Koh Phagnan and Bangkok: Ladyboys, Blackeyes and Thunderstorms...

After 2 nights sampling the crazy of Bangkok, I decide it's time to escape the city and head south for some far-flung sun-drenched beach, where I can while away my days drinking cocktails, sunbathing and reading.  This is the dream.  Unfortunately, the reality does not quite match up...

My destination of choice is Koh Phagnan, a little jungle-clad island on the Gulf coast of Thailand, most famous for the hedonisitc Full Moon Party that takes place at the end of each month.  Still feeling a bit down and quite frankly developing an aversion the full-on "backpackers"  that dominate the Thai travel scene, I decide to avoid the full moon resorts and head to the north of the island, where I'm promised peace, tranquility and sunshine.

So I leave Bangkok around 8pm in the evening, and by 10 am the next morning (after a very hairy bus ride) I am on the boat bound for Koh Phagnan, feeling tired, jaded and slightly disoriented by just how many tourists are crammed on to it..  Because the one boat will make several stops at different islands along the way, everyone is given a different coloured sticker to wear, to let the boat staff know where you're going.    Obviously this is completely logical, but I can't help but feel as though I'm being herded along on some hideous 18-30 package holiday.  Full of "Brits Abroad" type characters, all crisply burnt and proudly wearing their best football shirts.  Am I in Thailand or Magaluf...?
Luckily, while I'm on the boat, my best friend from back home just happens to stroll on board, so for the next few hours at least, we enjoy a catch up and chat.  Small world indeed!

As per usual, my careful plannng (ha!) comes back to bite me on the ass, and what I fail to actually reearch is that the Gulf Coast of Thailand  is slap bang in he middle of the monsoon.... So my first problem strikes as soon as I arrive at Thong Sala pier; the beach I am meant to be staying at is so remote that it is only accessable by longtail boat.  And the weather is so stormy that the boats are not running...
So time for plan B.  Unfortunately, I don't have a plan B, so hop on the first Songthaew (shared pick-up truck) that's heading north.  I meet 2 French girls there, who are staying at the idyllic Haad Salad beach, so I rock up there hoping to find somewhere to stay, and luckily they do.  So for the next best part of a week, I enjoy the comfort of a lovely little beach bungalow, all for 300 bahts per night, which I deem to be pretty reasonable considering the Full Moon usually drives prices up across the whole island.

The majority of my stay is peppered with amazing sky-splitting thunderstorms, but it's not all rain and clouds; sunshine appears most days in enough bursts to allow to me swim, sunbathe and take walks along the beach (I reaise this is beginning to sound like a very bad personal ad...)
During periods of prolonged rain, I can be found lying in a hammock on my balcony, drinking Chang and reading.  Bliss!

After a week of total relaxation (in spite of the Chinese family who seem to appear wherever I am and INSIST on asking overly personal questions/making videos of me on their camera phones), I decide I want to spend a few weeks in the north of Thailand.  But first, I have to head back to Bangkok...

Again, it's another night-bus situation, filled with illegal manouvres, crazy overtaking and a driver who probably bought his license from a dodgy dealer on the Khao San Road...
Thankfully, I have some company on this journey, in the form of Mitsy, an English girl completing a year-long trip in Australia with a holiday in Thailand. She's with 2 other girls (who sadly have food poisoning) and suggests I join them when we get to Bangkok.
The bus is due to arrive at 6am, but annoyingly it arrives 2 hours ahead of schedule (when does that ever happen...?!) so the 4 of us are ditched at the road-side in a non-descript part of the city feeling sleepy and confused.
A short taxi ride later and we're at a hostel on the Khao San Road practically begging them for rooms. Luckily they can accommodate us in 2 twin rooms, and its only 175 bahts each, with air-con. After a much-needed sleep, me and Mitsy decide to head out and explore some parts of Bangkok that neither of us has seen yet.  First top, Chinatown!

We take a boat down the river and get off at the pier closest to Chinatown (which is definitey a good idea considering the crazy traffic here...) and are immediately struck by a wave of people, shops. traffic, heat...  Chinatown is absolutely mental!  This is the archetype of Bangkok; frantic, bustling and relentless.  I love it!  But in small doses...

So we head back to the releative calm of the Khao San Road (!) and freshen up, ready for a night of drinking. After a few Changs we head to  busy bar, and watch the world go by with a bottle of rum for company.  The Khao San Road is the perfect spot for people watching.  Amongst the tourists there are locals, ladyboys (obvious by their jaw-lines and prominent Adam's apples..) and people who look downright lost and overwhelmed.  
As the evening progresses we meet a couple of guys and the 4 of us decide to go to Le Club (I actually can't remember if that's what it's called...) for a spot of dancing.  It's a total sweaty meat-market, but a lot of fun nonetheless.  Mental dancing tourists, Thai girls dancing round their handbags lookig a tad desperate, and plenty of sleazy 'lads'.  Almost like a night ut in Glasgow.
All is going just grand until a very drunk guy, who is dancing far too vigorously, gets a little too close nd (accidentally) headbuts me.  Resulting in a swollen a bruised eye the next morning. Excellent!  Luckily it's nothing a bit of concealer and a large pair of dark glasses wont cover.

Hangover-free, my second time in Bangkok comes to an end and I decide to start working my way north.  Time for a change of scenery!

Koh Phagnan: Stayed at Sea Salad beach huts at Haad Salad Beach.  300 baht per night for a spacious bungalow and very friendly service.  Haad Saad is accessable by shared taxi, and should cost about 150 baht for a one-way journey.  "My Way" restaurant is also a great choice for food, right on he beach.  Cost of overnight bus/boat from Bangkok to Koh Phagnan should cost from 850 baht upwards.

Bangkok:  Stayed at My Friends guest house, in the Banglampoo district.  A double room set us back 350 baht.  Dorm available from around 100 baht.
Single trip on the river boat cost 15 baht
Haggling in the markets is a must, and I ususally managed to get around 50% knocked off the asking price.

Berlin, Bangkok and beyond...

Its been an interesting few weeks, with a fair share of ups and downs, but i guess these bumps in the road make for interesting reading, so do let me indulge you...

I left Scotland last week, not so much on a high as a mediocre note, for various (man related) reasons that I will not bore you with. Luckily, my first stop was Berlin, one of my favourite places on earth. If anything has the ability to cheer me up, its most definitely a crazy night in the coolest city around. I arrived midday and managed to navigate my way to Kreuzberg, where my friend Ross was meeting me.
Ross is an artist, ocassionally working and living in Berlin, so knows all the hipster hangouts, squats and abandoned warehouses within a 20 mile radius. After a quick walk around Kreuzberg, its obvious that there has been some changes since I was last in the city. Most notably, there is a greater presence of makeshift camps and squats dotted around the city, emerging amidst the wasteland which is so abundant here. Apparently the burgeoning econimic crisis across Europe is facilitating this big influx of people. Nonetheless, the 'campers' are resourceful, constructing almost entire villages from discarded items. Perhaps my favourite is a little settlement aptly named 'Villa Disaster' which sits in the shadow of an abandoned ice factory.

Armed with some beer, we climb the rather precarious looking steps of this grafitti-covered paradise and watch taggers at work, houseproud squatters furiously sweeping their camps, and finally, a hazy sun setting behind the clouds.
We have dinner that evening with an artist friend of Ross, one of he most prolific and exciting artists working in Germany right now.  Even getting a glimpse in to his studio is a real privelige; not only is it a massive, open space, but it is quite literally covered with his art, from tiny frantic sketches to imposing works that dominate whole walls.
After abusing our hosts hospitality till the wee small hours, me and Ross decide to hit up a a bar. It may be 5am but there are no rules here. If you're drinking, they're serving. Thet are few other cities in the world where the barman is happy to pour himelf a pint and skin up a joint to share with his patrons! Naturally, by the time we leave it's light and my liver is weeping. Instead of a stumble home, we try to weave our way through Gorlitzer Park, running the gauntlet of drug dealers peddling their wares. No mean feat!

