Adventures of a not-so reluctant girl, two friends and a Messiah.

Currently listening to some Indi-ambient, new age CD called Vale's Nirvana Lounge has evoked feelings and memories from my magical embark to a land known as India-the-almighty (or maybe the memories were fresh in my mind, and I am wholly unable to let go, [re]living India through a blog, just as good, right?!).

Vale's Nirvana Lounge is just one of a thousand pieces of India I brought back (not including cigarettes, as that turns 'thousands' into millions... and that would give you the wrong idea, you may think I actually bought something for you in my Indian fit of passion!). I did bring many of you sand though (as you asked for...!!) It's safe - in my trainers and remnants remain on my flip flops, do not anguish!

After a ten hour flight, sat next to a little girl with fingers like flora (wine stained t-shirt to prove it!) I began this journey in Mumbai - or Bombay. As Michaela (lovely lady I travelled with) pointed out; it is a dirtier, smellier, much hotter version of London.



Mumbai is bustling. It is a hubbub of rickshaws, beeping cars and stray animals (dogs, cows... you name it!). Indian's seemingly endure life in a completely different manner, a much more content, modest mode of life. People with priorities in proper places. And they seem happier for it too. With 35 degree weather, cramped spacing and perpetual noise, the vast comparison was essentially overwhelming, many a rickshaw ride spent in speechless silence, as I tried to take in everything around me and tried to understand it... And take photographs.

Michaela and I were fortunate enough to have a strapping, hunky, flowery-bag carrying gentleman by the name of Ameya to show us the ropes and take us around.

The legend that is Ameya.

As a rule of thumb, breakfast consisted of a Kingfisher beer and several packets of crisps. Which soon set as Lay's - American style, sour cream and chive variety. They're absolutely bangin'. After settling in to our "cosy" hotel room, bang in the centre of the Mumbai red-light district, we set off for the Elephanta Caves. Located on Elephanta Island in the Arabian Sea. A short ferry ride away, we took a few pictures at the port and paid the mere 200 rupees for a ticket and sat ourselves on the top deck, straw hats on head and camera/beer(s) in hand.




To reach the Elephanta Caves we had to climb a mile worth of steps, made only more interesting by the streams of multicoloured stalls and gleaming sterling silver masking the sides of the ascension and the asthma-attack style breathing transpiring from Ameya and Michaela. Hearts-beating and slightly light-headed, the climb is made worth it. After trying to beg (and given a hearty fuck off) local entry rates to enter the caves, we paid the foreigners fees and found ourselves on the very pinnacle of the cliffs overlooking the wonder that is Mumbai. As we walked around the dusty, grassy cliffs, I noticed enormous, stone dwellings (which turned out to be the caves!) formed thousands of years ago. The caves were home to monumental sculptures and depicted enormous Shivas, Ardhanarishvara, Brahma and Vishnu. After being made aware, by Ameya, that there were bats in all the caves (although I never saw or heard one, Ameya..) we made our way from cave to cave, awing at the intricacy of designs etched into stone and the sheer magnitude of these carvings. The dark caves maintained an atmosphere of echoey silence, apart from the 'chk-chk' of our cameras.



After being harassed for money by four, vehemently angry Indian women (nothing like an Indian woman scorned!) for taking photographs and not paying them (they decided to stand in front of us and pose for the camera, then demand money after we had taken a few photos!)


And averting the vicious, aggressive monkeys... (Don't be fooled by the baby monkey!)


Later that evening, Ameya, Michaela and I were taken to a randomly exquisite hotel in Mumbai (not far from the horrendous November attacks). We lavished in course after course of delicious CHINESE dumplings, pak choy-this and Szechuan-that before continuing our usual night of drink, dance and bubble, Mumbai-styley. The club (no name, sorry) was medium sized and up numerous flights of stairs. It is home to several bars and a 70's inspired, multicoloured-tiled, "nightfever-esque" dance floor. The club is a proportionate balance of male and female. The ladies dressed in teeny-tiny skirts and dresses, mirroring something out of Bollywood and the men are shirted, shoed and dancing like red snappers out of water. No stranger to the night world, I had never seen anything so surreal, the dancing was a dodgy two-step and nauseating jumping - up and down, up and down. A little like a child's birthday with adults. Although, they seemed to be having fun, we were B-52'd up and the night was young.



