What phrase have I re-spurted over and over, most incessantly and Tourette-like, over the last two months? It’s a toss up. It’s either, ‘Radiantly Alive’, the centre where Collette has been bending and meditating religiously in Ubud. Or it’s ‘Gado-gado’. Continue reading
Eggs away! I’m letting go of dairy, eggs and fish for September. Enjoying a mostly plant based diet anyway, I’ve been irrationally granting an exception for these three animal food groups. Why? I’m not sure. It’s possible that it’s the last bastion of my psychological meaty-conditioning. Regardless, with time, I feel more and more distressed eating them. And hell, I could just eat something else. Continue reading
“Do you know what’s the best thing about flying in the morning, love?”
“Is this a joke?”
“No. Airport breakfasts.” Continue reading
Dessert has arrived. It’s confusing. An industrial block of ice cream. Some broken biscuits and a few bananas nudged in. Snapped Oreos are jammed in the side of the block and it’s finished with five butterflied satsuma segments, four raisins and a squabble of chocolate sauce. I’ve seen, ‘Hello To The Queen’ on every travellers’ menu since Fort Kochin. It seems to have some heritage here, but a quick Google suggests that no-one knows what it is, where it came from or how to make it. There was no, ‘Up Yours Elizabeth’. I’d have preferred that. I’m reminded of Blighty and I consider the forthcoming election. Continue reading
“These review are all from jealous people.”
We made some lovely new friends in Jaisalmer. As a thirty five year old boy, I’d instinctively refer to this quartet of handsome and bright seventeen and eighteen year olds as boys. However I have no intention to condescend, in fact, the opposite. At their age I was vomiting Blue WKD behind Squares. Here, these men were embarking on a final cultural venture prior to their looming two year stint of compulsory national service for their native Singapore. Hussain, Sanni, Ratch and Nas looked like an entry to South East Asia’s Got Talent in their matching desert outfits and through the laughter we talked; politics, travel, photography, Youtube, history, art and dreams.
“See, you don’t get the same experience of India from a car”. Pete was right. Behind the darkened windows of the a/c taxi, you couldn’t feel the warm wild of the wind. You couldn’t hear the ripping of the road in your ears or smell the cavalcade of cashew, masala, garlic, sulphur, diesel and shit.