My final day in Berlin is spent in a hungover fog, but strangely, that feels ok. Most days this city feels like its nursing a giant collective hangover. In the evening,  I have to catch a flight out of Tegel airport, bound for Bangkok.
My flight, which makes a brief but expensive stopover in Abu Dhabi, (4 quid for a dish-water coffee!) is a relatively pain free experience, although I do notice a particulary disproportionate number of single older male travellers (socks and sandals, bumbag clad, impressive moustaches). I'm sure they're all going to Thailand for the culture...

When I finally arrive in Bangkok, its early evening and darkness has fallen already. Undeterred, I decide to figure out how to negotiate the public transport system to get to my hostel, which is in the downtown Silom district. Surprisingly, the public transport system here is smooth, efficient and clean- certainly nothing like the Bombay-esque chaos I had envisaged. A short ride on the futurisic air-conditoned Sky Train and im at my hostel in no time at all.  And all for the grand total of around 75 pence. 

The first thing that strikes me about Bangkok is how oppressively hot and humid it is, even at night. So my first stop at the hostel is a cold shower, a beer and then bed. Perfect.
The following day I head out to explore the city, and there is not nearly as much of a culture shock as i'd imagined. The western world is abundant here, and catered for at every turn. In fact its almost disappointing and discocerting to see how many MacDonalds, Starbucks, Tescos and Burger Kings there are.
Nonetheless its a cool city and enjoy my time there, taking a boat ride up the Chao Phraya river, exploring the vastly touristic Khao San road, experiencing my first bone-crunching thai massage and checking out the knock off goods on offer at the Patpong night market. Its a truly bizarre place to spend a few hours; alongside stalls flogging fake Ray Bans and Jimmy Choos, there are seedy bars enticing people in to watch a whole host of ridiculous sex shows. As intrigued as i am, i manage to resist the temptation to pay £20 to watch Ting Ting perform 'pussy tricks' with a ping pong ball...

Back at the hostel, I get chatting to a canadian man, who makes no secret of the fact that hecomes to Thailand purely for sex tourism.  He tells me that it is important for him that the prostitute, whoever he/she may be, gets as much pleasure from the experience as he does. Its tricky for me to reconcile what he is saying; perhaps I am being naive but I doubt that most people working in the sex trade do so purely out of thier love of sex.  Arguably the type of gratification that they get is purely monetary, and nothing to do with the fact that another ageing tourist wants to have sex with them.

After 2 nights in the city, I decide to leave Bangkok and head south for the islands for a few days.  Undoubtedly I'll be back here in the next few weeks, so I don't want to burn out too early.  I've enjoyed my first experience of this crazy Thai dystopia, and despite various warnings from friend to "get out" quickly, I never once felt anything but safe and relaxed here. 
Nontheless, a few days of total beach relaxation are calling....

Bangkok

Where to stay:  Mile Map Hostel in the Silom district.  Clean, spacious and hot running water! Very well connected to the BTS Skytrain, good markets and the Chao Prayha River.  I paid 300 baht (per night) for a comfy dorm bed.

Where to Eat: On the street!  Stalls selling pretty much everything for the equivalent of 30p unwards.  Pad Thia is always a good bet.

Unwind:  Go for a traditional Thai massage.  Shops offering them are everyhwere, and generally charge 200-300 baht per hour (4-6 pounds).

Get Around:  Use the ultra cheap and efficient Metro or SkyTrain.  Tickets around around 20 baht per journey.  Taking a boat along the river is also a great (and breezy) way to see the city and escape the humidity.  An all day ticket will set you back around 150 baht (3 pounds) or alternatively by singles for around 15 baht each (30 p).  Its a very easy city to navigate alone, so dont get ripped off in taxis or tuk-tuks!

Drink: Aside from as much water as you can stomach, it has to be Chang. But be warned, I have it on good authority that the 6.5% labelling is just a guide.  No quality control menas that a can can be anything from 6 - 12 %.  I had a Changover after 2...

Mull-ing it Over...

Not dead; just living on an island.

In case you’re all deeply concerned and wondering why i haven’t written anything in a while (at least this is the scenario in my head...), fear not.  I haven’t died/been kidnapped /incarcerated/struck down with some hideous debilitating illness.  In reality, the truth is far more shocking.   I have, in fact, moved to an island off the west coast of Scotland for 6 months.  

....And now that 6 months is nearly over.  I have mixed emotions about this.  When I first moved to Mull, I felt like a fish out of water.  Completely out of my transient comfort zone.  But a few months down the line and I find myself rather attached to this strange little island for a variety of reasons - not least the fact that for the first time in over 2 years, I've settled and had (a bit) of stability.  

But enough about that.   In a mere matter of weeks I'll have left the island and will be off on another far-flung jolly for 4 whole months (hello South East Asia!) where I will get to write about my nonsense and escapades every day (not so easy to do at the moment, where every day feels like it is exactly the same as the previous...).  

So as of November, be prepared for some Thai-flavoured tales of (mostly)disaster and chaos....

Can't wait. 

Vegas III: Leaving Las Vegas...

It's the final hurdle in Sin City, and although the party spirit is still buzzing strong, everyone is starting to look a little puffy eyed, tired and emotional. So much so that, after a mid-week Mexican feast, we do the unthinkable. We all go back to the hotel and have a quiet one.  A quiet one!  In Vegas!  I know.  Buy entirely justifiable considering that we've been laying in the sun all day, drinking cocktails and are more than a little dehydrated.
So after a solid 8 hours (and a few episodes of Khloe and Lamar...), everyone is on form for the next few days.
In no particular order (because I can't actually recall the order...), we spend out remaining few days in Vegas 1. 1.  Shopping.  Of course! We hit up the outlet malls, but as I am essentially a pauper, I don't indulge.  Shame, as I could have gone wild with the plastic.  Next time...

2. Trying not to have panic attacks whilst riding the rollercoasters at New York New York. HILARIOUS  doesn't even cover it.  Mascara-massacre on my face when we get off, and everyone look more than a little windswept.  My single recollection of this is repeatedly shouting "sweet jesus" as I think of every story I've ever heard about fairground rides that malfunction, killing everyone. Thankfully, all's well that ends well.  Phewf.

3.  Eating a very fancy meal at the Prime Steakhouse in the Bellagio.  It's a fab meal, and the price definitely reflects this.  Bill for 10... £1300.  Just like that.  Worth it for a nice meal though.  Just means I am living on water and digestive biscuits for a few days.


4.   A BIG night out at XS nightclub at the Wynn. Ends in relative success (for me, as least) and the hot model I meet there.  And yes Stu - he was a model.  And a pilot/doctor/peace envoy.  RIGHT!

5. A limo ride round the strip, to the Vegas sign and to Old Las Vegas (Fremont Street).  Our final night, with everyone there and on top form.  Lots of gambling, a zip line across Fremont Street and an almost-marriage.  Ok, so not quite.  But what could have been....  We stop off at the Little White Wedding Chapel, and decide that someone needs to get hitched.  So well-oiled by Becca's LETHAL cocktails, I agree.  And believe it or not, there is an (almost) willing participant.  Sadly, the lack of marriage licence (and girlfriend of willing participant) throws a spanner in the works.  There goes my chance of a happily ever after....

6.  A delicious brunch at Paris Hotel, in the brasserie there.  Champagne cocktails, moules marinieres, eggs benedict....Perfection.  And topped off with a wander around Venice (designer shops galore..!) and a ride on the Gondolas.  Having been to actual Venice, I can honestly say that Las Vegas Venice isn't too shabby an imitation.  In fact the only things that aren't quite right?  Well, Las Vegas Venice smells better, and is infinitely cleaner than Italian Venice.  Not a bad complaint really...!

