in Se7en and passed out at the nearest shithole hostel.

It was off season in Goa so had the air of Saltcoats in December. The sea was brown thanks to the monsoon, many bars were boarded up and it rained every few hours, making the humidity pretty intense. 
I transferred to a village and the Evershine guesthouse where on cue, we actually got a single day of sun. This is where Goa becomes pretty special. I toured around the area on a moped all day, checking out the local beaches and climbing hills overlooking the coast. Absolutely spectacular and you realise why Goa is so popular. 

I left early the next morning to go 10 hours in to the middle of the country to Hampi. Like a 3D Petra, its got the best temples you can find in India and more importantly, its monkeytastic. The train journey up there takes you through deep jungle and past probably the best waterfalls ive ever seen. All top class and worth the effort alone. 

After returning to Goa for a flight across the country to Calcutta and still nursing an arse like a burst watermain, I discovered that my long suffering girlfriend Lisa had booked me into a 5 star hotel for a birthday gift. I cannot articulate my joy at this, but at 32 years old, I can tell you that I spent the first hour of the stay jumping up and down on the bed. She is a wonderful human being. 

In retrospect, India is the kind of place i'd recommend to anyone who appreciates culture, wildlife and stunning landscapes of every variety. 

But more so, anyone who takes for granted (amongst other things) basic sanitation, regular meals and water, money, a vaguely functioning digestive system, living in a climate under 45 degrees, dogs without open sores and missing 75% of thier hair, care for the disabled, basic education, air conditioning, not sleeping outside on the pavement/ alleyways/in between dual carriageways, not wondering how many people you are going to see urinating publicly today etc etc.

There's alot in India I find interesting. For example, kissing in public is illegal: wife, girlfriend or whatever. Richard Gere, if you remember, caused an uproar when he jokingly smooched Shilpa Shetty at a news conference. The next thing you know, they are burning effegies of Rich in the streets and calling for Shilpa's execution. 

Indias call you could say, but it sends a mixed message when you can go to thousands of temples to look at stone carvings of some guy sitting cross legged wearing a different vagina on each finger.

With all of the poverty so glaringly apparent, politicians not helping (a third of them are under corruption investigation), there's a feeling of hopelessness when people who have the ability to change things instead to do this:

"Mukesh Ambani is having a few friends round to celebrate moving into his new Mumbai pad. But as the home has 27 storeys, soars to 173 metres and is worth an estimated £1 billion, it will be a housewarming like no other.
The building – named Antilia, after a mythical island – will be home to Ambani, the richest man in India and the fourth richest in the world, plus his wife and their three children. It contains a health club with a gym and dance studio, at least one swimming pool, a ballroom, guestrooms, a variety of lounges and a 50-seater cinema.
Those lucky enough to have received an invitation to the housewarming later this month will be able to choose a variety of means of transport to get there.
If they want to avoid Mumbai's gridlock, there are three helicopter pads on the roof. If they do drive, they will not have any trouble parking: there is space for 160 vehicles on the lower floors.
Once in, nine lifts will take the guests from the lobby to upper levels, where the festivities will take place.
On the top floors, with a sweeping view of the city and out over the Arabian Sea, are quarters for the 53-year-old tycoon and his family. Overall, there is reported to be 37,000 sq metres of space, more than the Palace of Versaille."
Incredible. Five people living in a billion pound home in a place like Mumbai is the equivalent to touring RSPCA offices with a bag of newborn kittens and a potato masher. 

 So all in all, im pretty glad to be leaving India. Poverty, corruption and filth are one thing, but if I have to meet another prick clutching a copy of Eat, Pray, Love and looking to find him/herself, I might have murdered us both with a claw-hammer.

http://twitter.com/blackchapters
 
Visit Travel Blog Exchange

INDIA part 2: INDIA HARDER

 Lack of appetite! Nausea! Vomiting! Fatigue or weakness! Dizziness or lightheadedness! Insomnia! Pins and needles! Shortness of breath! Nosebleed! Drowsiness! General malaise! Peripheral edema! Diarrhea!

To which my reply is usually, "Ok, then can we cuddle instead?"

Coincidentally it turns out, these are all symptoms of altitude sickness. Delhi was seventeen hours behind me and the first thing you notice is doing the smallest bit of exercise takes so much more effort than usual. Manali sits at 6600 feet but it was ten times more evident on a snowboarding trek to 11,000 in the mountains. The entire place is a complete contrast from Delhi, being 20 degrees cooler, infinitely less busy and with the most picturesque scenery that mountains have to offer. It felt more like Italy than India, with snowcapped peaks, leaking waterfalls and lush greenery. Our guide, Cashew, took the six of us on a 3 hour hike (following an hours drive) straight up, to get to base-camp which was looked after by a guy called Manny and two dogs, Julie and Baloo.