(And yes that dude is wearing a shiny, silky, gold shirt. Whatta' cunt.)

After our stint in Mumbai and a quick farewell to young Saint Ameya the Fantastic (above, left of goldy) we headed back to the Airport for a 'Spicejet' flight to Goa. Landing within an hour of departure, we found ourselves in the soaring heat of Goa. We headed north from the Airport to our home in Candolim for the next few days. Driving past much shrubbery, we eventually made it to lots of little towns, broken up by large roads and bridges. Our resort and thief-of-credit-card was remarkably different to our lodging in Mumbai, but a welcomed change. And no brothels or whorehouses in proximity!


Our first night in Goa was spent at a local restaurant (The Stone House) where we were personally serenaded ('this is dedicated to Divya, Michaela and Sasha...' by an old Goan man singing Johnny Cash and Van Morrison. We indulged in murgh masala, aloo gobi, parathas and butter chicken. Very delicious Indian = very unhappy bowl.


The next day was spent upon Candolim Beach, a short walk from our resort but never too short of wandering strays and leery men calling us "birdies". We partook in some serious "self-baking", sifting through the sarongs and jewellery bestowed upon us by little girls and boys. One in particular took my attention. A little lady named Sunita. Sunita is nine-years old; she travels around the beach with her friend in search of tourists to sell old jewellery and brightly coloured accesories to. I found Sunita's eagerness to sell, her willingness to help and innocent smile very endearing, and I ended up parting with my rupees and buying things I hadn't quite wanted. Next, a highly vicious and painful jet ski ride by the misogynist pigs who felt they had to impress us by proving their manliness against the Indian Ocean. They had us violently crashing into waves and almost breaking our necks. Alas, my salvation showed herself. In the beautiful form of Ms. beach side masseuse. For less than a tenner each, Michaela and I received an hour worth of deep rubbing, thorough kneading and serious oiling. Heavaaaaaaaan.




The next days was spent at a beautiful, secluded beach by the name of Baga. The only noise to be heard was the calm crashing of the waves: this tranquil beach became an agreed favourite.


After being highly recommended by the resort barman Ollie, we travelled north of Candolim to Anjuna beach. Anjuna is home to a precession of fascinating stalls, creating one enormous market. The wafting sounds of ambient trance can be heard from all over the market, the people are all very eager to sell and the stalls are home to all types of spices and herbs, cigarettes, music, eclectic clothing, shiny jewellery and treasure boxes, mosaic mirrors and little trinkets. After spending hours meandering the astounding market, we make our way down to the beach. Upon hearing 'Natarsha! Natarrrsha!!' being shouted behind me, the voice sounding familiar, I recognise the innocence and joy. I turn around and find Sunita waving frantically at me! She accompanies us to a spot on Anjuna beach, where we make rest and continue our voyage of self-baking.

Sunita.




After our driver goes missing; Michaela, Divya and I catch a taxi back to Candolim with sand, silver and cigarettes in tow. Our next day remains one of my most memorable in Goa, the breathtaking visit to Dudhsagar Falls, east of Candolim. In a 4x4, we drive through aquamarine lagoons and endless jungle to a winding, rocky path of boulders.





We climb from boulder to boulder, up and up. Although somewhat treacherous, the climb is exhilarating and encapsulates the beauty of nature. It is my idea of perfection. Stumbling and sliding we make our way up the gorge of rocks, along with hundreds of other locals and tourists wanting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Mid-climb, our tour guide stops and allows us to marvel at the sight before us. Directly above us is a beautiful, blue cascading waterfall, intersected by rocky edges and surrounded by blooming trees. The guide explains the Konkan Railway travels over the waterfall and makes for a beautiful scene.


Eventually we climb to the foot of the waterfall; a large lagoon of crystal, clear water. We cast our clothing aside and edge ourselves into the chillingly refreshing, spring water. We immerse ourselves deeper into the water, swimming towards the the cascading mouth of the waterfall. The calmness and coldness of the water, almost purge the mind, body and spirit. I have an overwhelming feeling of freedom and being at one with nature, devoid of my usual London thoughts and occupied only with images before me and water surrounding me.



