'Mate, surfing is definitely easy'

The last few days we have been traveling Sri Lanka's fabulous south coast (not biased at all). Compared to India transport has been incredibly easy. Its been pure luxury just being able to jump on a train/bus whenever we've felt like it. The train route south is fairly stunning as well, passing just a few metres from the sea for most parts. There are, however, certain etiquettes to observe. I learnt this after the mischievous crime of queue jumping in the station toilet. Apparently, the punishment for such behaviour is to fling a bucket of water between ones feet, mid flow. And on completion, a little squeeze of ones package accompanied by a smile....and justice is done.

The thing to do in Hikkaduwa is to surf, but only if you know how! Unfortunately we didn't know this, and a combination of my rambling that surfing was a 'piece of piss' and a willingness to mix it with the super cool, boardie wearing stoners meant within a few minutes of being on the beach Will and I had procured some boards and were happily paddling out to sea.

20 minutes later there we were...still paddling out to sea (minus the happy part). Helplessly failing at the little duck under the waves that all the real surfers seemed to pull of so effortlessly. Nevertheless, a bit more paddling and with lungs and ears full of sea water we finally made it out past the breaking waves. The next few minutes were by far the most enjoyable moments of the whole experience. In my mind, there we were sitting on our boards, looking super cool. After carefully applying all the in depth knowledge gleamed from Blue Crush to my next move I was ready. The amount of waves in the set had been determined, and I had lined myself up for the biggest badest mother out there. Obviously my dreams of riding the perfect tube, with the crowd cheering on the beach (Rhys) were obliterated in a mountain of angry froth. Disappearing into the crushing white water for what seemed like an eternity I was dragged half way to shore. Here we decided that the remaining time left of our rental would be best spent posing on the beach, board under the arm. On reflection, I've realised that I definitely would be great at surfing if only I was wearing board shorts, not silly football ones. After meeting up with Rhys we retired to the guest house, reading and taking photos of the sunset while the real men mockingly rode huge waves right in front of us.

 With the promise of lively nightlife, we found ourselves pre-ing with a bottle of Sri Lanka's fabulously disgusting 'Special Arak'. The nightlife was just as good as the whiskey and we found the long searched for 'beach rave'. Which actually was wedding rave...still the effects were profound and Will's un-harmonious relationship with bodily fluid continued. Obviously this was caused by the anti-malarials and copious sea water in his system (nothing to do with the arak). He did however, have his revenge on me convincing him surfing was 'easy'. On returning home he managed to spray my backpack with liquid, with all the precision of a spitting(vomiting) cobra (talking of snakes check out the snap of the cat vs python stand off. I have a whole new respect for cats) All I can say is, thankfully this time the liquid was from his mouth. Anyway, he spent the next 18 hours curled up in a ball. Unfortunately all the photos of this have been mysteriously deleted.


After making a hasty get away from Hickkaduwa we've spent the last few days exploring the picturesque Galle fort and chilling on the beach in Unawatuna. Its been one of our favourite places so far. Lonely planet was not lying when it describing the palm fringed bay as 'paradise'. It also seems to have an abundance of 'married' ladies flinging themselves at R&W.

As a write this we have left the beaches behind, and are aboard the 6 hour train to Sri Lanka's cultural capital, Kandy.

Shaan.

Big City Life

We were nearing the end of our first month, and it was time to leave the sandy beaches and head back to the city. In contrast to others, the purpose of our visit to the next two cities was purely to fly. Nevertheless they played host to several hilarious events.

Mumbai brought with it sky scrapers, bright lights, and noticeably high  levels of wealth. Our first encounter of a rich community thus far. The highlight would have to be meeting up with a good old friend from university. George joined us for a few days walking aimlessly along the streets of Mumbai and its several markets. Here we saw a variety of goods beyond imagination. Whoever knew that novels and sex toys were complimentary goods! A combination of low funds and desire lead us to spend our last few hours in Mumbai eating street kebabs and playing an innocent game of cards. The locals did not see it this way, and we were 'politely encouraged' to leave.

A long wait in the airport and a night flight later we found ourselves arriving Colombo in good time to see the sun rise. Here we had the pleasure of staying with Shaan's relative, Chandra, in the most prime location that this coastal city had to offer. We were completely spoilt by chauffeuring services and food that was to die for! Our stay gave rise to possibly the funniest occurrence yet.

Whilst everyone upstairs were peacefully asleep I was strangely awaken by what seemed to be a storm outside. Several minutes later I came to the conclusion that this torrential downpour had lasted an impossibly long time, and so I got out of bed to do some detective work. It didn't take long to discover that the storm-like noise was in fact the shower pipe firing out water all over the bathroom. The pipe was snaking around like an out of control hose pipe, seemingly doing it's best to escape my grasp. After feeling inadequate I turned to wake Will (who I was rooming with) for much needed assistance. From the darkness of the bedroom a very confused and annoyed man appeared in the bathroom doorway. "What the **** is going on!?" Eventually we managed to tame the out of control beast, and reattached the pipe. So there we were at 4am, two grown men in our underwear, soaked from head to toe looking helplessly at each other, desperately airing the sodden garments in front of the fan. After an eventful breakfast of revealing the tales of an interesting night, we made way for Hikkaduwa on the coastal train.

Rhys.