So, everyone gets ready to leave Las Vegas, and its pretty bittersweet, but we are alreayd 

Las Vegas II: Viva Las Vegas...

So, in no particular order I have managed to piece together the rest of the week in Las Vegas.  Mostly.
Naturally, day 2 is spent lounging by the pool, comparing respective hangovers and trying our hardest to suck it all in adequately (nobody can deny this - I was doing it and I saw everyone else at it too.  By the end of the week no-one cares and everything is hanging out, spilling over and burnt...)  The pool at the MGM is pretty fantastic though, and we commandeer a group of sun loungers to laze on for most of the day whilst sipping yardsticks of slushy rum cocktails.  Oh, it's a tough life!  Although it's only day 2 in Vegas and already I can feel  my budget spiralling out of control.  $20 per day this is not.  Try $20 per DRINK. Yep, I'm paying the equivalent of a full day in Central America for one cocktail here.  Time to transfer some more money.  Immediately....

Night 2 turns out to be an outrageous evening of nonsense.  What begins as an evening of "quiet" gambling soon turns in to an all-night session of drinking, inappropriate behaviour (though really, there is no such thing in Vegas...) and scaling a 10-foot wall outside Caesar's Palace (whilst trying not to flash body-parts).  It's a long story, and one that ended at 7am in the food court of The MGM with a $70 pizza and a sing-song.  Obviously.

So needless to say, another lazy day follows, lounging by the pool drinking.  A couple of the boys have already overdone it in the sun and are ridiculously red (Brits abroad...), so we're all going to look a treat at when we head out tonight.  It's Friday night, and although every night is party night in Vegas, the weekend usually brings in a bigger crowd.   While walking though New York New York, me and Ursula meet a club promoter who gets us all on the guest list for Tryst at the Wynn. After a pre-drinking session in one of the suites (at $20 a drink, pre-drinking is a pre-requisite...though to be fair, it's a pre-requisite in most nights out), we realise that it will take at least 5 taxis to get us all there.  So instead, we decide to go extravagant and book a stretch Hummer, in a charming shade of hot pink.  I feel like a 12 year old girl.  Or like i'm on a hen weekend.  But it actually works out per person than a taxi, and we all arrive together, so it's entirely justified.

Tryst is (as you'd expect), jam-packed with fake tans, silicon, tight dresses and decadence, but for all its ridiculous extravagance, is really good fun.  Stu has been appointed as my wing-man for evening, but aside from a rugby player I've never heard of (and who all the boys are practically masturbating over), Tryst isn't exactly overrun with attractive men.  Mostly creeps with overly shiny and pointy shoes.  Shame.

So while the rest of us head back to the MGM for a late night munch, an episode of Khloe and Lamar (this was probably just me and Urs...) and a sleep, a few of the boys decide to check out a strip club.  This would have gone largely unnoticed had Stu not turned up at 8am brandishing a bunch of roses (which were actually carnations), therefore arousing suspicion.  Over the course of the week, we manage to eke out the details of the "night of the strip club", and it turns out that one of the boys spent in excess of $300 on "private dances" (make of that what you will...)  $300...?!  Whatever he got, I would have done it for half that. Just sayin'.

We're now half way through the week, and thankfully momentum is still strong. Ok, so we're all a little tired, but drinking through the pain.  We only have to make it through 4 more nights (relatively) unscathed.  Can it be done? Probably not...

Las Vegas I: What Happens in Vegas...

What happens in Vegas....
Well, unfortunately for the other 12 people I was lucky enough to share this trip with, what happens in Vegas is given a healthy dollop of artistic license- and then blogged about by me.
Of course there are certain things that should probably never be mentioned again. Like the hundreds of dollars spent on strippers. Or the wads of cash floundered on gambling. And I should probably keep quiet about the almost-wedding. But i'm not going to. So, welcome to the no-holds barred, kiss-and-tell version of Las Vegas...




I arrive in Vegas (in one piece, no less!), after a 6 hour bus journey from LA. Quite literally everyone I have spoken to has been aghast and recoiled in horror when I tell them that I'm taking the Greyhounnd - apparently, buses in America are the domain of oddities and social lepers; to be avoided by anyone who values personal space, hygiene and not being sexually harassed. Luckily, I forfeited all of these luxuries a long time ago, so the journey is a doddle.
I arrive a couple of hours before everyone else touches down (pretty much everyone else is flying in from Scotland) and make my way to the MGM Grand, where we are staying. Painfully aware of just how ridiculous I look with my backpack on, I rock up to reception and check in as quickly as possible. But getting to our room is another mission altogether. The MGM (like every other hotel in Vegas), is massive. Truly colossal. It takes me 20 minutes to negotiate my way from the main entrance, through the casino (oh how convenient...) and up to our room. The scale of everything is unimaginably big; what initially appears to be a short distance is actually deceptively long. And of course, it doesn't help that there are a variety of distractions (food-courts, shops, casinos etc) everywhere you turn. What begins as a 5 minute jaunt to buy a bottle of water can easily digress in to a 2 hour stint in the blackjack table...

So, our first night in Vegas is a real mixture. Once everyone has arrived, we head out to Margaritaville, a bar and restaurant at the Flamingo Casino, about a 45 minute walk up the strip from the MGM. After some food (the biggest bowl of nachos I've ever seen in my life-hello obesity!)and drinks,we descend on the casino and I try out some gambling for the first time. I'm being broken in gently on the roulette table, and walk away $20 better off (ok, so I'm hardly a high roller), but for my first foray in to the seedy and addictive world of gambling, I'm pretty chuffed.
While me and Ursula hang around the casino till silly o'clock in the morning (we've played our "loser card" and decide not to go to a nightclub), everyone else does us proud by getting spectacularly drunk and going to Surrender nightclub. Not only do they meet Max from cheesy boy-band The Wanted (I'm glad you came etc etc), but one of our trusty reprobates is so wasted that he has to be taken home in a wheelchair. (Usually I prefer to protect the innocent and don't mention names. But it was Ross. Ross Thompson. Oh dear.)

I'm only a tad gutted that I missed out on this night, but certainly make up for it over the course of the week. Which is where it all becomes a bit of a blur.

So consider this an aperatif to the juicy stuff, as a try to piece together my hazy memory from the the rest of a crazy week in Vegas...

Los Angeles: Everybody goes to Hollywood...

After a fairly hilarious flight from Guatemala to LAX via Tampa (the flight attendants warn us that should the plane run in to difficulty, it's vitally important to check our hair is looking good...), I finally arrive in Los Angeles. I'm booked in to the Hollywood Youth Hostel, right on H'Wood Boulevard and leading on to the Walk of Fame. It's a little rough round the edges (some filthy wee beast steals my towel... their funeral!) but for $16 a night, it's the cheapest in town (that isn't in Compton or Inglewood), and the location is pretty hard to beat! Although despite the prestige attached to "Hollywood", there are a lots of freaks and creeps kicking about the Boulevard. In no other city can I recall seeing so many people having full-on conversations (and arguments!) with themselves. It's colourful to say the least...
After a an epic snooze, I head to the laundry room to wash my large and smelly collection of clothes, and there I meet two Dutch girls, Emilie and Maggie. They're heading to LACMA (art museum) later on, so we make plans to go together. It's about a 15 minute bus ride away, and most definitely worth a visit. It's exactly the type of gallery I like; packed full of modern art and with some really nice Warhol, Licthenstein and Koons pieces.
So after out very cultural evening, we decide it's definitely a night to hit a club and check out the LA nightlife. Along with Lilia, a Russian girl who's in the process of moving here, the four of us decide to check out Sunset Strip, and more specifically The Viper Room (was once owned by Johnny Depp, and was where River Phoenix died from a drugs overdose back in the 90's). I'm looking a bit rough (very non-LA), so am a bit apprehensive that the bouncers are going to take one look at me and say "Beat It!" But luckily, "scruffy" pretty much sums up the rest of the clientele, so we fit right in. And even better, it's really not that expensive, so we have a good night listening to the house band and having a few drinks before the doors close. Criminally early. We attempt to find another club, but sadly everywhere is ridiculously expensive (and a wee bit pretentious), so we call it a night and head back.

I'm very lucky to have met Emilie and Maggie, because the 3 of us have similar interests, and very similar (crude) senses of humour. So I actually end up spending the rest of my time in LA with them...and we are startlingly productive! In amongst A LOT of shopping (vintage and otherwise), we manage to squeeze in a trip to the Getty Museuem (lots of classical art and amazing views of the city), a day out at a Long Beach Flea Market(cue a chorus of "Compton, Long Beach, Inglewooood"), a day of hanging out with the hipsters at Venice (the Camden of Los Angeles), some Down Town Mexican food, A day of Santa Monica shopping and dinner (Emilie swears she saw Natasha Bedingfield here...), a visit to the Grammy museum (sooo worth a trip!), and even some drinks at the very fancy Redbury Hotel in Hollywood. So it's an all-round action-packed week of adventure in Los Angeles. We manage to get around mostly ok using the public transport system ($5 per day unlimited travel) despite it being a little unreliable at times. Generally this wouldn't be a problem in any European city, but LA is so vast and spread out that walking anywhere can almost be impossible. This was discovered the hard way, when we had no choice but to wait at the side of the road, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, for a bus that was over an hour late. A sensible idea would definitely be to rent a car!




After 5 nights in sunny LA, it's time to pack up my rucksack once again and say bye to Emilie and Maggie. They are heading back to Holland, and I'm doing the unthinkable; something that no normal American has ever done before. I'm going to Las Vegas....using the Greyhound Bus. A week of sin in the sun with a ton of friends from Scotland. What could possibly go wrong...?

Antigua and Semuc Champey: A Little Bit of Heaven on Earth...

The rest of the week in Guatemala is a mixture of productive and relaxed - well, eventually relaxed! After 2 nights of hostel-induced insomnia (not even my blissed out morning yoga classes can perk me up from this!)me, Sylvia and Melvin (who has bravely arrived on a chicken bus from Nicaragua...30 hours of torture!) decide to move hostel. Surely we can't find anywhere worse...?

Well, amazingly, we do! So after an even worse sleep (with every exhalation I am convinced my bed is going to collapse...), we head back to our original hostel, tails firmly between legs. The grass isn't always greener and all that.... In spite of tiredness, I manage to successfully complete my week-long yoga classes, and definitely feel better for it. Although there are ladies in the class who must be at least 70 who are putting me to shame. Mind you, there's definitely something more-than-a-bit disturbing about seeing a spandex-clad septuagenarian easing in to the splits!

And if you thought a week of yoga was just too much fun, we managed to pack a lot more excitement in to Antigua, using it as a "base" for further afield adventures. One afternoon, we explore the next village round the other side of the volcano. Another, a group of us head to San Lorenzo El Tejar hot springs, a short chicken bus ride away. It might be broad daylight and close by to the city, but (as standard) we've been told to travel in a group and not to stay after 5pm, in case of armed robberies. Either that or bring machetes. (Seriously - the guide book suggests we invest in some hardcore ammo!)
On Thursdays, a market runs at Chichicastenanago, a town a few hours away by chicken bus, so me and Sylvia decide to brave the erratic driving and INSANE roads and head to the market. It's definitely time to shop! The market itself is pretty good, and I manage to pick up a few bargains (a hammock for a tenner...? Yes please!), but definitely the most interesting part was the journey back. When thick black smoke started billowing out from under the bus. Even-less reassuring was when all the locals could do was laugh. We clearly missed the punchline to this joke, but luckily made it back to Antigua unscathed and in a post-market glow, delighted with our new purchases.
Before I leave for my next (and final) stop in Guatemala, me, Sylvia, Melvin, Sofia, Olivier, and Meghan (the same group that went to the hot springs together) decide to climb Volcan Pacaya, which overlooks Guate city. It's actually one of the easier hikes, and we're up and back down in a few hours. And as an added bonus, at the top we stop off and toast marshamallows on the hot earth. The volcano only erupted a few years ago (eeek), but the views form the top are incredible and well worth the park entrance and guide fee. In fact, this is probably one of my favourite days in Antigua, as we finish off the day with a nice meal and a chilled game of cards and a few wines (rock and roll!).

The following day, I have to say my farewells to the others - they are heading to Lago d'Atitlan, and I'm off to Semuc Champey, which boasts natural limestone bridges and tiered turquoise-water lagoons and pools. I'm gutted to be saying my goodbyes already, especially to Sylvia, who I've spent the past 2 weeks with. But we part safe in the knowledge that I'm Holland-bound as soon as possible :-) Luckily though, I ahve managed to secure a pretty cheap deal to get to Semuc - the 7 hour journey there, including 2 nights accommodation is just under $20. Ok, so the accommodation is an "eco-lodge" (usually code for "shit-hole"), but I'm not planning on spending too much time indoors, so the standard doesn't really phase me. It is pretty remote though, so as a bit of forward-planning, I stock up on food before we set off so that I don't have to eat in the hostel's over-priced restaurant while I'm there. This would seem like the logical thing to do...

But it isn't. Oh no. We arrive around midnight, and my bed is essentially a mattress in the floor of an attic, which is fine. But the place is home to a few cats, so I'm awoken around 3 am but one of the little fuckers munching its way through every morsel of food I've brought. Bread, tomatoes, cheese - everything. So that's that plan scuppered then!

The following day, despite a wet and rainy start (it's very humid here, and prone to hot, wet showers), me Yuri (a Japanese girl) and Caspar (a Scottish guy - really! in remote Guatemala!) all head down the winding dirt track to Semuc. And we are absolutely not disappointed. It's an absolutely stunning example of natural beauty - rockpools, waterfalls, and limestone ridges, set among dense and beautiful forest and misty hills. Truly breathtaking and well worth the effort to get there.




After a bit of swimming and a hike up to the mirador, we leave Semuc (buying some locally made chocolate from a little girl on the way) and head back to the hostel. Luckily, the only thing the cat didn't touch was my wine. Well, since we are in the middle of nowhere...

I leave Semuc a couple of days later, after having explored the nearby town of Lanquin. It's back to Antigua for a night, before I take my flight out of Guatemala city to Los Angeles. Very much excited for a change of scenery. And of course, some cleb-spotting in Hollywood...

Antigua, Guatemala: Yoga classes, Insomnia and "Friendly" locals...

After my sleepless last night in Leon, me and Sylvia have to get up and organised for the start of our epic bus journey to Guatemala. We are taking the Tica bus (a bit like Megabus, but a tiny bit more "luxurious"), and the journey will be divided in to 2 parts; Nicaragua to San Salvador, where we will spend the night, then San Salvador to Guatemala.

Typically, the first bus is late (could have really done with the extra time to sleep...I look and feel like a burst ball!), but it eventually arrives and we begin our journey, with the added comforts of movies being shown, food (ok, the bus stops and all the passengers are bought a Burger King!) and an on-board toilet...Fancy! My only complaint is that the lady sitting next to me is colossal and takes up half my seat too. I´m completely squashed in to a corner - really she should have bought 2 seats. Just sayin'. Oh - and while we're on the subject of complaints, I do have another. Part of the ceiling of the bus detaches and hits a man on the forehaead, slicing it open and turning the bus in to a relative blood-bath. So for the rest of the trip, I'm convinced we're all one pothole away from aids. Hepatitis at the least. Living on the edge!

In truth, the majority oo both our journeys are absolutely fine; the border crossings are smooth and relatively quick (and cheap!), the driver is only a partial maniac, and the scenery en route is beautiful. And luckily, no armed robberies or hijacks either. Bonus!

So we eventually arrive on the quaint and cobbled streets of Antigua, Guatemala's former capital. Overlooked by a volcano, and only about 1 hour from Guatemala City, this is the country's jewel in the tourist crown. It has a little something for everyone; markets, unbelievably beautiful colonial architecture, plenty of restaurants, galleries, shops and boutiques, an attractive range of festivals and it is in close proximity to loads of outdoor pursuits, like volcano climbing. Arguably on the main draws of Antigua over other cities in Guate is its relative safety. Of course it still suffers heavily, particularly from robberies and muggings (the standard "restrictions" apply; take a taxi after dark, no matter what the distance, avoid going off the beaten path etc) but no where near as much as the 45 murders average per week in Guatemala city. This little city actually feels safe.

After finding a hostel near the central park and the main market place ($6 per night; fairly cheap for such a touristic town, it's time to explore the city and start planning what to do here. I have found daily morning yoga classes that I'm going to take for a week, and Sylvia has decided to enrol in Spanish school, so we're anticipating on staying for at least a week. Ok, so Spanish school would obviously be infinitely more useful and productive than yoga school, but I've reached the point where I no longer care. NO HABLA ESPANOL. This isn't going to change overnight. It's merely a fact. What I can't already ask for (or point at), I don't need. Simple!

Our first exploration of the city is fruitful, to say the least. There are loads of other travellers here, and plenty of middle-aged and retired Americans (which makes me think that Antigua is like the Benidorm of the Americas...) The whole place is buzzing in preparation for the International Jazz and Theatre Festivals taking place, and for Santa Semana (Holy Week), which happens at the end of March, but whose festivities kick off in the weeks before.

So naturally, with so many tourists kicking about, the cream of the local freaks have come out to play. And me and Sylvia are given the pleasure of meeting one, after only about 20 minutes in the city. Just south of the main plaza, a sprightly little man approaches us and tries to sell us weed. When we politely decline, he launches in to a barrage of abuse ("Fuck you, motherfucker...you dont want to party? I can fuck anything I want to, bitches!" etc etc). So I helpfully suggest that he might like to try fucking himself, and this goes down like a lead balloon. It would almost be a scary moment if he wasn't struggling to hit the dizzy heights of 5 feet...
So it's off to a good start then, and we've successfully ingratiated ourselves to the locals already...

We call it an early night, in preparation for starting our classes the following day. And to be honest, my liver is crying out for a break after Leon. But a comfortable night of sleep it is not! Interspersed with irritating room-mates (not you Sylvia! :-p), dripping taps and a sharp night-time drop in temperature, our first night of Antigua-insomnia is just the start of things to come.

Hostels...simultaneously the bane and the joy of the travellers existence!

Leon, Nicaragua...Volcano Boarding, Drinking with Tramps and a lot of late night debauchery...

Just as I am about to leave Isla de Ometepe, I run in to Melvin, one half a Dutch couple that I have previously met in Granada. For the next few weeks, they're going their separeate ways, and his girfriend Sylvia is going to be in Leon...exactly where I'm headed! So my intention is to track Sylvia down in Leon and demand that she becomes my friend. Simple!

I leave the hostel super early (5.30m...) to catch the first chicken bus to the ferry terminal, and so begins the start of an epic day of travelling, which involves 3 chicken buses, a ferry, 2 taxis, a shuttle bus and a cycle rickshaw. Its arduous to say the lesat, but after a long day of travel, I finally arrive in Leon around 3pm. I check in to Bigfoots Hostel, a place that has been recommended to me by a few different people, and almost immediately make plans to party that night with Mary and Della, 2 (fucking mental!)Canadian girls I meet there. So after some dinner we hit up the hostel bar and I pretty much drink the place dry of mojitos. Afterwards its (obviously) time to showcase the karaoke skills.... Oh dear. Leon is definitely going to be bad for my health...!

And it is. Which is why there are a few stories from Leon that are definitely not fit for human consumption, more or less including;

* Debauchery with a HIB (hot Israeli babe)
* A taxi driver with a bag of coke
* A tiny salsa dancer called Antonio
* Drinking wine on the street with a local tramp
* Some of the trippiest weed Ive ever smoked

(More details of these are available on request, and granted on an individual basis...)

And now for the not-so-juicy bits. Leon itself is a wicked little city, and my favourite place in Nicaragua from what Ive seen With a university in the town, its oriented towards young people, has a great atmopshere and has plenty to do for every type of traveller. One day I spend wandering around, taking in the sights of the town; the market place, the parque central, the cathedral. Another day I take a chicken bus to the Las Penitas, the beach nearby (deserted! bliss!). And on my final full day there, I decide to take the plunge and do what most travellers come to Leon for in the first place. Volcano boarding.

Yes, volcano boarding. A bit like snowboarding, only sitting down, and sans snow. Instead, participants are expected to board down dunes of black volcanic ash. Really. After climbing to the top of (the very windy) Cerro Negro, about 45 minutes outside of the city, boarders don an uber sexy orange jumpsuit (I look like the hare krishnas hav finally got to me) and prepare to whizz down the volcano. The views from the top are stunning, and you can see for miles around. In fact the only thing you cant see is the bottom... Daunted? Me? Eh...aye!

So with a quick 5 minute explanation of how not to break every bone in your body and how to reach a top speed (previous boarders ahve been known to hit almosy 90 kph!), its time to go for it. Baws out, eyes closed, mind blank.

The adrenaline rush alone makes this an unforgettable experience, and although really exhilerating, its a lot harder than I anticipated. Half way down I wipe out, but luckily manage to correct myself without too much difficulty. After a maximum of 1 minute, Im at the bottom, covered in volcanic ash and ingrained with dust and dirt. And what speed was I going? Well, estimations suggest I managed to reach the dizzy heights of 20 kph. G-force eat your heart out! Luckily, most other people find it a tough experience too - in fact, the boys of the group, brimming with bravado (as well as rum, weed and coke) actually perform the worst! So not all is lost.

Back at the hostel, I indulge in the 2 free mojitos you get (probably for managing to survive!) and hook up with Sylvia, who is now also staying at Bigfoots. We have concoted a plan to travel to Guatemala together, so are going to celebrate our last night in Leon by going to a eletronic/techno night. Melvin has also arrived in town, so the 3 of us, along with a few others from the hostel, head along. Im not expecting much from the music, but actually its brilliant; not only is the techno perfect but ther are fire-throwers there for a bit of entertainemnt too.

Because me and Sylvia are leaving at 10am the next day, Id like to say that I went home and got a solid 8 hours sleep. But that would be a big fat lie. Instead, Im lucky if I manage 3.... Late night nosense. Tsk tsk. I can only hope the epic bus journey to Guatemala is going to be comfortable and allow me to catch up on a bit of sleep!

All in all, I have loved my time in Leon. Ok, so maybe a little too much partying (every night... thats ok though, right?), but mixed with plenty of fun, adventure, and a splash of culture.

So its adios Nicaragua, and hola Guatemala....!

Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua: Volcano Climbing, fiestas and an 8-legged room-mate...

I leave Granada after 2 nights there and decide to head to the Isla de Ometepe, a beautiful volcanic island set in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. It´s a few bus rides and a boat trip to get there, but definitely worth it; the island is really stunning with 2 volcanoes, peaceful villages and loads of outdoor fun to be had. And since my Spanish skills have improved nada since i´ve been in Granada (funny that...), it´s a blessing when I meet another Charlotte, from Norway, who speaks the language perfectly.