 The view from the tent was incredible and we were fed before taking a jaunt up the hill with our boards, followed by an assurance that I will never, ever take ski lifts for granted again.  I was in pretty bad shape by the time we got to the top and if my dad had found me, I would have been treated like any of my sickly (or not, in a couple of cases) childhood pets: taken to the bottom of the garden and finished off with a spade.

Estimated distance: Fucking forever, straight up

If i'm being perfectly honest, I did not land this.

 As it turned out the snow was pretty plentiful, but in terrible condition. We made the most of it and headed back before the storm came in. The rain and wind battered the tents for most of the night, at some point during which I had to eventually venture outside for a toilet trip. With the unrelenting thunder and forked lightning streaking across the sky, I can safely say that I will be unlikely to have a more dramatic crap in my life.
With Jobbiepocalypse behind me and back in the tent, temperatures got below zero and despite being in two sleeping bags and lying on several rugs I was colder than i've ever been camping. The next day was a write-off due to a mild smattering of symptoms from the start of this post. I had literally no energy, felt like throwing up constantly and had a pounding headache. The rest of the group were fine and headed up the hill and it took a full day for me to recover. All was back to normal on day three.

The trouble with Manali is that its populated with pretentious pricks. With dreadlocks, piercings and with clothes that appear to be fashioned from Tesco's 'Bags for Life', these walking cliches spend a couple weeks sitting about smoking hash, playing didgeridoos or banging incessantly on drums before presumably heading back to Swindon, a middle class life and call centre job with o2.

Anyway, I headed back to Delhi on a bus that broke down after 20 miles. We waited for eight hours by the road, until another bus arrived. I was then removed and put in a taxi with two other families. The driver for the first leg of the journey (around sixty kms) I later learned was drunk, who then handed over to a second driver who overtook exclusively on blind corners at 60 miles an hour, all the way down the mountains. He wanted to get back as soon as possible and as I was in the front seat, wouldn't let me sleep for fear he would nod off as well. For fifteen hours. Every time I shut down, he would slap my thigh to wake me and swear at me angrily in Hindi.
By the time we all arrived in Delhi, 23 hours after we left Manali and 37 without so much as a nappity nap, I was repeatedly hallucinating the entire 'pink elephants on parade' scene from Dumbo.

Being back in Delhi was about as welcome as a urinary infection so I quickly booked the rest of the trip. I was going to leave to stay a night before leaving for Agra and the Taj Mahal in the morning. The hotel was the typical fucking disgrace i've come to expect with Delhi, with filthy walls, floors and bed, and a door so badly warped I could close it and still wave to passers-by on the stairs. I left for Agra in the morning in a booked car with two English girls, Nina and Naomi, both very nice and having just arrived in the country the night before. We all spent the next three days checking out the Taj Mahal, Jaipur and various temples along the way (highlights were the palace in Jaipur, handling a Cobra and watching said Cobra shit on Naomi).
My one goal in India was to see wildlife, in particular Tigers, and so far nothing. In the desperation of trying and fix this I reluctantly went along to Jaipur Zoo. Every creature was either dead (or sleeping, whatever.), absent from their cages or like a particularly depressed Himalayan black bear, staring at me wondering what we are both doing outside in 45 degree heat.

Tits: Mashed

I caught a train to Mumbai (10 hours), with the intention of spending a couple days doing nothing, saving money and wating for my train to Goa. Instead, the monsoon hit, the train to Goa was cancelled and I decided to tag along with the hostel owner to a temple set in the jungle, embedded in a mountain. Its a place of worship thats populated by various Baba's all revered and holy to the Hindu followers that hike up the hill. We arrived just in time for a ceremony, had a cup of tea before sitting round a few Baba's and watching the hostel owner, Rav get completely mashed off his tits.

In fact, the Baba's themselves get to live a pretty basic but lively existence as various guys sit in the circle and he pulls out a selection of increasing harder drugs from a manbag. Rav himself went straight to the top, taking a finger full of a reddish powdery substance called, I discovered, "Aphee", washed down with some water. When I asked what it was, he said (in between puffs from a spliff) "Like opium, but better".



 About thirty minutes later, I asked Rav if there were any tigers in this area.
He replied, "It's my mother-in-law's birthday next week."

Cool.