From Dudhsagar Falls, we are taken to a outdoor cafe by our driver. The menu comprises Pepsi, limca, paneer sandwiches and elephant rides. We opt for a Pepsi and an elephant ride. The elephants are beautifully strong, walking with a firm yet slow gentleness. The skin is a light charcoal, soft and wrinkly under the fingers. Michaela and I take our seat upon the elephant; he is made to walk a pre-made course. Although much fun, the idea of a magnificent animal being chained up in the searing sun removes a bit of pleasure from the experience. My slight apprehension at first (as you can see!), soon turned into mesmerising fun. I confirmed to Michaela I must have been an elephant racer in my past life!


We set back to Candomlim, packed our crap as the next morning we set off for Palolem. Palolem is south of Candolim, so after a tedious two and half our journey we find ourselves in Palolem. Quickly arranging some accommodation and downing a few beers, we drop our bags off and make haste to the highly recommended Palolem beach.



The roads of Palolem, much like Candolim, are paved with rainbow coloured markets selling all sorts of touristic goods. There are numerous restaurants and cafes offering traditional Goan delights like curried fish. We emerge on a serene and clean sandy Palolem beach, grab ourselves some sun loungers and indulge in more "self baking". The smell of salty water and ayurvedic massage oils permeate the air. Later that evening, we dine at a beach front restaurant. With only the moon and candle flames for light, we (plus a Mr. Nick aka the self-confessed Messiah, that I befriended on the beach) eat our way through murgh masalas and dahl mahkinis. The next few days are spent shopping, being deeply massaged and lounging in bars with beds. The Turtle Lounge on Agonda beach, in particular. This bar is a surreal fusion of India, Ibiza and paradise. The bar overlooks a peacefully secluded beach and contains minimalistic black hessian beds and sofas, picturesque palm trees and boasts a feng shui honed to perfection. Nodding in and out of tetris sleep, I feel very content and relaxed.

We make way to another amazingly situated bar and enjoy a few cocktails during the sunset.



From Palolem beach, my travels take an unexpected turn and I find myself with a ticket to Chennai. Formerly known as Madras, in the south of India, Chennai is scorching hot and only slightly less crowded then Mumbai, standardly reaching temperatures of 40 degree, cars hooting, people buzzing and hubbub galore. Contrastingly different to Goa, it takes me a day to adapt to the busier way of life, again.

Fortunately, I manage to stay in Mr Nick's beachside fortress for the next week. Equipped with air conditioning, Vogue/Hindu Times, a spacious pool and two sexing dragonflies, I retreat by the pool in an effort to not die.


Like Mumbai, I find Chennai strangely charming, devoid of pretentiousness and rife with life. The people are friendly and humble, hard working and happy. The hustle and bustle occupies the city.

I manage to visit an extremely religious Hindu temple in Chennai, although not dressed for the occasion (little shorts and strap top...!) I bare footedly meander through the temple, inspired by the determination and spirituality of a civilisation to have erected such grand statues and shrines.




From Hinduism to Catholicism, I travel to a pristine cathedral in Chennai. The air filled with chanting and a vague smell of holy water, the people in the cathedral walk around in a trance like manner. I buy some gifts, make a few donations and light a few candles then make for an exit. My inappropriate attire does not bode well with the locals.


Next on the schedule is a few days in Pondicherry or 'Puducherry', further south of Chennai. Once a French colony, Pondicherry is a madman mashup of seventeenth century French architecture and Indian lifestyle. The main languages of Pondicherry, one of the main enclaves of the Tamil Nadu state, are French and Tamil. Nick taught me 'nandri', meaning thank you. And that there is no word for 'please' in the Tamil language. Nandri Nick?!!

The roads of Pondicherry are romantically named 'Rue de blah-blah-blah', the white walls, simple lines and free-flowing fuchsia flowers are nostalgically European.



I just like this...


This...


And this...


After a few more days spent falling in love with Pondicherry, the Messiah and I miss our coach as we wait in the wrong bus station. We have to take a rickshaw to a first coach, for the first coach to take us to a second coach, for the second coach to not stop where we asked. Then we have to sit as pillion passengers on a motorbike. Quite an ordeal, lots of fun. A few more shopping trips in Chennai and living as a lady of leisure (...I'll explain that to you one day, maybe... lol) and I reluctantly have to leave India.

India was nothing how I expected it to be, but everything I would want to expect. I didn't bank on having the experiences and amount of fun I did, but I'm glad I took the opportunity and had them.

YEAHHH BWOY!!!!!