So, like a little monkey on her back, I go with Charlotte to the very serene Merida, on the smaller of the 2 islands, and we check in to Monkey Island Hostel (called so because of the abundance of howler monkeys here. shocker, i know!). I decide to stay in the dorm room, and although there are 11 beds, I´m the only person staying there. So naturally, after about 20 minutes my backpack is practically empty and I have every item strewn around the room as though it´s home.

Decide to get an early night, as me and Charlotte are going kayaking in the morning, from the beach by the hostel, down to the river and back. We´ve been promised sightings of Caiman, monkeys and all sorts of exotic birds (whose names escape me), but sadly we barely see a housefly. And it´s a tough trip actually, because the wind was so strong, but completely worth the sore arms just for the sheer beauty alone. The river estuary is especially nice, and reminds me a lot of canoeing the backwaters in Kerala. By the time we get back, I´m knackered and spend the rest of the day lazing in a hammock, reading and listening to music. Tough life!

The following day, it´s an early start for me and Charlotte, as we decide to hike Volcan Madera, the smaller of the 2 volcanoes on the island (allegedly the tougher though...just sayin´...) It´s an early start (7am...kill me now) but we set off nonetheless. It´s an ok hike to begin with, but soon it gets pretty tough underfoot, as the ground becomes rocky and tangled with knots and roots. And about half way up, the cloud cover becomes dense, and it´s unlikely that we´ll actually see anything when we get to the top. So....we turn back. Hey, a 4 hour hike is better than nothing! And I do feel somewhat virtuous for having done it.

Back in my room, I am just about to go for a shower, when my finely-tuned arachna-sense tells me that something is afoot. And I´m right. When I lift up my towel I see the BIGGEST 8-legged monstrosity I´ve ever encountered in my life. I know I say that every time I see a spider, but this one is seriously colossal. Imagine the legs of Gisele, crossed with the body of Beth Ditto. Grotesque altogheter. I try not to freak out too much (I only move to the bed furthest away from it), but have already resigned myself to the fact that I will be insomniac until it is removed. By someone else. But typically, every time someone comes in to the room to help me eradicate it, the little fucker is hiding. So now, I just look crazy! Oh well...

Over the weekend in the village, we discover that a fiesta is taking place, in honour of St Valentine apparently (2 weeks too late maybe...?!). So we head down late afternoon to watch the bull rodeo - not as cruel as bullfighting (in that they only bait the animals, rahter than kill them), but still not really the most pleasant thing to watch. We head back to the hostel for dinner, and by the time we go back to the night-tome party at 9pm, what had begun as a ´civilised` bull rodeo has descended in to utter chaos. The locals are wasted; passed out, fighting with each other and fighting with their own shadows. I feel as though I´m back in Glasgow actually! But I guess Saturday night rituals are the same the world over....

By the time we enter the dance floor ( I use this term very loosely...), we are surrounded by pack of local men, all over 40 (at least!), sweating profusely, and talking utter shite. They really are suffocating us though, so me and Charlotte decide to call it a night before someone gets hurt. And by someone, I mean before I knock one of them out).

Back at the room, el spider is still there, taunting me, so I have a very broken sleep and wake every couple of hours just to make sure I can see where he is. As long as I can see him....
Luckily me and Charlotte have a relaxing day planned for tomorrow, at the Ojo de Agua, a natural and ancient source of volacnic water. Apparently, bathing in it takes 5 years off your life. So I think I need to bottle this and take it home and bathe in permanently! Álthough a little toursity, it´s a lovely pool to swim in, and we spend most of the day there relaxing on sun loungers and reading before we catch the bus back to the hostel (did I mention it´s a tough life...?!)

I´m leaving Ometepe the following day, bound for the student town of Leon, so as tempting as it is to go to the final night of the fiesta - apparently the best night - I need to sleep! It´s a 4.45 am start in the morning....Boak!

Hola Nicaragua...Granada, Yo no entiendo and some vigorous masturbation...

So I have finally arrived in Nicaragua after a fairly epic journey which involved a bus journey, 3 flights, a taxi and a long overnight wait at Miami airport. Although as far as airports go, there are fare worse once to be stuck in!
My first stop is Granada, a old colonial style town. First impressions are good. It's compact, colourful and quiet...although everything is eerily quiet compared to India! The town itself is lovely to walk around and the Nica's are welcoming, amiable people.

I find a super cheap hostel to stay in, called the Bearded Monkey, where a dorm room is only $5...so no complaints there. It's the perfect place for me to relax and get over the jet lag, with hammocks arranged round a beautiful courtyard garden. Bliss.
My first day/night is pretty quiet...a wander around the 'city' and an impromptu game of trivia in a local cafe followed by a very early night.

The follwing day i'm still totally knackered, so deicde to have an easy day of exploring the town. There are plenty of old churches and catherdrals, cute little streets and shaded parks to relax in. So I park myself under a tree near the lake and settle down to do some reading and a bit of writing, and all seems to be going just tickety boo and dandy when I'm joined by a 'friendly' local. He chats away to me in Spanish, but when it seems quite apparent that my language skills aren't quite up to scratch, he takes out a pen and paper and scribbles a little drawing. Of a penis. And a stick man and woman bumping uglies. How nice. So naturally I'm just a tad horrified, and as I get up to leave, he can't quite meet my eye, because he's far too busy vigourously wanking. It's a hideous state of affairs altogether and I practically sprint to escape. Hola Granada!

I go back to the hostel to contemplate exactly what is wrong with people, and there I meet my dorm mate Leo. We chew the fat for a while, then head out to get some dinner (beers and hamburgers, the stuff dreams are made of!). For $1.50 each, it's a pretty good deal. Then, uncharacteristically, it's another early night for me. The jet lag is still looming over me!

So far, my very minimal grasp of the Spanish language hasn't caused too many major problems, though I'm absolutely sure it would be a whole lot easier if I was fluent. Which I'm not even close to. But in some ways, I guess I'm comfortable getting by on the basics and pleading 'yo no entiendo' when I need to. Sometimes i think it actually simplifies things a little. But we shall see how this works out over the course of my trip...
Tomorrow, I'll leave Granada for Isla de Ometepe, an almost fantasy island right in the middle of Lago de Nicaragua. With 2 huge volcanoes emerging out the water, and plenty of flora and fauna, it's sure to be idyllic.
Just what I need....

Calcutta...A bit like Dickensian London

We leave the Ashram, refreshed but oh-so-ready for caffeine/alcohol/cake/drugs/whatever, and I am feeling blissed out and happy that we've managed two whole weeks of being completely virtuous. Sadly, this calm doesn't last long, because the man on the bus next to me is a tit-perv-groper who pushes his luck one too many times, and I have to put on my shouty angry voice and tell him to back off. Which he does. Knew my inner-peace would be short-lived!

After a long day of travelling on sweaty buses, we arrive back in Cochin, where out flight leaves from. In merely 5 hours, we'll be on the other side of India; an entirely different landscape, climate and set of cultural ideals. It's a strange thought, but definitely an exciting one, and both me and Lisa are excited to see what the north has to offer.

So, first impressions of Calcutta.... Well, it's not too dissimilar from most other Indian cities in terms of crowds, smells, noise etc. But there is definitely something completely charming about it. The roads are wide. There are beautiful parks. The building are stunning. It's modern, and yet some areas look akin to depictions of Dickensian London - so much so that I almost expect to see Oliver Twist artfully gimping along Sudder Street markets. The real Victorian aspects of Calcutta are not the buildings though, but the sheer scale of the poverty that we see here. Dirty children, covered in lice, scabs and welts regularly beg us for money, as do their desperate mothers. It's a truly horrendous state of affair, but sadly one that is apparently endemic in West Bengal.

In spite of the poverty, Calcutta is a great city, with a great atmosphere. The markets are buzzing, the street food is ridiculously cheap and delicious, and it's a great place to simply wander around, taking in the architecture. Particular favourites are the British Cemetery on South Park Street (this being India though, there are families actually living in the cemetery...), St Paul's Cathedral and The Victoria Memorial.

Unfortunately, our choice of accommodation is not quite so inspired. Hotel number one may as well be a prison cell - think newspaper covering holes where the windows once were and a bathroom so dirty that to shower would be taking our lives in our hands. Quite simply gross. So we stick it out for a couple of nights, and eventually, on our last night, move to somewhere considerably cleaner. Where, ironically, Lisa get's sick. You really couldn't make it up!

Of course a prerequisite for visiting Calcutta is making the pilgrimage to Mother Theresa's House, where the saint lived, worked and ran her orphanage. It's in a fairly bleak area of town, with bodies stretched out and sleeping everywhere, dead dogs lying on the road and rats running in amongst all this chaos. But the orphanage itself seems to be a happy place, and the children are well-looked after. A few too many rich-white-couples roaming around looking orphans to adopt, though.

In amongst all of the virtuous activities, we manage to squeeze in a trip to the cinema to watch Puss in Boots. Ok, so we are the oldest people in the theatre by at least 15 years, but after 2 weeks of meditation, a trip to the cinema is perfect.

After 3 nights, we decide to leave Calcutta and head up to Darjeeling, in the foothills of the Himalayas. Looking forward to some fresh mountain air, and quite literally dying for a decent cup of tea....

Ashram Week Two: Typhoons, Headstands Ant-Eaten Knickers

The second week of ashram life begins fairly uneventfully. In fact, because the daily programme is so structured, and we cannot leave the complex (for the most part) there is very little variation on a day-to-day basis. It starts getting to the stage where I find myself excited by even the most mundane digressions from the daily schedule, like a salt-water nasal-cleansing session. Seriously. Gone are the days of having wine for breakfast. It's now all about the lacto-vegetarianism, yoga and nasal cleansing. Om!

Week 2 though is the week where frustrations and tensions start to surface. A few of our group of friends leave, boredom and the mendacity sets in and Lisa develops a condition that can only be described as "ashram bi-polar" (her words, not mine!) It's fairly understandable though. There is quite simply no escape; from the ashram, from other people and perhaps worst of all, from our own thoughts. And with so much time on our hands, it's safe to say that we've all been doing a lot of thinking. I feel almost plagued by myself and at times I can't stand it.
The dramatic change in weather does very little to boost morale either. A typhoon has hit the coast and the rains have come. And they are HEAVY. It's like being in Scotland, only minus the alcohol for comfort. Everything is damp, dank and festering. Although unlike Scotland, still uncomfortably hot and humid. Anyway, enough of the melancholy...

As the yoga sessions have progressed though, so have our relative abilities. To begin with, I was about as flexible as rusty nail, but come the end of week 2 I actually manage to do a headstand. Ok, so obviously it's a bit wobbly, I can only hold it for about 7 seconds, and I got so excited I fell straight back over again, but FUCK IT, I still managed. On our last day of yoga, Adite, our lovely teacher, tells me and Lisa that we are no longer beginners, but intermediates. It's all so heartwarming. And if nothing else, at least we have progressed (as opposed to regressed, which I feel I have done mentally...)

Although communal life is ok (if you discount the noise of someone hawking up a ton of phlegm every morning, the cat that cries at 4am and the perpetual noise of shagging lions from the sanctuary across the lake)perhaps one of the main drawbacks of life in the ashram - and particularly in such a tropical location - is the tendency towards bug infestations. They are all too frequent and a total pain in the ass. Lizards in the beds, mosquitoes that get EVERYWHERE and locusts the size of my fist...the places is literally crawling. One afternoon, after a blissed out yoga session, me and Lisa return to our bed recess to discover a trail of ants marching down from the window and in to our bags and clothes. Needless to say the feelings of yoga-induced serenity don't last very long, and I'm quickly in a total rage. The ants are everywhere; my make up bag (eating sugar-coated tablets!), my laundry, and worst of all, my knickers. Yes, I literally had ants in my pants. Hideous. And to make matters worse, they've chomped little holes in a few of them. I will wash, but I will never be clean.
We perform and ant-massacre and rid ourselves of them (going to have to do lots of karma yoga to make up for this), but whenever someone throws any food in a bin they will inevitably return. So sadly, ants is one part of the ashram that we're stuck with whether we like it or not.

We near the end of our 15 night stint, and by the end it's safe to say we're all gagging for the vices that we weren't able to indulge in while there. It's been an incredible experience, and one that I would most definitely repeat (if only for the yoga and meeting some great people). I'm still not convinced that chanting is really for me (though the chants are cemented in my mind, probably forever), but taken with a pinch of salt (and laterally, a few wines)then it's all in good fun.

And it's not only namaste to the ashram, but namaste to south-west India. In a complete change of scenery, me and Lisa are flying north to Calcutta. So it's off to the airport we go....

Ashram Week One: Om, Talent Shows and a Heaven-Sent Yoga Teacher

Despite being apprehensive that staying at the ashram was going to madden/kill/brainwash me, it's been a lot more fruitful than i could have expected. The 5 am wake-up calls are bearable, the yoga is blissful and even the chanting isn't as rage-inducing as it could be. The sound of mating lions across the lake is generally our wake-up call (closely followed by an impossibly happy lady who wanders around lilting "Om Namah Sivayah").
Despite being frequented by some of the most pretentious people I've ever encountered, there are lots of lovely people at the ashram, and soon there are 7 or 8 of us who spend most of our free time hanging out, telling dirty jokes, skipping satsang and talking about boys. It's all very rebellious. Plus, I am harbouring two valium and and pack of paracetamol in my bag, so already feeling illegal; like I've smuggled fags to summer camp or something.

I have also struck it lucky with my "karma yoga" (self-service to the ashram) and spend an hour in the afternoons working in the Health Hut - a little shack that sells fruits, milkshakes, smoothies and other lacto-vegetarian nutritionally balanced goods to people. The only downside of the job? When someone orders, I have to announce that their order is ready over the speakers. By saying "Om...your juice is ready" etc. There are many times in my life when I feel like a total twat. And this is one of them. (still better than being given the job of cleaning the toilets though!)
Aside from the intense daily programme that barely alters, week one activities include a nighttime silent walk to a lake (aka mosquito-fest), an in-depth talk on the benefits of ayurvedic medicine, an utterly brilliant Kathakali performance (yes, really!) and a video on the founders of the ashram.

Then of course, on Saturday nights, there is the obligatory talent show. The Ashram Factor, Ashram's Got Talent - whatever you want to call it, it was a much-needed break from the usual chanting. Though frustratingly, some people seem to think that chanting can be considered a talent, and get on stage to tunelessly repeat "Jaya Ganesha" and other devotional phrases. (Please note: aimlessly banging a tambourine and repeating religious phrases is not a talent It's tedious). When the talent show is finished, we all dutifully queue up to receive our Saturday night treat. Excitement is mounting. What could it be? Chocolate? Crisps? A pint? Well no, actually. It's 3 grapes each. I know - 3 WHOLE GRAPES. It strikes me that perhaps I'm at fat-camp and no-one has told me.

The real saving grace of the whole experience definitely is the yoga though. I consistently feel great afterwards, and am experiencing a sensation that my body hasn't had the priveledge of feeling in years; healthiness. I can sleep easier, I'm enveloped in a wave of serenity and am tangibly relaxed. Our afternoon yoga teachers are fantastic too; a French lady who I could listen to all day (and who had me soothed in to sleep in the first class) and the smiliest Indian boy called Sujith, who is super bendy.