India part one - Hindi Die Hard Edition

I just haven't had time to post anything since Israel, but as I say about my period, better late than never.

If I was to read directions to my hotel in downtown Delhi, in which ive just arrived at 6am, it would read:
Drive recklessly for twenty minutes, take a right at the skeletal cow, go straight past the family of 24 sleeping on the pavement, carry on until you meet a dog with twelve huge tits, go left at the corner with the street that is made up entirely of rubbish, piss and shit as far as the eye can see and you should spot the hotel straight in front of you. When I say straight in front, you need to traverse several winding alleys that made me think I was about to take part in an illegal Bloodsport-esque fighting tournament.

The previous two weeks living in luxury is now sitting in direct contrast with waking up the next day on a filthy mattress glazed in sweat, eyeball to eyeball with a dead gecko that has been sitting on my dusty bedside table like a fucking ornament. The alley that leads to my hotel is even more charming in the daytime, where you are able to really appreciate the level of poverty here. Imagine the dirtiest street you can. Now piss on it. Then shit on it. And finally vomit on it. And you're about halfway there. Piles of people litter the walls and floors, either sleeping, selling or just existing. There was a wizened old guy conked out in a cupboard, like the one you keep a bucket and mop in (the cupboard, not the guy), that with closer inspection I realised was his entire house. He seems one of the luckier ones. Many are strewn on the pavement where they can find a space, sharing with every conceivable piece of waste both natural and otherwise.

Out on the street in the blistering heat there is so much sweating and spitting I'm surprised the country isn't constantly in the grip of a dehydration epidemic. On the upside, food here is cheap but I would feel pressed to discount too if everything I offered came with the unfortunate risk of shitting your brains through your eyes.

 Ive been warned by everyone that Delhi Belly is simply something you cannot avoid.

The previous stint in Dubai and Abu Dhabi had been fantastic and being where I am now, its with a certain amount of guilt that I tell you about it. I was very lucky to be able to stay with some friends for both weeks. Audrey and Chas the first week followed by Kate and Khaled the second, all of whom spoiled me to within an inch of my life. After the last month and a half on the floor of various places I was thankful to just get a bed, but by the time id left id been (amongst other things) wined and cheesed at the Emirates Towers, gifted a trip up the Burj Khalifa, all-you-can-eat-Sea food-buffeted at a five star hotel, cooked a variety of delicious home cooked meals, given a four wheel drive to use at my disposal, taken to Ferrari World (Over twenty five ways to feel ill, fast), tirelessly ferried around local sights, drank a cappuccino with 24 carat gold sprinkles and taken around Abu Dhabi's various islands on a private luxury boat. Completely above and beyond and I couldn't be more grateful. Genuinely lovely people who i'm especially fortunate to know.

I met an old school friend in Delhi, Suhrid, who took it upon himself to make sure I saw as much of the city as possible and ate at the most favoured (by Delhians) local restaurants, all while getting an in depth education along the way. He was as hospitable as it is possible to be towards another human being, and to his credit, only mentioned the Colonial Rule fourteen times. It was hanging out with his friends at the TLR cafe (think of a chilled three story club populated with infinitely talented creative types, and me trying to relate, my only contribution to artistry being a blog filled with dick jokes and dogs in superhero costumes) that I was suggested Manali as my next port of call. I was fairly close and it would be a shame to get within distance of the Himalayas without seeing them.

 Before then, Suhrid took me to a restaurant that served goat brain curry, the old scamp. I tried a couple of scoops with some naan, and it wasn't terrible and tasted like any other curry. Although If I was given the choice between that and some chicken, the chicken wins hands down. There's a reason brain hasn't made it on to mainstream UK menus.
 In amongst the density, there's some beautiful stuff in Delhi, not least of all, Humayums tomb.
 Just being in the city is pretty unrelenting and it was good to have Suhrid along as a guide. Anyone with a smattering of decency feels for people begging on the street and is tempted to give them something to help. The first thing that hit me was the contrast between the plight of the majority of beggars in Glasgow compared to that of Delhi. Here, you are presented with decision of giving to a man/woman/child with no home, minimal clothing, one or more missing or disfigured limbs/eyes, infected sores and starving, all the while often carrying a child with similar issues while trying to get through the day in 45 degree heat. Glasgow's biggest issue appears to be leaving the house exactly fifty pence short of a bus fare home.

As I bought my ticket, Delhi Belly free, for the 17 hour bus ride to Manali, it dawned on me that for all India's assaults on Western bowels, we owe them. Not just for Colonial Rule and Tech Support but for still not coming up with anything remotely awesome as this: