You yog NOW!

We arrived in Dharamasala last night, and are now settled here in the mountains for a couple of days. Manali was stunning, everywhere you walked there were mountainous ranges peeking at you though every pathway, out of every window, from every shop stall. We got a ski lift up the mountain and went para gliding in the morning. That is indescribable, but I shall try. It's the closest you can get to those dreams where you can fly. Beautiful. And take of was absolutely hilarious. Adam went first, and there was a slight language barrier between us and the para-instructors. They were Tibetan, we had a tiny bit of banter on the way up, after telling them we were from Manchester (no one's heard of Sheffield and it's too hard trying to explain Dorset) one said he knew Dave from Manchester, did we? Apparently everyone in India has a mate called Dave from either Manchester or London. He also told us he had an English girlfriend in London then blushed and collapsed into a fit of giggles at the mere mention of 'girls', making me think maybe he was exaggerating a bit, bless. Anyway, we got togged up and I watched as Adam set off first. Apparently the only instruction which he nearly but not quite understood was "Yog, YOG! You yog NOW" and then the parasail lifed and they set off, Adam half sitting in a chair, with a man on his back barking incomprehensible instructions urgently at him, as they traversed at a pace down the mountain, Adam, not having understood any of the instructions given in broken English, was being dragged along on his knees through shrubbery as he attempted to keep up with the instructor whilst they got gradually higher and nearer and nearer the precipice. It was only from watching Adam (whilst absolutely pissing myself laughing) that I figured you had to run (or 'jog') during take off. It is infinitely quiet and peaceful up there, and I have now decided to change professions, I no longer want to teach, and am even giving up my dream of being a Vietnamese goat herder; I am now going to be a Tibetan Paragliding Instructor in Manali. Landing was also a mission, I attempted to avoid landing on my arse by commencing my jogging action in the air at least 10 feet from the ground, this did me little good as I crashed straight down, arse first in the mud, a Tibetan man on my back apologising profusely as I giggle and try to get up with as much dignity as possible.

After the paragliding, we went looking for some 'hot springs' action. Apparently they are up this hill in Manali, and walking up the hill, I have never seen so many pretentious looking hippies in my life. I don't mind a bit of pretension, they probably can't help it, but when coupled with distain for people not apparelled in appropriate back-packing-hippy attire, I thoroughly resent it. Anyway, ignoring the smug and slightly disdainful tree-hugging hippy-types, we climbed the hill, and were severely disappointed to find a small murky looking pool surrounded by iron bars and containing two Indian parents with their loud screaming children splashing around in what can only be described as an over-sized paddling pool. Not exactly the hot spring action I had eagerly anticipated (for your information this contained: a hot, rugged, bearded, Israeli man; a bottle of champagne on ice; some candles to set the mood. Far fetched, but not beyong the realms of possibility...one day... one day...)

Anyway, that night we ate at a Tibetan restautant, which was lush. Very noodley and tasty and filling. To wash down the Momos we had plum wine, then rhododendron wine, then peach cider, then beer. The alcohol content stickers on beer over here are quite amusing and far from informative; it usually says it can be anywhere between 3% and 8.5%. As any beer drinker knows, this is quite a difference, and makes the decision about how much to have a little bit of a conundrum, being the restrained and conservative sensible drinkers that we are. So after the restaurant we went to the 'ENGLISH BEER AND WINE SHOP' (does exactly what it says on the tin) and bought more beer for the hotel, cos everything shuts at 11 here. After drunkenly finding Goodu, we got tipsily into the SUV, and sat talking loudly and asking him a barrage of questions, until in the end he put on very loud music, mostly, I now believe, to shut our drunken babbling up ("Hey, heeeeey Goodu, are you married? Hey hey heeeeeey, Goodu, do you drink? Have you ever got, like drunk? OH. MY. GOD!! Hey, hey Goodu hasn't had a drink for 12 years! Heeey Goodu, we LOVE you! You're not like all the other drivers, you make us feel safe innit! Innit guys! We, hic, looooove you Goodu, hic.) Now, have limited access to music of any kind for a while, your reaction to something you know, no matter how shit it is, is exaggerated. Add to this the wine and cider, and you can imagine our glee as the opening notes of 'Barbie girl' by Aqua came blaring through the tape recorder. Singing along with relish, our joy was only heightened when a bit of Shakira came on. Goodu found this all highly amusing, so when we got back to the hotel, full of (alcohol and) goodwill towards man, we insisted Goodu (a strict Hindu man) come and have a drink with us "You can have water! Yessh, come an av a drink of water Goodu!"). Anyway, we had a long chat with Goodu where he told us about his life, he's been a driver since his dad died when he was nine, and he had to go out to work to support his mum. Then everone had a mini argument with Adam as he tried to insist to Goodu that the local council's inability to fix the pot holes in Sheffield made it just as arduous to drive as in India (where most road have one lane and there are frequent landslides and cow and monkeys and horses and gaping holes leading to crevasses into which one can fall into a heavily gushing river and die).


So the ten hour trip here yesterday was, as you'd expect, subdued. There was a little post-boozy-night barfing. And apparently Goodu went up to Adam and Troy while Adele and I were on a toilet stop, and confided that he understood, and that that he used to drink quite a lot but would get in fights, this is why he abstains now. So we're in Dharamasala, having a wee rest before we go trekking, and despite protests that it's just not worth it, contemplating going to a few bars around the area tonight.

Monkey Attacks and jumping off mountains

So when we were in Shimla we went up a mountain (... a large hill, but by the time I'd gotten us lost and we'd found the right path, and gone up that, it felt like a mountain) to Lakhu temple which had been over run by MONKEYS! How much fun would this be? We were anticipating it with excitement. However, when we heard you needed to buy a stick because the monkeys could get frisky, I felt the enthusiasm waning. And as we climbed the massively steep hill towards the temple, and people coming down were gesturing at Troy and Adele's glasses, and telling them to remove them, or the monkeys would, we figured out that maybe the monkeys were not only cheeky, but also actively aggressive. The final straw came as three local kids who were above us on the climb to the temple, came charging down screaming (and laughing a bit) as three monkeys came chasing after them. Behind the monkeys chasing them, I could see a hoard of more monkeys charging down the hill. We sat down to take stock. Adam's rage from earlier had now turned to terror, and he developed his own mantra of "I don't like this, I don't like this". The three monkeys arrived at our seat, and the Daddy ambled over to opposite us, and just sat opposite us, staring! It. was. terrifying. Can a monkey duff you up and then claw your face off with his bare hands? In my head it can when it's sat opposite you staring intently at you. But then the Mummy and baby passed, and he went on, he was obviously just protecting his family, but Jesus wept it shook us up. Then some French tourists came up behind us, and one of them was a reassuringly confident-looking man, I couldn't figure out why I liked this man and felt safe in his presence, but upon examining him, his confidence clearly emanated from the massive stick he was holding and banging the ground in front of himself with. We shamefacedly tagged on to the back of the group of The Man With The Stick and carried on up the hill, after Adele had craftily tied her glasses to her head with the toggle from a rain mac. Reaching the top we find a man selling lots of sturdy looking sticks for five rupees. Said man is also strategically throwing food at tourists' feet as they reached the top, causing a group of monkey's to surge forward towards them, making them feel vulnerable and in need of some sort of protection. Astute. Turns out we didn't need the sticks, I think it would have been different if we'd have foodstuffs in our bags, but the hundreds of monkeys left well alone, and we enjoyed the panoramic views of the mountains the highest hill in Shimla afforded. Later on as me and Adam had gotten lost and were trying to return to the town centre to meet Adele and Troy, one of them dry humped Adele's leg, and we missed it! Apart from that no crazy monkey action really.

We're now in Manali. We've hired a jeep type vehicle and a driver, I know this is completely decadent, but it's low season and it was only 500 rupees more than public transport, and with two ten hour stretches before us, we thought 'feck it'! Our driver, Goodu, is lovely and not completely insane or in any heinous life-or-death-hurry to get everywhere, which makes for a very very unusual driving experience; I don't feel like death is on the other side of every lorry we over-take. He's very relaxed. Personally I think he's so relaxed for a special reason, more of which later on. So we set off from Shimla at 8am and arrived in Manali at 9pm. The drive to Manali was beautiful, the road is on the side of a mountain, the river Beas, which Goodu told us comes from China and goes all the way to Pakistan, runs alongside the road, and there are massive waterfalls drifting down from the cloud covered mountain tops above us. It's obviously hairy at times, with such small roads, but as the rule of the road dictates, we are in a larger vehicle than most, so are given nuff respec and more room than most.

As we arrived in Manali, the windows open, cool mountain air rushing through the windows, we all noticed a certain extremely distinct scent rolling in from the dark mountains. On waking this morning and looking out of the window, the second thing which struck me is the reason I think Goodu is so relaxed and good at driving over here. We are surround by Marijuana plants. They're everywhere! I mean EVERYwhere. It's mental. The first thing which struck me was the view, it's just amazing. I don't understand why mountains have such an awesome effect, but they do and they are sublime. And we jumped off one this morning! We went paragliding, which was exquisite, and shall be described in much more detail later...

The Rage of Adam

We've now arrived in Shimla, in the mountains. It's so different up here. We got a 'toy train' which wound up through the mountains, took 6 hours from Changigarh, and you could feel the air getting thinner and cooler as we went up and up, excellent respite after the sweltering heat down at the bottom of them there mountains.