So, week one has been a resounding success. Here's hoping the second week will prove just as promising...

Sivanada Ashram, Kerala: Yoga, Meditation and Chanting Hare Krishna...

Excited at the prospect of becoming toned paragons of yoga-virtue, we leave Varkala at midday the next day, suitably high on our last fix of caffeine/chocolate/insert other junk food, for the next 2 weeks.

Our destination is the Sivananda Ashram at Neyyar Dam in southern Kerala, where we have decided to spend 2 weeks learning hatha yoga, meditating and chanting about various Hindu gods (seriously!) So...what do we already know about the ashram experience before we go? Well...

1. It's an intense daily programme that starts at 5.20am, and features 4 hours of yoga daily, 4 hours of meditation and chanting daily, and various lectures and tasks to occupy us during the day.

2. Contraband items include cigarettes, alcohol, caffeine, onions, garlic, mushrooms, sugar, spices and fun. (well, not really the last bit. but with all these banned items, you'd think fun wasn't allowed either)

3. Women must dress conservatively. No shoulders, cleavage or leg to be displayed, and no tight clothing (must rethink entire wardrobe)

4. Silence must be kept between 10pm and 8am and during mealtimes. (fuck, this is going to be IMPOSSIBLE for me!)

5. No phones

6. Men and women should avoid contact...no kissing, holding hands etc.

7. If ladies have their period then they are forbidden from the temple area. Cos yer dirty!

8. Each attendee must dedicate a proportion of their day doing karma yoga - selfless service towards the maintenance of the ashram.

9. 2 meals per day are served, at 10am and 6pm, and are lacto-vegetarian. Rice, beans, dal, broth etc...

10. Non-sattvic (impure) books and literature are frowned upon

11. Nae shoes. Anywhere. Great. Bring on the dirty feet, calluses, verrucas, warts....

Despite knowing all this before arriving, we are undeterred by all the rules and decide that we're giving it a go. So me and Lisa, joined by Mel and Lisa, two girls we meet in Varkala, start the fairly long pilgrimage to the ashram and eventually arrive about 6pm. It's set in 12 acres of jungle-like forest, and is absolutely beautiful.
Unwittingly though, we've arrived at probably the most daunting time to arrive; Satsang.
Satsang is a twice-daily meditation/chanting/prayer session that takes places in a large (almost) open-air hall right in the centre of the ashram action. So, as we are checking in and signing a variety of pledges about keeping silence and refuting fun etc, we are greeted by the sounds of around 200 people (most of who are dressed in yellow and white) chanting "hare krishna, hare krishna" and other fairly ominous-sounding mantras.
Naturally my first thought it "dear god, not the hare krishnas". I can't speak much for other cities around the world, but anyone who has walked down the street in Glasgow on a Saturday afternoon will know that the hare krishnas are a ferocious and determined bunch (aka really-fucking-irritating) and trying to avoid them is like trying not to step on a landmine. What if they try to convert me? Or even worse, what if I'm brainwashed? Dear god, what have we signed up for....?!

After we're shown to our room (a dormitory shared by 35 women...), it's time for some food and a whistle-stop tour of the ashram. Dinner is a mysterious rice-and-beans concoction (no-one ever tells what you are eating, and no-one ever seems to know exactly what it is. We all just mindlessly shovel bland, brown coloured food in to our mouths with our fingers), washed down the reddish coloured water that has apparently been boiled with 'special' ayurvedic herbs... Of course, I'm already convinced that "it's in the water." I'm not entirely sure what "it" is, but as every predictable psychological thriller dictates, it's in the water.

Luckily, we've arrived late enough to avoid getting too involved in the evening activities, so unpack and try to sort ourselves out, ready for our first 5.20am start.

And the start of our own 2 week personal psychological thriller...

Varkala, Kerala: Stalkers, Canoeing and Super-Spiders

After our crazy night in Kochin, we leave the next morning for Varkala, further down the Keralan coast. It's a beach resort, but with a twist. On the south cliff, travellers and tourists alike swim, drink sneaky beer and cocktails (Kerala is a dry state, so booze is contraband) and buy tat from the markets. And on the North cliff, Hindu's make a pilgrimage to wash the ashes of their dead relatives in to the surf, on a daily basis. Something for everyone!

We arrive and find a place to stay, just two minutes from the beach. It's clean, spacious and everything seems oh-just-tickety-boo until DISASTER strikes in the form of a arachnid. And not just your standard little spider. This one is leering at me from the corner of the room, with a body the same size as my head and legs like Cindy Crawford. Horrific. After a major shit-fit, Lisa summons the owner, who safely removes el-spidre. But the damage is already done. I can hardly sleep and when we wake up the next day, I have basically mounted Lisa (much to her delight, as you can imagine...)

So, pathetically, we change rooms. No need to judge me on this, I have already heavy-judged myself. But it has to be done.

We send most of our time in Varkala laying on the beach, reading (I am a reading machine on this trip!) and swimming. And it's bliss. Although slightly more touristy than we initially anticipated, Varkala is beautiful. Huge crashing waves and deep red sunsets and suchlike. And it's an ideal place to stay for exploring a bit more of Kerala. A bit bored by our lazy beach antics, we decide to head in to Kollam one day, to take a back-waters canoe tour. The backwaters of Kerala are a network of tranquil waterways and canals that are totally unspoiled and abundant in flora and fauna.
We charter a canoe for the afternoon and spend a few hours idly cruising along the canals. It's completely idyllic, unadulterated India. There are no ear-splitting car horns, no tourists, no sneaky masturbators/urinators/general creeps. In fact, there's barely anther person in sight at all, apart from the locals who use the waterways to bathe and wash their clothes. Total bliss.

Back in Varkala, most of our nights are spent sampling the cocktails in the bars on the North Cliff. On our 2nd night, we randomly bump in to Dave ("I'm 22 and I just like cartoons..."), an English guy who we first met in Anjuna, and then ran in to again in Palolem and Mysore completely serendipitous-ly (I love it when that happens!) He's travelling with his uncle and aunt, and they are out most nights, so we join them for drinks and chat.
On one occasion, there are a few of us out at an Indian-Australian run bar which makes a big effort and hosts musicians, events and puts on fireworks for people. It's hugely popular, and packed out with people all drinking cocktails and beers from teapots and cups. So far so illicit. The music and fireworks are great and the atmosphere is buzzing, until:

1. Paul - strange guy who fancied Lisa in Cochin - appeared at our table. He didn't say a single word; just stood staring at us in silence. Then walked away, to continue staring from a different vantage point. Awkward to say the least! And a bit creepy.

2 All-of-a-sudden every waiter in the place quite literally drops what he is doing and makes a run for it. The local police have arrived, and within a few minutes, all the bev has been confiscated (NOOOOOO!), the power has been cut and the owner has had to go on he run to avoid a hefty jail sentence.
None of the bars in Varkala are licensed, but avoid the prohibition issue by paying the police huge baksheesh for the privilege of having a blind eye turned towards it. Discretion (ie serving alcohol in teacups etc) is usually enough. But because this particular bar is run by an Australian-Indian couple (inter-racial...how scandalous!), the police will not accept baksheesh, and have made it their mission to try and expose the Australian lady as being some sort of illegal immigrant. Which, of course, she is not. It's simply another example of endemic Indian corruption. Something's definitely rotten in the state of Kerala though...

We spend just over a week in Varkala, and by the time we leave, our plans have changed completely. Instead of heading eastwards to Pondicherry in Tamil Nadu, we decide to go to the Sivananda Vedanta Ashram a couple hours away, for some yoga, meditation and chanting.

A bit of soul-searching is just what the (ayurvedic, holistic) doctor ordered...