Chandigarh was rrrrrubbish. It reminded me of Bill Bryson's description of Milton Keynes, it's a newly built town, structured around grids, and it has no soul. The roundabouts just have numbers on instead of places, making it seem robotic and characterless. The experience was tainted by the fact I am suffering on the inside and have been having to order cheese sandwiches whilst everyone else is tucking into lush exotic Indian food. We went to a reet posh Indian restaurant t'other night, and I ordered said substance and chips. I really wanted to ask for ketchup but it felt wrong, in India, in a posh Indian restaurant: " Oy, chips an cheese, mushy peas wiv ketchup, a cup o tea, and av you gorra copy of today's Sun for me to read? Fank-yoo garcon chop chop". Anyway, the waiter was the best I've ever come across, he must have seen the quandary in my eyes, and brought ketchup after everyone else's meals were served, without me having to ask! Must have known I'm English and ordering chips in an Indian restaurant, not the most discerning customer he's ever had. I want to go back now I've recovered and order the hottest most non English spicy Indian thing on the menu, just to show him I do appreciate delicious food and wouldn't ordinarily go out of my way to order the shittest blandest thing on the menu.

The coolest experience for me was leaving Chandigrah for the station. We got a taxi. Driven by a MENTALIST. Made worse by the fact we left our passports in the hotel and had to go back, and he wanted to get us there on time, and paid no heed to other drivers, withered old men on push bikes, or roads actually. We went up kerbs, through a herd of cows, and must have cut up at least 50 other drivers. It was ace. Though Adele pointed out in the back she couldn't really see how many times we nearly died, which was the main focus of my attention (actually had clenched fists and turned my body to the side ready for impact twice) so she was forced to focus on the music filling the car: a mantra CD of 'Hari Om', which is to say, a CD of a man and woman going "Hari Om, Haaaariiiii Ooooooommmmm, HAAARIIII OOOOOOOOM, Hari Om, Harriiiiiiii Ommmmm" over and over and over and over and over again, which she said felt like some sort of mental endurance test! Another nice thing about Chandigrah was Nek Chand's rock garden (bear with me, it's better than it sounds, I, at first was not into going to see a garden of rocks. Flowers? Maybe. Fountains? Definitely. Rocks? Bugger off.) A local man made some art work out of old porcelain bog seats and spent years on it, hidden, then the council found it in a forest and and thought it wor orite, so opened it to the public, added some waterfalls, and now it's the second most visited attraction in India. Pretty good. AND Troy and Adele were asked to pose for photographs on these massive swings and told they would feature in the biggest selling national paper in India. I can not wait. For the majority of them, Adele was sat on the swing, Troy standing behind her, hips thrust out, his crotch resting on her head, Adele looking quite uncomfortable and Troy looking smug. They moved to a more comfortable position, which I am sure the press will run with, but it did look funny. And I got given a baby. A real live one! We were sat relaxing and sweating on some rocks in the sun, when a man and his wife and baby came over. I could see he was going to ask for something, so prepared to take a nice picture of them in front of the rocks. But he just plonked the most gorjus baby on my lap! Not having been in India long, we pondered whether this was a present? 'Welcome to India, 'ere y'are". She had the biggest most beautiful eyes. Would have run off with her if he hadn't insisted on having a photo shoot with us each holding her. He said this was his proudest moment, and he would show her the photos when she was 18. I don't know how far he's been in his life, or what he's achieved, but the very fact he has a baby, surely, surely this was a far prouder moment, than when 4 people from Sheffield held his baby for a photo. Maybe not. Maybe he lived in a hermit round the corner and had never left his house or seen humans before.

But the toy train to Shimla was absolutely breath-taking. It was long and arduous at first (it says it takes 5 to 7 hours, ours took 6.5) and I was sat next to an Indian man who took up most of a seat for two, despite being quite skinny. I don't normally like close proximity to strangers, in fact I the opposite of like it, but he was well over on my side, for absolutely no reason, so I kept budging him over with my bum and elbow, and in the end it was a battle of wills between who could maintain full side body contact the longest. He kept winning cos he kept falling asleep on me. Cheat. I don't know how he managed to sleep either, because every time we went through a tunnel, every child on the train (there were a lot) went "Woooooooo! RRRaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaarrrrghhhh!" screaming at the top of their lungs, it was hysterical. Anyway, when we curled up to the top of the mountain, we kept going through clouds, you could see them coming, and the view below was just stunning. It looked like them floating mountains on Pandora, only they weren't suspended in the air, that's just stupid and impossible. There were lots of misty mountains and lush verdant hillsides and moss-covered trees and waterfalls. AND because the health and safety wank we have in England doesn't exist here (they usually do the opposite of what is healthy and safe, a much more interesting and rewarding approach to life if you ask me) the door of the train was open the whole time, and you could sit there, with your feet dangling over the side, as the train track got really thin and the door opened straight onto a steep and magnificent drop into a valley. Fanfuckingtastic. (It's done now mum and I didn't die, so no need to worry!)

Oooh, another fearful experience we've encountered in India is Adam's incandescent rage. It flares up at a moments notice and is a wonder to watch! It comes at tuk tuk drivers, pushy salesmen, basically anyone who pedals their wares at him and gets all up in his face. The angry beast within first emerged when we arrived in Chandigarh, it was late, we were deadly tired, and from the moment we stepped out of the station there was a relentless barrage of men coming at us (they mostly target Adam and Troy cos they think they're in charge. He he) offering cheap hotel, tuk tuk, etc etc. We were disorientated and didn't know what was going on, and after politely declining many offers for hotels Adam shouts "Just FUCK OFF will you?!" I don't think they were offended, well, they didn't stop anyway, I don't think they even noticed. They ushered us into a tuk tuk, and dropped us at our requested hotel, which was full, so we tramped round the grid city getting turned away from 3 hostels before we found a (gorjus but vastly over our budget) place to stay.

Delhi (Belly) Part Deux

WARNING: Sever and intimate details of grossness, do not read if you have cleanliness OCD and or are slightly sensetive or grossed out by mice and cockroaches and... digestary problems.

Well, we're back in Delhi now, have picked up one shattered but happy looking Adele and are going to the druggie train station to pick up our train tickets in a bit. We're heading up north to Chandigragh, then Shimala, where there's a groovy toy train which goes winding up through the mountains.

I thought Delhi may be a bit like Bangkok, intimidating, scary and rank at first, but me and Han developed a real affection for it after the second time, and grew to love it living there for a month. Delhi? Not so much. Was looking forward to coming back but the constant heat is stifling and inescapable in the middle of the city, unless you go to Connaught Place and sit in very expensive bars with beautiful beautiful air con. Though we went to one of these, Zen, for one beer last night and there was a mouse darting under all the tables! I never thought I'd be the type to stand on chairs squealing, but turns out, I am! He was cute, but I couldn't get the thought of him nibbling my feet out of my head and sat with my feet up eyeing the floor whilst sipping my beer the whole time. And they reckon they're reet posh! Anyway, I think the Delhi experience has been marred by the thoroughly repulsive hotel we stayed in last night. We're in Hotel Amax now, but they had no rooms last night and sent us to their sister hotel 2 minutes away. Well, if that was my sister, I think the most humane thing to do would be to lock her in a cellar far far away from the public eye and never let her out. The first sight we were greeted with in the room was a babby cockroach. After exhaustive attempts we concluded that they are indeed invincible over here and gave up. I managed to up my mosquito kill count to 4 in the bathroom. Talking of which, there was a hole high in the wall, and we could hear what other guests were doing. I was awoken in the middle of the night by a drunken person falling out of bed, a very distinct sound: stumble, groan, BANG, ouch, hiccup, snore. Adam heard retching and hocking up. Nice. On top of all this I've got Delhibelly and the toilet flush didn't work. Altogether an experience never to be repeated. No one should ever, under any circumstances, stay in room 202 in Hotel Hindustani on Arakashan Road in Delhi. Let this be a warning for all who venture to Delhi.

So yeh, with that and the heat, Delhi's charms weren't making much of an impression. However, that's all man made shit, the natural world's making up for it. We were wondering the streets earlier and I thought someone had gobbed on me from above. But moving away from all things gross, it was the rain, it started with spatters of masssive rain drops, and then commenced full on flooding, a massively welcome relief in all the heat. We sat in a local restaurant and ate proper Indian food, 55 rupees (under a quid) for 2 butter rotis and tomatoe paneer, the nicest I've had so far. The eating experience was only enhanced by the young boy standing on the table opposite us. He was inexpertly messing with a very complex looking box of electricity cables with a very electricity-conducting-looking spanner, whacking the electric cables and sending sparks of leccy over us as we ate, making the lights in the restaurant flicker on and off, giving it all a very charming (and slightly perilous, always a bonus) atmosphere. And the cows! I love them, they walk in threes, mostly, down the street in single file, completely unaware of their traffic-stopping capabilities (of which I am not a little jealous), swishing their tales, and sauntering along in search of, whatever it is they eat here, there ain't no grass, as I said before, I think it's mostly bullshit and newspaper. Yum.

Mosquitos: 69 injuries Vs Katy: 2 fatalities

So I woke up on Monday, or was it Tuesday? Have lost track of time over here, it's not relevant unless you're catching a bus. Anyway, woke up with an extra uninvited and completely unwelcome room mate last night. Was washing my face, reached over to grab my towel, and out of it emerged THE second biggest spider I have ever laid eyes on. Needless to say I screamed loudly and ran next door to bang on the lads' room, shaking and jumping at anything with happened to brush against me, thinking it was him creeping over me and trying to crawl through my hair and inside my ear to eat my brain, which is naturally what every spider in the world wants to do. Luckily Adam is not such a wuss and with his infinite man-skills managed to trap the beast in a large cup and carry it outside. What is it with spiders wanting to commandeer my bathrooms? They only need to ask. I would have been perfectly happy to pack up my things and leave the room never to return. He can have it if he wants, there's no need to freak me out whilst I am performing my morning ablutions. What if he crawled on me while I was asleep? Went and had a look round my mouth? Aaaaaaaaargh! EAU. Min.ging.

In other animal-related news, am epic war has broken out. I have 37 mosquito bites in total on my left leg, the majority of injuries sustained in the left ankle region. 22 are on my right leg, 3 on each arm, and, most worryingly, 5 in a cluster on my right bum cheek. I feel so... so violated! Why bite me there? And more importantly, how? They must be able to suck through clothes. I accept full responsibility for this airborne attack, having blithely stated "Oh, they don't really bite me, must just not like my blood, think I drink too much beer and they don't like the taste" at the start of this trip. In restrosect this was a vastly stupid thing to say out loud. They obviously overheard me, were affronted, convened, and voted to collaborate to take as much blood from me as possible, leaving as much evidence of their sucking as possible. Honestly, I have a little new found respect for the feckers, I've only seen two with my eyes, which I duly killed. Hah! But they are crafty and cunning like a fox. Miss you and your enticing legs Hannah!

Anyway, travel news: we hired a houseboat in Alaphuzha to float down the river inland, to see the local rural life of the people who live on the river. The boat was better than any house I've lived in; it came with a chef! And a driver and an engineer. And 2 bathrooms, and a lounge area where you could dangle over the side in the sun and watch the palm trees drift past, and the Kingfishers and eagles swooping overhead. The only sounds were the purring engine, the water lapping at the sides of the river, and the birds, with the occasional slap of cloth on concrete as we passed locals doing their washing. It was so soporific, I don't think I've ever been that relaxed. There was just one slight problem. They came out at night, in squadrons, with a thirst for blood. So the first night, we docked literally miles from anywhere, no boats, no other humans in sight. We went for a swim at sunset, which was like a warm bath, climbed a coconut tree, then sat down looking forward to a right tasty tea, lunch was local fish, cooked to perfection. The meal was the most surreal eating experience I have ever had. It was pitch black and because we were eating outside in the open air, the chef made us eat with only a dim fluorescent light overhead, of the type you get in train station toilets to stop tramps finding a vein and jacking up. This gave everything an ultraviolet radiance which looked wierd anyway. Then, as soon as he put the plates down it commenced. Tiny wee midgeys landed on anything white. The plates were white. Then the night attack began and I got bitten, this time a viscious attack on a vulnerable area: my stomach, so got up and changed into a long sleeved white work shirt, with hair bands round the collars to stop wrist entry. My fluorescent green socks were pulled right up over my hareem pants to block ankle level entry, and my hareem pants pulled right up Simon Cowell stylee over the white shirt, effectively closing off all access areas for the fuckers. Mum, I looked like you. Troy got bitten and jumped up to put the only thing he owned with a hood on to stop the buzzing from the flies in his ears; an anorak. Adam's head was covered in flies. And Viola got up and put on a bright green hoodie over her ears. Looking like a mishmash of freaky anoraks geeks and The Trunchbull, we then proceeded to attempt to eat this delish food. It was a mission and I reckon we each ingested at the very least 15 midgeys. After the meal we sat in the complete dark smoking and drinking beer (thank the lord midgeys don't like beer). It. was. strange.

The next day we floated along, sunbathed, went for a walk in the rice paddy fields, waved at the people in all the other house boats, and the locals on the shore of the river washing their clothes, their babies, their pots and pans in the river, then docked in the chef's local village. This was more built up and we actually managed to eat with the light on and minimal aerial interference. And the food was served on a leaf the chef cut from a plant on the riverside and we ate with our hands! That rocked. Woke up on the last day at sunrise and watched the mist roll along the river, had a breakfast of sponge and curry, and now, after a one and a half hour train journey north, which cost 40 rupees for four of us (70 rupees = a pound) we're in a funky home stay called 'Oy's' in Kochi, recovering from a hangover, killing time til we fly back to Delhi on Monday to collect Adele (Yay!) and head up north to the mountains.

Troy eats fish eyeball

Having had enough of cities we got a plane daan sarf and are now in Kovalam in Kerala, by the beach (yessss). The flight was good, changed at Mumbai, and coming in to land, saw the blue tarpaulin and corrugated iron of the slum, it covers a massive massive area, a city in itself.

It's a lot more laid back down here. There isn't the relentless cacophany of horns which dominate the city soundscape. A cab driver told us it was the music of Delhi, the drivers all honk their horns all the time, to move 'lanes' (used in the loosest sense of the word), overtake (pretty much a constant state of being for all drivers) let pedestrians / cows / dogs / monkeys know they're behind them and they need to move over or die the death of being squished. We've got a few Tuk Tuks now, and that in itself is an adventure. It's like being on the Knight bus in Harry Potter, the drivers squeeze themselves through the most inconceivably small spaces. I'm 90% sure some of the spaces we went through in Jaipur traffic were smaller than the Tuk Tuk itself. And you go so close to other drivers, you can see the minutest detail on their faces; the growing beard of a young Indian man on a motorbike next to us; the bindi on a Hindu woman's face; the snot in a sleeping child's nose.

Anyway, so so far we went from Delhi to Agra, saw the Taj Mahal, and then went on to Jaipur and saw loads and loads of monkeys (and a way cool money-fight, thjey are viscious) in an old temple and I got groped for the first and only time so far. With regards to that, I was expecting far worse from what I'd heard. Most of the bad stuff I'd been expecting I've not experienced. I thought it'd be a gropefest and I'd be shouting at and slapping men with my left flip flop (the recommended deterrent) all over the place. But it's only happened once. Maybe they just don't fancy me. What-ever, I don't care. I get groped ALL the time when I go out in England...

In Jaipur we were hassled by 2 Indian men as soon as we left the station, actually, I say hassled, they took us to the hotel we wanted to stay in, which was full (I checked myself) so they drove us to their mate's hotel, which turned out to be one of the nicest, friendlist ones we've stayed in. Tables were crap tho. As we were eating a massive thunder and lightening storm started, and the rain was coming in and soaking our food, so we tried to pick it up and the marble came off in our hands and crashed to the floor breaking on two. Me and Troy (Mike wanted a cool nickname for the trip) were left standing there with half a table in our hands. Slightly embarrassing. On apologising over and over again, the manager said "Is ok, you treat this hotel like home". Lovely. I'm always breaking stuff at home. We stayed in Jaipur just a day, and got a tuk tuk at 4am to the airport. That was one of the most beautiful experiences of the trip so far (sorry Taj Mahal). It was calm and quiet, a first in any city, and dark. There were gargantuan camels dragging carts filled with timber in the half light, men setting up their chai stalls under tarpaulin, one naked electric light bulb above them, other men asleep by the side of the road, no mattress, no pillow, just on concrete (that wasn't part of the beauty by the way, just an observation!).

We got to the airports and got a plane to Kochi, well we were supposed to, but the flight was late and we missed our connection in Mumbai so got a free lovely air conditioned car from Kochi to Kovalam. It took 6 hours, but was worth it. The coastline is just beautiful, lots of big rivers with riceboats casting their nets, palm trees and healthy looking cows. In the cities the cows may be sacred and traffic-stopping, but you can see their rib cages, I saw one eat a sheet of newspaper and some shit from a plastic bag. I'm not sure this is a good diet for a sacred being. The people look much healthier and happier here than in the cities too. In Delhi practically everyone is emaciated. A belly signals wealth. I am, therefore, extremely wealthy.

Kovalam's a massively westernised touristy place but it's off season at the moment, so there's hardly anyone here, which is nice. We went body boarding in the sea yesterday, the waves are massive and scarey and it's brilliant. Don't worry Ma, there's a life guard who blows a whistle and shouts at you if you go too far out. Today the sky is grey and its raining, and the men from the next beach, a fishing port, have filled the bay with their boats and nets. The seafood here is divine, and I'm not misusing that word. We shared a plate of the biggest prawns you've ever seen last night, and a red snapper, which came whole, face an' all, and Troy ate the eyeballs! Not even as a dare, just, for kicks! I tried, but on poking found it was far too squishy to go in my mouth. Really wanted to try the shark and the lobster, but the lobster is out of season and way too expensive, and the shark was only a babby one. Poor lamb. Tomorrow we head up the coast with our Brand New Travelling Companion wot we picked up, Viola, an Art teacher from Bristol. We're hiring a boat and travelling inland down a river which I spect'll be fecking fabulousness incarnate.

Battle of the Bulls

So the Taj Mahal was impressive, very beautiful. I don't really know what to say, it's a lovely, lovely building... just, nice. Thought I'd be blown away, maybe cry a solitary tear of joy at its sheer perfection, but am afraid it was... nice. We did see some Taj Mahal chipmunks tho, that was cooel. But then we went and had tea and something happened which made me the Second Most Scared I've ever been in my entire life. We had tea on a roof to see the sun set over the Taj Mahal, which was beautiful too (apart from the public toilet just across the street, which we could see in to, with shit smeared all over the floor). Anyway, after tea we went to a bar on a roof, where we purchased beer that had to be drunk out of shot glasses and the bottle surreptitiously hidden under the table, incase the beer police came. Incidentally, we all agreed that furtively drinking when youre not s'posed to be actually improves not only the taste but the potency of the beer. Which may or may not have added to my hysteria when the bull came.

So we're drinking away, and the power keeps cutting out leaving us in near darkness. The power cuts for the third time, and out of the darkness we hear a bellowing, I don't think I'd be exaggerating to call it 'monstrously devilish'. Looking down into the street, just below our bar, is a behemoth of a black bull, having full on horn to horn combat with a smaller, not so shit-your-pants scary but seriously feisty and ballsy brown bull. They were charging at eachother, locking horns, and then and barging up and down the street - the street we had to walk down imminently - crashing into buildings, shaking the structure of them, and making horrific angry bull noises.

Now I always take my lead from the locals, no one seems bothered, and I think this must be a regular occurence. Until the climax of the fight, where they nearly destroy a telephone pole, a tuk tuk drives off, men run away, and a shop keeper pulls down his shutters and runs upstairs. Feck. I resolve to beg the bar man to let me sleep on the bar floor, and state that under no circumstances what so ever, will I walk into that street until absolutely certain the black beast has gone. So they go at it for a bit more, and then two men come with big sticks and start hitting them and shouting at them. I don't know how this is supposed to alleviate the situation, and I thought cows and bulls were sacred, and I don't think you're supposed to hit sacred things with big sticks are you? It's quite rude. Anyway in the end the brown one gives up and bows and scrapes and limps away, leaving the big black mother trucker still bellowing masculinely away, really pleased with himself. Walking home after this, in the absolute pitch dark, (no street lamps) him still bellowing triumphantly in the distance, was unnerving to say the least, lots of glancing over the shoulder and mentally allocating a tree suitable to climb up incase he comes charging down the street at us. Then Adam trod in bull shit and got it all over his feet. Brilliant.

India Part One

Well, we're here, we're hot, and it stinks... I loves it.

We landed in Delhi on Monday, and one of the first sights we were greeted with on the taxi drive from the airport to the Ajanti hotel, was a woman shoving her baby's blistered and pustulous arse through the taxi window asking for money. Being jet-lagged and a wee bit hungover, and cashless, this left us slightly traumatised. Arriving at the hotel was better, though the constant road works outside, apparently 'improving ' the roads for the Commonweath games, would have been an iritation if not for the titanium reinforced ear plugs I had the foresight to pack. We wandered around Delhi for a bit, went to the red fort, then slept for 16 hours.

Woke up to our first Indian breakfast, yum, spicy pancake type stuff, and a Lassi, milkshake / gone off yoghurt type stuff. So far so good for the Delhi bellie. After wandering the streets for a bit, playing frogger on the roads, which was MUCH fun, and taking in the pungent but not repulsive scent of Delhi, similar to Thailand; that heady mix of open sewerage, fried pancakes, sweet, slightly rotten fruit, and fried cat, we went to New Delhi station to book train tickets to Agra. On stepping through the 'local' section of the station, crammed with locals squatting, sitting, laying in the blistering heat and covered in flies, we climbed the stairs (stepping past the young man who was clearly smoking some sort of crack / heroin based pipe) to the 'western' kiosk (air conditioned, comfy chaired, and orgnanised), and booked tickets to Agra.

The train ride to Agra was amazing, they have seats, which fold up to beds, and we slept in a 3 tier system for 2 and a half hours. It was lush, laying there reet comfy, listening to the rain on the roof.

Yeh, talking of the weather, I doubt I'm gonna be the tanned, brown, sun-kissed, sun bunny I thought I'd be. It was overcast when we arrived, bit brighter the next day, today has been sporadic rain and sunshine. Plus I'm covering up to avoid the stares, which isn't really working, especially wandering down Arakashan road central Delhi with 2 bottles of beer in me arms. What a filthy western beer fuelled head hair flaunting hooer. It's wierd having EVERY man who passes you stare at you. I mean, obviously I get that loads in Britain, being dead fit an' everything... but not EVERY man, ALL the time. It's funny when you make eye contact as well, they do that thing where you lift your eyebrows up and down and give a cheeky grin, which does make I chuckle.

Anyway, today we arrived in Agra and went to the Taj Mahal. More of that later, the electricity's just cut out in the internet cafe...

Porn Dwarves In Naples , Popperphobia, Chav City in Costa Brava

Went to Naples last week, a dirty cool city with plentiful character. Got the boat to Capri, and then a boat around the island, which was just beautiful. I take what I said about Thailand back, Capri was just as lovely, it's just Ischia which is a bit pants and I thought it'd be the same as Capri cos they're close, by which maxim I would imagine England and France are similar, and Oz and NZ, cos they're a relatively close, and obviously, nowt could be farther from the truth. Went to Pompeii on Sunday and saw the city and some models of the people covered by volcanoe lava and ash 2000 years ago, and that was very thrilling, wandering in and out of houses which still have the wall designs on them from from ages ago, and again, touching them and knowing they were put together, like, dead millions of years ago.... and we couldn't afford a guide so we just pretended to look at the map any time we needed to know where we were and eavesdropped on a very enthusiastic Italian woman giving a guide in english. And we were dead lucky cos on Friday all the museums and art galleries in Naples were free cos it was a national holiday, so saw a museum of ancient erotic art which I thought was going to be quite soft cos its was well old art work and they thought bare arms were rudenesses in them days, but it was quite hard core, featuring bestiality, porn dwarves, orgies and cocks with wings flying. Class. Also went round the Museo di Capodimonte the largest gallery in Italy next to the Ufizzo, but that just seemed to be lots and lots and lots and lots of paintings of the same theme, the Annunciation, and Mary and baby and stuff, but Carvaggio's Flagellation made it all worthwhile which is intensley tragic to look at.

So, well aye, that's it then. It's back to sunny sunny Weymouth for me, and temping in Fleet til I can scrape together enough for air fare to a land of heat and adventures. Eugh, I shudder to think of Fleet actually, they had me checking poppers on trousers in the New Look warehouse for 2 weeks (grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, grab a pair of trousers, open all the poppers, close all the poppers, if they work put them in one pile, if they don't, bin em, aaaaarrrrggggghhhh! I am now a popperphobic, poppers freak me out) . Man alive that was a tough job, 3.25% of my brain melted, partly due to sheer boredom, and partly from having conversations with people who do that full time.. And THEN fleet sent me to the New Look offices, as a cleaner. There I am, hunched over with the other scavvy cleaners, marigolds on, hoover and duster in one hand, bleach and shit rag in the other, on me way to clean the bogs, when out of the offices walks a girl from Royal Manor school who was 3 years BELOW me, laughing and discussing important officey-type contractual stuff with her high-powered colleagues, she sees me and we make brief embarressed eye contact for a second and then she passes out and I'm like "Nooooo! Wait! Don't judge me! I don't do this ALL the time! -I've been travellin and that...". So, where was I? Oh yeah, Fleet, joy. Sadly, I have yet again missed the highlight of Weymouth's social calendar: Trawler Race Day. Ahhhh, Trawler Race Day, what simple pleasure, stumbling round ALL of weymouth's pubs, going to the toilet in the bloke's cos the women's are full with queues backing up to Wyke, sittin' on the harbour in the sunshine, feet dangling over the side with my 7th nice cold pint and fish and chips covered in vinegar, mmmmm, Traaaaawler Race Day.

************************************

Only 2 days left, I'm gonna miss my students a lot, and their little turns of phrases that are so endearing: being asked repeatedly whether I want to go to a student's village "for to eat someone"
"No mate, look, I've told you already, it's eat someTHING"
"Oh, ok"
(...the following week...)
"So Katy... (pronounced Catty) ... Would you like to come to my village for to eat someone?"
"Oh man, I give up! Go on then, let us go to your village and eat someone".
And being asked out of the blue:
"You like sausage?"
"Yes I do"
"I take you my sausage"
"Say again?"
"I take you my meat"
"Pardon??"
"My friend, he is farmer and every year he kill a pig for me and I make sausage, and I take you one"
"Aaaaalrighty then! Fantastic! Sounds lovely, like a bit of Italian sausage, me."

But I'm looking forward to being able to use auxilliaries and pronouns again; no more "you want drink?" "yes, is very cold now" "Is 3 O'clock". And I'll be able to use the present continuous for the future instead of constantly using will to save time, confusion and explaining: "Yes, next year, maybe I will go to Mexico" "This weekend, what will you do?" "Tonight, I will watch DVD".
I'm also well gonna appreciate not being the only unkempt person walking down the street. Everyone's so pristine in Sulmona, even mingers make a massive effort, no Kappa Slappers there. The girls behind the checkout in Eurospin (equivalent of Netto) have on more make-up and better hair then me on a Saturday night. I don't know how long they spend getting ready in the morning, but it's worth it. Even the old men me dad's age take a lot of pride in their appearance, and never come to class in a t-shirt that's a bit manky and worn, it's always collars and smart trousers, and they wear like D&G watches and stuff. Fancy that! My wouldn't have a clue what that meant and wouldn't buy it if it cost more than 30 quid anyway.

Of course, a tear will be shed for My Mountains whom I will miss terribly. I want to take them with me, they're so comforting. And they've got snow atop them again now, even tho it's boiling hot, which I take as a final salutation to me and my worship of them.

************************************
Am currently sitting in Costa Brava near Barcelona on an all inclusive family holiday. I'm surrounded by people from the UK and we're staying in Chav City Central Hotel. It ROCKS man. After being surrounded by dead beautiful, stylish, cultured people who I couldn't communicate with for 8 months, this is the perfect foil. The first sight we were greeted with when entering the bar downstars - apart from thousands of screaming kids with plaits of all colours pulling their skin up off their forehead so far you can see the reds under their eyes - was a young lad of 9 carrying a cup of boiling coffee over to his mum then screaming as he spilt some on himself, prompting her to shout "Eh, geeo'er will ye, ye sound like a flamin likkel girl!" and looking at us with a roll of her eyes, and almost spilling her bacardi and coke as she tipsily knocked into the 12 year old girl sauntering past her with 2 extra large cans of Stongbow in her hands. Man, this place is a tonic I tell yer. And on the 3rd night we were playing Balderdash outside when a massive glass ash tray came flying from one of the balconies above and landed where a woman had just vacated a seat. Scarey. Four star hotel my arse, it's more like a massive council estate block of flats. Oh man, but The Food! The Food! It's all FREE! AND the alcohol! FREE!! Whenever you want it!! Not just quantity but quality, all you can eat (or eat all you can as ma likes to call it) and such a range of food! From stuffed avocadoes to lightly grilled eggplants, to Paella to strawberries to fish, mmmmmm, there's SO much food. And they replace it every 2 minutes. Despite this fact, despite the fact I know this fact, despite having known this fact for 6 days, I still have a very irrational fear that some selfish fat person is gonna charge up and take all the good stuff before I can get at it. So I charge blindly at the food counter in a frenzy of jealous possessiveness like a starving ethiopian every time we enter the room, leaving the others to bagsy us a table, knocking the man in a suit playing light jazz-type stuff on a saxophone, and forsaking the soup and pansy light food for the meat and other luxuries, piling it in my mouth as I pile it on my plate mountainously high, then sitting and scoffing it greedily, with one eye on the ever decreasing food (and ever-replaced, see, I do know this fact, but my brain can't process the concept of never-ending food) before running to get another mountainful before some evil fatso takes all the best food away. It's sad. Especially because after all this eating, at the end of the week, I actually have become the evil fatso foe I feared so much. Using my now chubby elbows and flabby knees to send chavvy old ladies in burberry caps and plaited children flying, and instilling fear into anyone who sees the constant look of aggressive jealousy staring from my chubby cheeked triple chinned face as I scoff monumental amounts of foodage.







Catching some rays by the pool inbetween feeds.

Rock Climbing In Ischia, Getting Lost In Venice, And Hard-Fi

Well, we've been everywhere. We went to Ischia a few weekends ago, an island near Capri just off Naples. Nice enough island, although I think I've been spoilt by Thailand now and nothing comes close for staggering untouched beauty (got yer violins out yet? poor, poor me, take heed and never go to southern Thailand). And there aren't nearly as many perilous adventures to be had in Europe. I think the land of smiles is calling me again. Anyway, the hostel we stayed in was nice, although 6 to a room was a tight squeeze (at least we got there first tho so baggsied all the lower bunk-beds) and we had to share a bathroom with 10 other girls. We were sharing the room with 3 all-american university students who were having a break from studying architecture in Florence, and who liked listening to one song over and over again on their laptop whilst getting ready to go out:
"If you like Pina Colada's, and getting caught in the rain..." (cue them singing in chorus whilst sipping their vodka and cokes, "Yes I like Pina Colada's, and getting caught in the rain" at the top of their voices...) sweet girls tho, bless em.

We went to thermal pools on the Sunday, which are near a small village called Pranza, and we had to take a local bus to get there and Nat wanted to know when our stop was, so asked a bloke next to her -
"quando e pranzo?"
he looked at her strangely and shrugged. Not one to be easily deterred our Nat, she asked again
"quando e pranzo??"
"er, no lo so.. I don't know" looking very confused.
This continued for a while til someone else joined in who could speak english, and had realized that she didn't actually want to know when lunch was, but when the stop for Pranza was, which sounds remarkably similar. Cue uncontrollable laughter from me until we got off the bus. They must have thought we English are very strange, one of us insisting on knowing when lunch was to be served of a complete stranger on a bus, and the other laughing like a simpleton for no apparent reason.

It took us ages to trek to the beach and climb down the cliff, and then there was one rock pool that had steam coming off it, and boiling water inside and you sat down near it and dangled your feet in this sulphuric-iodiney-mineraly-type water (that's the scientific name) but the water was boiling, and then the waves which came in from the sea were absolutely freezing... a very, very strange experience, apparently very good for the nervous system and other ailments tho.

After laying shivering on the beach in out bikini's for a while which we were insistent on doing since we'd bought them and we were English and we were on holiday and in Italy and and it was very very sunny and hot (apart from the bitter coastal breeze which was the cause for a few wimpy people on the beach to wear jumpers and bomber jackets) we went for a swim in the sea, which can only be described as icily freezing, and being the only ones in the sea, I got worried and got out after 3 minutes as I couldn't feel my feet and my hands had turned white and I think the early stages of hypothermia were setting in. We got bored of freezing on the sand, so went to explore the coast of the island and ended up amateur rock climbing by accident- we got lost wandering around the coast of the island and ended up stranded below a dead posh restaurant right on the seafront. As we'd already had a rocky struggle to get where we were, and the tide was coming in, there was no way we were clambering back the way we'd come, and the only way to the main road was to scale a wall near this restaurant. So the Italian customers and their snobby waiter (who was in 2 minds whether to shoo us english urchins away from his high-class-Gucci-clad customers with a broom, but eventually I think his natural curiosity to see what on earth we thought we were going to do overcame this) forgot their posh nosh lunch and vintage vino for 5 minutes and sat bemusedly watching us through their Chanel sunglasses as we tried to scale the cliff face up towards the main road. Needless to say these 3 crazy foreginers looked a right state (again with the climbing buildings in a skirt and flip flops), although when we at last got to the top, they all put down their gnocci to give us a round of applause and wave at us as if we were pioneer mountain climbers who'd just scaled a rather difficult peak.

Then last weekend we went to Venice. On the way there I asked the Venetian man next to me on the plane what he recomended doing in Venice, and he told me to get lost, so I looked out the window perplexedly, trying to figure what I'd said wrong, when he carried on "Yes, that is the best way to see Venice, don't have map, get lost, then you will find nooks and corners very special". Accordingly I took his advice swiftly and literally and on the 2nd day, whilst meandering too slowly around an art gallery I got to the end to discover I had no idea where Han and Natalie were. Normally this wouldn't be a problem cos I'd ring them. Unfortunately for me, on leaving Sulmona a little behind schedule I dropped my phone into the train toilet as I was doing my make-up. I asked the conductor if he could reach in and get it, to which he replied with surprise and a little smugness that the hole actually leads straight to the ground, meaning my phone is now irretrievably lost between poo and toilet paper somewhere on the Majella mountains. So I spent the afternoon running over the bridges over the watery alleyways between buildings in Venice shouting and chasing an ugly old dwarf in a red cape who I thought could lead me to them... and hopping on and off the large cheap river taxi's (nowhere near as deadly and exciting as the Thai version) and poking around in the massively overdone gilded ornate churches (one of them had 10 collossal columns leading up to the alter, all wrapped in red velvet with a red velvet carpet down the aisle, and loads of 10 foot high gilded golden framed paintings on the walls, looked more like a Roman orgy auditorium than a church). St Marks, the main church, was beautifully gothic tho, with a strangely eastern look, and really old gold and bronze mosaics on the ceiling inside. There were also displays of archaeological mosaics from seven hundred years ago and you could touch them and everything! The alarm made a little buzzing noise when you did touch them but no guards came, so my finger actually touched a mosic that was glued together by another human being's finger centuries ago. Twice.

It really is the cutest little city in the world, saw loads of people on gondola's (lucky gits, we couldn't afford one of them) being serenaded with the cornetto song by old men in accompanying gondola's trying not to fall over as the gondola's squeezed very rapidly through the tiniest little watery thoroughfares between houses whose front step led down into the river, and which had boats instead of cars outside. Unluckily, not being the most observant person in the world, I neglected to notice little notes written on toilet paper that Han and Nat had papered Venice with, they'd gone to the cafe's we'd been to and other highlights in Venice, and plasted all the walls and bridges with notices of their mobile numbers saying "WHERE ARE YOU KATY??".

Coming back we landed in Rome on Monday 1st May, which, luckily for us, is the day of a massive freebie concert in Piazza San Giovanni (think T in the park without the park, or any tea, or any english people). My students had told me about it, and after asking them for directions to Piazza San Giovanni, they told me dismissively to "ask anyone". I thought this was a bit dubious and was expecting to come home having missed the concert, but arriving in Termini (central station in Rome) it had that unmistakable pre-festival atmosphere. Lots of groups of animated young people stocking up on alcohol, fags and food and making for a mass exodus towards the Colosseum. Arriving at the colosseum we asked a group of lads from Naples for directions and they let us tag along with them, liberally sharing their festival provisions (the usual stuff) and it turned out to be a mighty fine sunny afternoon of smokin, drinkin and listenin to Italian's finest bands...... AND Hard-Fi.... I mean, what are the chances of that?? The ONLY non-Italian band on the playlist and it turns out not only to be British but one of my faves! Altho I was the only one I could see around me singing along like a loon "There's a hole in ma pocket, ma pocket, ma pocket, la la la la la".

I'd decided to stay on and wait for Hard Fi and Negramaro, who weren't on til late, but Han and Nat had gone home early, so, making my tipsy way to Termini at 11.00pm I discovered I'd missed the last train to Sulmona and the next one wasn't til 7.45am the following day. Nooooo! Normally I would absolutely shit myself cos Termini station ain't the safest place in Rome after midnight (a bit like Sydney's Kings Cross but not quite as many hookers, or tramps and needles to step over on the floor) . Luckily, instead of having to pay a fortune for a normal hotel near termini, I discovered hundreds of like-minded people who were chatting and kipping all over the station. Turns out that on the 1st May the station is open right through the night just for the youngsters who've been to the concert to stay safely, with guards to stop the usual pikey wierdo's who hang out there at night and everything. Score. Although my lessons on Tuesday afternoon after "sleeping" on a station floor like a scuzzy old wino and arriving home at 11.30am were what you'd expect. Mullered.

So now it's no more extravagent weekends ever til I get home. I have absolutely zero funds. This weekend me and Han climbed the mountain which is nearest to my house cos that's free. Well, we didn't actually climb it, we got the base which took 2 hours, and then climbed a little bit, and turned round and came home cos our feet hurt and it was hot. Was awesome tho. Even at the base you can feel the majesty of it's presence. Or whatever.

Pretty things: Niamh, and the Masters of the Renaissance

Well, it's not strictly travel related, but it is kind of, cos I did travel all the way to England to meet her a couple of weekends ago, and I think it's pretty interesting that I've actually met and cuddled the most beautiful, kissable, adorable, serene little spark of life in seven kingdoms, my family's NEW member, Niamh (pronounced Neeve). Me and Han spent the whole weekend fighting vigorously over who held/kissed/fed/winded/pushed the pram round Debenhams next.

Ere she is having a bath (which I'm sure she'll thank me for when she's a teenager)






















Travelly-type news news: we hired a car and drove to Firenze (that's Florence to the uninitiated in Italian i.e me until 2 weeks ago) last weekend. Cue some more crazy driving, this time on the autostrada through the rolling green hills of Tuscany, and then many, many turns around the one-way-no-lanes-bad-signage-worse-drivers roads within Florence city centre, a right kerfuffle it was finding the hostel. When we finally got there we didn't have a room with a view, but we did have a room with noisy teenagers outside the window til 3am, and we didn't quite have a phaeton, but did have a nice ford focus, which we found said noisy teenagers had keyed when we got up in Sunday morning... buggers.
Florence is good and its cool and it's nice and arty, it has lots of Americans and pikeys and uber-cool people riding round on very old bicycles.
Went for a walk by the Arno on Saturday and over the Ponte Vecchio (bridge) which has the oldest most ornate jewellery shops which look like oversized jewellery boxes when shut, all along it. Didn't see any tragic stabbings or owt, pretty uneventful. Then, baedeker in hand (well, not quite, free map from Macdonalds in hand), went sightseeing on Sunday, saw the Duomo, the 4th largest cathedral in the world apparently, which is a really wierd colour, and pretty impressive. Also went to the Ufizzi art museum which was amazing. Completely didn't do it justice tho 'cos I needed the toilet and ran straight to the second floor when they let us in, then they wouldn't let us go back down to the first floor to av a look! Bloody tight arses. Plus we didn't have much time anyway, but saw masterpieces by, like, every artist ever, see below for comprehensive, name-dropping list. It was cool as.

Raphael, Rubens, Donatello, Del Sarto, saw Da Vinci's Adoration of the Maggi, Carvaggio's Bacchus looking all alluring and sultry, Rembrandts self-portraits (young and old... poor bloke, had a hard life) and most memorably, Boticelli's Birth of Venus and the Allegory of spring, which are just massive and beautiful and breathtaking.

Abruzzo... it's GORJUS it it! Ohhhhh, just GORJUS! Look at it! Ohhh, it's GORJUS innit! Phwoooooargh!

Bellissimo! Italian old men rock.
I love them all. What ARE they talking about all day?? (See the slightly bemused looks on their faces?? Especially the third from the left? Yeah, I had to pretend I was taking a photo of the skanky building behind them which is blatantly not what anyone would do, ever... they called us over after I took this but I was already running off down the street tittering to myself at my own cunning... is this illegal?? Should I have asked them to sign a waiver?? After all, they are now gonna be seen by millions.)

Pescocostanzo.

A village, like, 30 mins drive from Sulmona but higher in the mountains and consequently a LOT snowier.

A park in Pescocostanzo.

The locals are so used to the snow they don't even find it amusing to throw the stuff at eachother, and gave us funny looks when we did. Crazy English people that we are.

Mmmmmmmmountains....

Celano.

The coolest village-under-a-castle-under-a-mountain-under-a-cloud in the world.

The view of the mountain-under-a-cloud from the castle-under-a-mountain-over-a-village.

Tivoli. A human-made waterfall. Not a bad effot.

Cool clouds... (with obligatory Mountain.)

The valley Sulmona's in.


















It's sandwiched just behind that big hill and the Beautiful Marrone Mountains behind it.
















Nearly at the top of the world.
Talk about breath-taking. Couldn't breath for 2 days after this little trip to L'Aquila.















Actually on the top of the world.
That's mount Sasso over there, the
highest mountain in Italy.

















Just a run-of-the-mill church in Italy.

Chiesta Santa Maria della Vittoria, magnificent it is, and its holds St Teresa by Bernini. Wa-hey!

Driving Over My Mountains And A Tribute To A Monument To Victor Emmanuel II

I totally nearly died a few weekends ago when we hired a car for the weekend and I drove over a snowy mountain on the wrong side of the road in the pitch dark behind a drunk driver. It was well scarey, made more toe-curlingly terrifying by the fact that I kept forgetting they do it in Km per hour over here not miles, so made my self jump every time i looked at the speed dial and saw I was driving down a mountain at 80mph.... But it did make for great amusement whilst I was on the autostrada earlier on in the day, trying to overtake everything in sight. Every half an hour it was:
"Han, Natalie, check it out! I'm doing 150 mile per hour!! Rrrraaaahhhh!! Yeah baby! Outta my way, SUCKERS"
"No kate, you're doing 150 kilometres ph"
"Oh yeah, ah well, still feels fast"
Of course I stopped this reckless speeding as soon as we got off the autostrada, but the reckless driving continued through the tiny cobbled alleyways of L'Aquila, the city we were visiting for the night, which is the capital of the region. The Italians have absolutely no respect for road rules, and I've found that, given the choice, neither have I ... well, when in rome an' all that. Took to the Italian way of driving like a duck to dirty water. I also have to stop giving evils to Italian drivers who rev their engines and try to edge over my feet as I cross at stoppings now, on account of the fact that I was doing exactly the same thing when I was driving through towns... Well, come on! ... pedestrians and cyclists just annoy the hell outta me now when I'm in a car, especially the old ones who go slowly...it's like, 'Come ON! I've got people to cut up and a horn to beep and wild gestures to make at other drivers who cut me up, move it, move it, MOVE IT, GRANDMA!' Really grips you it does, I've now completely lost the rural english driving composure, and instead of "'After you, no really, after you, oh please, i couldn't, well alright then I'll go, but here's a hand gesture to show my appreciation' or 'here's a flash of the lights to say thank-you for waiting for me to pass'", na, screw that, now it's just "Fuck off that's my space move over now or loose your wing mirror". And there's only one gesture worth making.

So anyway after a breathtaking visit to the top of the clouds of Mount Sasso in L'Aquila - the highest mountain in Italy and what seemed to be the top of the world - we set off for home thanking hannah's student for his guided tour of L'Aquila and his detailed directions back to Sulmona. However, feeling slightly (understatement) hungover from the night before's Jeigermeister, I was paying scant attention as he said:
"The left tunnel, make sure you take the left tunnel, don't take the right tunnel, Indy, stay on the left" "Yeah yeah, thanks Massimo, got any water we can take?". So we took the right tunnel and ended up not on the Autostrada which goes straight around the mountains leading to Sulmona, but on a small road which goes straight up and over My Mountains. And there are no street lights on the mountain, which I found odd and vaguely annoying... Surely the time you need illumination most is when there's a 1000 foot ravine to fall into and snow and ice on the side of the road and rocks and deer and mousses and bears falling from above head? Whatever, it was petrifying, didn't help that the driver infront appeared to be drunk and was going all over the place and I daren't pass him cos he might have gone into the back of me, although curse him as I did when he was infront of me, I did regret his absence tremendously when he pulled off and left me alone with no rear lights to follow... just cats eyes jumping up at me giving me a moments notice to either turn or descend into the blackness of the mountain beneath....

And then last week we went to an old ruined castle and nearly got eaten by a rabid white wolf....
There are packs of wild dogs here that wander the street with no owners, they're well cute, like, totally different breeds of big and small dogs and all colours, and they wander the streets of the towns together looking for food! You'll see them jog past together like a big group of disparate mates... Anyway, one of my students drove us to this ruined castle, no one else around and the road to it was well steep, a completely eerily deserted town below it with all the windows broken in the houses, and we were filming a sketch a la Monty Python's french soldier with my video when the distant barking that sounded vaguely wolfish started to get closer and closer, and suddenly there's a massive white wild laborador coming towards us barking like hell. Well, I completely had an eppy and legged it back to the car, as did the others... actually, to be more precise, the student who'd brought us to the castle ran off ahead (with absolutley no regard for my safety, which I found most ungentlemanly) and so did han, leaving me climbing down from the ruinous walls and running after them, cursing the fact I'd insisted on playing Cleese and climbing up the old ruins. I never thought I'd feel safe in a car again after my experience driving on the mountain, but it felt surprisingly good to be encased in impenetrable metal with a hungry, rabid, mental wolf-dog outside.

Then last weekend we went to Rome, I'll make no bones about it, it wasn't for the rugby, couldn't really give an arse about that, but for the post-rugby drinking sesh, yeah baby! We paid for a tacky pub crawl round Rome which was organised by the hostel, and ended up accompanied around Rome by a lot of, like, all-american, like architecture students, who are, like, studying in like, Rome. They tended to punctuate every event during the night with shouts of "YEAH!". Which was amusing, for a while.

Saturday day was better tho cos we went to see the statue by Bernini in Santa Maria Della Vittoria church where a certain St. Teresa is having a mighty fine time with a seraphin and his very phallic golden shaft. Beautiful it was, and amazing to see after seeing it and reading about it in books. I can not get over the churches in Roma. They are just GORJUS, they are. So much art work, all free, and they're not bothered if you go in solely to oggle the free eye candy, even in the middle of a church service! They rely on the revenue (I allers buy summat when I go in there, it's worth the price of a postcard), so you can poke around behind the priest as he's giving his service, and I honestly don't think they'd mind if you went up and posed with thumbs up behind the priest as he was talking. (Haven't had the guts for that one yet... am also determined to climb up on the big horse on the right in Trevi fountain and get snapped riding it before I leave Rome, there's no guards there or owt, it's just having the guts to do something so bold infront of the constant stream of tourists taking snaps).

We rounded off the weekend with a visit to my favourite building in the whole wide world (didn't know I actually had one of these til i saw this one). It's got fuck-off big horses (yes, I'm sorry if that offends your sensibilities, but that particular little-used but effective adverb is totally needed to enhance the inadequate adjective"big" here... "big" is so much not enough) on the roof pulling winged angels along on a cart, and it seriously looks like, at any minute, they're gonna gallop down off the building towards you, crash like thunder into the street past you, and whoosh off into the sky on some magnificent celestial adventure... very moving it is!... for a building. And you can see the building and the angels from everywhere in Rome, much like you can see the Verne prison from every view point on Portland... (which pisses a lot of Romans off apparently, but I think it's a great way to ruin a skyline meself). Like, every photo, from the Colosseum, from St Peters, from everywhere, you can get these magnificent colossal angels in the background... literally awesome it is! AND you can go inside, AND there's a free museum inside it!

Spanking.

Snatching ghose

Well, the adventures of Europe aren't nearly as exciting as those SE Asia afforded. I went to see an old castle the other day..... um..... that was nice ....then I had dinner at a beautiful restaurant, where they served the most beautiful food in the WORLD.... that was nice.... Incidentally were you aware that the English are perceived as having absolutely no taste in either food, clothes, or wine in Italy? It's a common conception, but I didn't know it was so widespread... they ALL think it! The Italians can spot me as English a mile off. I think it's me clothes and hair that give me away, Italian women (turn away now if generalisations got your heckles up, they usually do with me but what the hey, all Italians do it so why can't I?....geddit?) and actually, cancel that, i mean Sulmonian women (in Rome anything goes... I saw one tramp outside Termini station at 11am with a bottle of beer in hand fondling an elderly woman with learning difficulties's breasts... m-ah-ing-ah-ing) are flawlessly coiffeured to within an inch of their life ALL day (or all of the day that i see them) evey day with perfect eyebrows, perfect make-up, perfect hair. You don't get Italian women walking round in trackie bottoms and trainers with a vikki pollard-type do. Oh no, even the mingers make an outstanding effort and do their hair EVERY day. It's like an obsession. So obviously I stand out a mile, and before I even open my gob they know I'm english....anyway, where was I with my adventures, oh yeah, um ....we did have a blizzard last weekend so I was forced to stay indoors all day sunday watching DVDs... (had nowt to do with the copious amounts of alcohol drunk the night before).... and that's about it, no near death experiences, nada, nuffink. I am well going back to Asia after this to find some sunshine and some deadly peril and stuff.

Oh, I did have one incident, not quite within the realms of my death-defying ventures in Asia, but worrying, none the less. I just spent 15 minutes trying to understand one of my "upper-intermediate" students little turn of phrase. We were talking about fair trade and African farmers and he starts mentioning a ghose and snatching it:
me - "So, do you understand that bit about Africa?"
student - "Yes, of course, the third countries chairman, they snatch the ghose, yes?"
"No...I'm sorry, come again?"
"the ghose, the en, the ghose, they snatch"
"sorry, come again?"
" the chairman in third country, he snatch the en"
"come again?"
"the ghoose"
"come again?"
"the en"
"come again?
"snatch, snatch, er, like, snatch the en"
(Starts gesturing pulling one of his hands off with his other hand. By this time I am completely confounded just like that marjorie dawes and that meera it was, just like that it was, just like that.)
"No, um, I'm still not clear I'm afraid, write ghose down for me"
Writes down 'goose' and I go
"Ahhhhh, goose! Well why dincha say so! Um.... So you say the rulers of third world countries are snatching goose?"
"Yes, or the en"
(Writes down 'hen')
"Ooooh, ok, hen... um snatching hen and goose"
"Yes! like.." (Starts gesturing again, this time it dawns on me)
"Ooooh, like plucking a hen? or a chicken?"
"Yes, the chairman from third country take from people like snatching goose"
"So... the rulers of third world countries treat the citizens like a hen to be plucked?"
"Yes" (triumphantly)
"Right."

... Am I being thick? Is that a turn of phrase i'm not familiar with or has he made up his own metaphor for the powerful taking from the not so powerful with this hen-plucking imagery?? I mean, fair play if he has, ten points for imagination, but man alive my head hurts now.

Teacher wanted, don't mind the BEARS

What I'm about to suggest may be tainted by what I've said so far, especially about the weather and about teaching the children, but let me explain, they're not that bad. Well, actually, part of that is a big fat lie, the weather is actually that bad... it snowed again last weekend, and now walking through the park is hazardous because every now and again you'll hear a crackle and a thud, and a huge chunk of melted ice will fall from the tree as it melts in the sun. But the children aren't so bad, I think it's the 'language barrier', or 'heavy re-inforced language titanium wall' in my case. They're sweet really (one brings me chocolate every week, hee hee! screw the apple and bring on the ferrero rocher! oh yeah! Give that kid a ten point bonus!) Anyway, when i'm talking, i s'pose all they can hear is
"blah blah blah fart blah blah"
Which i s'pose is quite amusing when you're 9 (or me). Like when homer tells santa's little helper off and thinks the dog can understand, and the dogs just sat there vacantly staring at him, hearing:
"BLAH blah, blah blah blah blah BLAH, blah BLAH, BLAH blah blah blah" instead of
"BAD dog, dohnuts not for YOU, for ME, DON'T eat the dohnuts".

So anyway, back to my point, the hours at the school have increased and my boss will need another teacher in January, and I was wondering if anyone wanted to come and live and teach in My Mountains?
You need a degree or teaching experience, or CELTA-type thingy. My boss has asked me to ask round cos the new teacher'll be living and working with me and the other teacher. So what better way to advertise than 'ere?? I shall of course be screening all applicants, and you have to conform to more than 2 of the following:

1) extrememly entertaining with a wit to rival that of the great masters of comedy
2) able to sup and like standing rounds
3) very houseproud, preferably with a penchant for cleaning other peoples mess up and doing their ironing and getting their shopping for them when they're a bit tired from teaching or going out and giving them foot massages when they've had a hard day's teaching.
4) able to translate Scrubbs from italian to english
5) able to describe the difference between the second and third conditional ( apparently it does exist, who'd have thought!) in very slow, detailed, layman's terms being prepared to be asked lots of seemingly pointless and irrelevant questions until comprehension is complete (my comprehension)
6) own and be prepared to bring over a large sound system and DVD player with wide screen tv and an extensive collection of films
7) own and be prepared to bring over and surrender an electric blanket and thermal sleeping bag able to withstand arctic conditions

(Of couse if you're a fit bloke bypass all of the above and send me a photo)

You have my email address, so if anyone fancies it lemme know.

... And don't let this put you off, but i feel it only fair to mention. I asked my students a question that has been bothering me since my arrival in the wilderness of the mountains the other day. Yes, I asked them whether or not there are bears in the mountains... and their reply was affirmative. I know, I know, after my initial reaction of fear and loathing and shaken and distraught at this drastic turn of events, I asked for more information. Apparently in Scanno (beautiful nearby village with stunning lake) in the summer they come down from the mountains to scavenge. Whilst it took me a long time to process this information and overcome my instinct to run from the classroom to the bus stop, catch the next bus to rome and fly home, I have now come to terms with the fact and rationalised that if I see a bear, which they were emphatic is highly unlikely, my flight instinct will overcome my fight instinct and I'll grab the nearest person to me (preferably a frail old lady) shove her towards the beast, and fly like the wind.

Scoreggia, scoreggia!

By the way, Hannah pointed out that now it sounds like I have a rash on my arse, but I just want to point out that I don't, I've just been reading some of the other blogs and this seems a common theme for bloggation so I thought I'd use it as an example, it's extremely common to tell people about your ailments and what the doctor has prescribed for them on these bloggers.... what - the - fuck?? Why in the name of Great Odin's raven would you post such details on the internet? Defies belief it does.

Anyway, so now I'm going to tell you about the inane details of my job....
I'm trying to remember a time when I liked my elementary school class of 8 year olds. A time when I didn't get a shiver of fear down my back and break out in a cold sweat when I thought of teaching them. A time when I didn't believe they were sent straight from Valhalla every monday evening to torture me for the one hour a week in which I try in vain to learn them English. The other teacher has to come in and tell them to shut up in Italian sometimes. Last week 2 were whispering "scoreggia" (hadn't got a clue what it meant then) and I was ignoring them, then another heard and said it, then they got more bold and started shouting it, then they were all shouting "scoreggia", "scoreggia", so i was like,
"Stop saying scoreggia please guys" which was of course like throwing oil on a fire, cos they all pointed at me and went
"Waaa haaaa!! Katy say scoreggia!! Katy say scoreggia!! " and I was like:
"Stop it!! Stop saying scoreggia now!" and they were creased up on the floor cos i said it AGAIN, then I start giggling cos Giorgia is actually crying helplessly with hysterical laughter, and it was at this inopportune moment, just as I was laughing at them shouting "scoreggia Katy", that the other teacher chose to walk in and she demands that they stop shouting "fart" so loudly cos it's disturbing her class of upper-intermediate students who are trying to discuss the difference between the second and third conditional (didn't understand this last part of what she said, I think it's a quasi-Italian grammatical term, I've certainly never heard of it.)

It's also a nightmare trying to enforce rules, I made a naughty chair facing the wall, and when one of them was naughty I was gonna sit them in it and do something really fun, like, pictionary or miming, with the other kids (god, don't talk to me about bloody miming, I mimed rooms of the house, i.e. bedroom - mimed lying down on the bed, then kitchen - mimed doing the washing up, then living room - mimed watching TV, and what do i do for bathroom?? The obvious non inflammatory washing your face and armpits?? nope, didn't think of that did I? ... I mimed sitting on the toilet, which they found hilarious, and what ensued every time one of them got up to mime a room, was a competition to see who could do the loudest pooing noise, accompanied by strenuous pushing noises curtesty of the theatrical Lulia.) Anyway, so i tried to explain what the naughty chair was for, and they just didn't capisco, understandably, cos they can't speak english, so they got all confused bless 'em:
Me - "So, whoever's naughty sits on the naughty chair... capisco?"
Them - "Yes katy, I sit on chair??" (Natascia gets up to move to chair)
"No, not yet, you're nice now, if you're naughty you sit on the chair" looking at Angelo
"..Me? sit on chair??" (Angelo moves to sit on the chair)
"No! Not yet!! Not sit on chair now!! Example: if Giorgia is naughty she sits on the chair"
"Aaaah!! Capisco ...... Giorgia, sit on chair now" (Giorgia moves to sit on chair)
"Noooooo no, no, not giorgia sit on chair, only if she's naugty... oh never mind guys.. so, lets draw on the board some more"
"Yey!"

Photo's of My Mountains with snow atop!! .... (and a couple of the pope)

Well, nothing of note has happened in the Mountains, the snow has abated but Italy is still having its coldest year ever, and I'm still resenting this fact and still taking it completely personally and cursing the weather gods I strive so hard to run away from, who insist on following me with their stoopid cold weather. On the bright side I spose there is the skiing and snowboarding to look forward to.

Ok, I'm aware that this site's becoming a bit mountain top heavy, and gradually veering away from the travel-documentary genre and leaning instead towards the I'm-a-sad-fuck-who-posts-my-life-on-the-net-here's-what-the-doctor-prescribed-me-for-a-rash-I-found-on-my-arse-recently genre, and I know I'm obsessing over them as if they were my precious children, and I know no one cares, and it may be boring, but, well, it's my life and I love them... so here's some more photies of My Mountains! and, by the beard of Zeus, look! This time they're covered in snow! Is is possible to have a mountain fetish? Well, more of a mountain reverence really, yes, it's quite religious my mountain obsession....anywhoo...


....Look away now if you already know what a mountain looks like...





The Mountain which mocks me and belittles my worries on the way to work.


















Grrrrr, Back Yard Mountain being all moody and sullen.


















Back yard Mountain on a good day.

















Spot the pope... can you see him?? He was waving from the window on the top floor near the right of the building, he'd hung a rug out of the window so we knew where he was.... I eventually got round the crowd and caught a glimpse of him, but this was the view I had for most of the speech. The back of a nun's head.











St Peters Square from the roof of the church.

I think you'll agree My Mountains are more impressive... si?











See?? Came out lovely didn't it!! It WAS worth the risk of being forcibly removed from the vatican by the Swiss guard. And I found a lovely gold lamé gilded photo frame down the market, I'm gonna print this, frame it, hang this on the ceiling and bish bash bosh, Bob's yer uncle, may aswell have had Michaelangelo himself pop round to paint it on me ceiling ...



...Ok, ok, so I should have just bought a postcard.








Getting all David Bailey inside St Peter's Basillica.



















A mummified woman from Roman times.... dunno why, it's a bit gross tho innit?













A man and his sons being attacked by a giant snake...





























Ok, one for the road... "Boo!" See?? They just pop up from behind the houses!


























Right, last one, I swear.
I think I'm in love with My Mountains.

Freezing From The Inside-Out.

Well, it's happened, I knew it would, cos it's gradually been getting colder and colder. The clouds on My Mountains have released their load and My Mountains are now capped with snow, its soooooooooo purdy, but sooooo cold.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Oh god, its only 2 days later, and now the ice is descending from My Mountains like in "The Day After Tomorrow". The temperature has dropped 10 DEGREES in 2 DAYS and its snowing as I type this with my purply-tinged fingers. 10 degrees!! That's LOADS. I can't even see My Mountins now cos the snow's so thick, there are no more bugs or flies around cos they're all DEAD cos it's so cold they've all frozen from the inside-out, and last week a helicopter crashed into My Mountain after it's oil tank froze from the inside-out, and when they found the pilot he was frozen from the inside-out too! ..... (ok, maybe i'm confusing reality and films, but it is very, very cold over here and I'm sure that could happen in real life). Apparently this drop in temperature has never happened before, bloody typical innit, talk about taking the weather with you, things definitely ain't cooking in my kitchen, cos its too feckin cold to light the stove. I can see my breath in the house in every room, and there'll be no more taking showers with the window open.... cos the EXTREME cold would creep in through the window and with no source of heat (cos the shower water would be frozen cos the boiler would have been frozen from the inside-out) I'd FREEZE from the inside-out myself and most certainly DIE and I'd be stood there naked and frozen forEVER...

Ok, am gonna stop now. So, anyway, this weekend, I was one of the "pilgrims" as he calls us, in St Peters Square when the Pope came and made a speech at his bedroom window, and I have to say, it was quite moving, I had a lump in my throat when everyone started chanting together (whilst the person I was with was actually blubbing like a baby, but as she pointed out he IS probably the most famous person in the world ever, in terms of people in the world having heard of him, even in tribal villages in Africa, and it is quite a monumental occasion, seeing him in real life). So yes, caught him making his speech from the top window, didn't recognise much of the speech, my Italian's very, very far from that good yet, but I did go 'yey' when he welcomed people from England.

My feet/back/legs/neck are still hurting from all the walking/eating-whilst-standing/climbing-320 steps-up-to-St-Peters-Basillica-roof/staring-up-at-a-certain-very-famous-ceiling/queueing-up-for-aaaaaaaaaaages-to-get-in-to-see-said-famous-ceiling, that we did. That was AMAZING, the sistene chapel, seeing it after studying it in books. The curator was a very stern Italian chap who's job it was to remind the 200+ people in the chapel to keep the noise down. How does he do this? By frantically going "Shhhhhhhhhhhh"...... "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!"!! every 7 minutes and staring at people. I mean , come on, if you go to see the most famous painting in the world, like you're gonna stand there looking up in silence!! No, you're gonna go "Ooooh look, there's God and the creation of Adam and Noah and the flood and Noah getting drunk (yes, I hadn't actually heard of the latter painting before, and didn't know Noah was a drinker but there it was plain as day "The Drunkeness of Noah") and the last supper and the last judgement, and the temptations of christ. Its got more famous painters than you can shake a stick at in there, and they want you to stand under it not talking or taking loads of photos. Don't fink tho.

And i've just found out that skiing season starts in December here, and that it's a 45 minute bus trip to the best ski mountains in Italy, Wa-Hey!! Snowboarding here I come!! Yeah baby! Haven't actually got a clue how to do either skiing or snowboarding, but I'm sure I'll pick it up in no time...