 

'This Is Not India, My Friend'

Our journey to Goa from Udaipur included a stop in Ahmedabad - capital city of Gujarat. It was a stop we could have all quite happily gone without! Our first Indian train ground to a halt at 4.25am and it was a long two hours later that we finally put our bags down in a hotel. A hotel, incidentally, that I didn't leave until 10am the following day... Once again the food and/or drink here had got the better of me, this time worse than ever. Happily, the others reported back from their walks around town that Ahmedabad was "horrible", "shit", 'the worst place they'd ever been to' (I may be paraphrasing there...) Delighted not to have missed anything, I scrambled once more for the bathroom.

Immeasurably better things were waiting for us at the other end of the short flight to Goa.

We were met out of the airport by handshakes all round from a beaming taxi driver set up for us by our next hostel. The smile was wiped off his face 10 minutes and a 600 rupee bribe later: he was caught by traffic police driving on the wrong side of the road. From that point on his driving was so cautious it was almost un-Indian. He barely touched the horn!

Anjuna Palms guest house provided our first stay in a dorm room (they are rare in Northern India), its fair to say we loved it. With a tatty tarpaulin for a roof and, frankly, nothing for walls it wasn't for the faint-hearted or the mosquito-bite-prone. But dorming is a great way of meeting people and in Anjuna we spent some time with another Brit, Mike, and his Australian travelling buddy, Kate. It proved a prime opportunity to let the as yet repressed, brutal, British sense of humour out for a run. I'll spare you the highlights. Our second evening in Anjuna consisted of drinks on the beach, which turned out to be decidedly quiet compared to the pounding techno raves promised in Shaan's last post. Sorry to disappoint, but the Exeter boys will be pleased to hear that at least 'G&T Club' made a long-awaited return to action.

For the first time since the UK of early January we all woke late, with thick heads. After a quiet hour eating and settling the tiny hostel bill, we set off on an intimidating bus journey: 80 kilometres south to Palolem Beach. The plan was to go and meet our North American friends, for the last time. Rhys was a huge proponent of this scheme, see pictures below for the 26 year old, Canadian reason why... 4 hours, 85 rupees (1 pound) and a consistently marked lack of personal space down the line and we made it. Palolem Beach got itself off to a glorious start with the revelation that for the same price as last night's dorm beds, the three of us could share a beach hut.

Both days at Palolem consisted of exactly the same breakfast - "sexy spicy omlette" - so good! Lunch was the same both days too. 50 rupees gets you a lot of noodles in Goa apparently. Aside from this short lived routine there was much lazing around, reading, swimming and, for Rhys and I, getting absolutely demolished by our new worst enemies: UVA and UVB. On our last day with Rob and the girls we had arranged a boat trip. We were up early and on the water by half 8. By 9 we had caught our fair share of dolphin sightings and shortly afterwards we were lying on a quiet little beach in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Look right and the views are stunning, look left and your eyes are met with an impossibly bronze cock and balls basking proudly in the rays. Think a chubby David Dickinson with no clothes on, or maybe don't? The 'fat naked guy' proved a top attraction with every boat of tourists that arrived throughout the morning.

On our last journey in India, we're currently headed for Mumbai. It'll be back to the city way of travelling - sights to see and crowds to negotiate. Goa has definitely been the break from that we were looking for. But, a fast-paced end to our time in this crazy country will be nothing if not appropriate.

Will

Bye Bye Rajasthan

The last 5 days have seen us complete our tour of Rajasthan. With it comes the end of our relationship with Aamir. Having initially been the most sceptical about the benefits of embarking on the tour, I have to admit to that is has been completely worthwhile. We have been lucky enough to experience a whole load of things that we didn't even know about. For example, a visit to the incredible Jain temple at Ranakpur. Set in the mountains on the winding road between Johdpur and Udaipur, Mette, a danish friend we've picked up on the way expressed the firm belief that it was more beautiful than the Taj. I'm inclined to agree with her.

On the tour so far we have tried to maintain an open mind and tried to seek out the 'real India'. This attitude has probably been key to some of the great experiences we've had so far. But I guess it's always gonna have its downsides...Unfortunately punishment was lying in wait. On arriving in Jodhpur a group of us were set on visiting one of India's home-style restaurants. One evening luckily enough, a charismatic gentleman on the street was offering a cheap meal of thali on the roof of his house, cooked by his wife, for a tiny sum of money. Seemingly a great offer. In reality, however, thali turned out to be curry flavoured water, generously garnished with her long black hair. All of us were too polite to turn down the food which kept coming. The trauma of the whole experience sent Will into liquid mode for the next few days!

Although the other two have suffered more than me on the food front, they have been on the receiving end of some fabulous attention from numerous Indians. On many occasions locals have stopped to request photographs (especially when Will is sporting his ridiculous straw hat). To my great dissatisfaction I am commonly ordered from the frame with a few harsh phrases of hindi, which I embarrassingly have to explain I don't understand. This always seems to invoke expressions of bewilderment...who is this curious brown kid hanging around with two white men?!

In the time where we haven't been sight seeing or posing we managed to catch the must see movie in Udaipur. Octopussy. The city itself is often referred to as the 'most romantic city in India' or 'East of Venice' (which we have assumed to mean Venice of the East). Unfortunately, this has been slightly lost on Rhys and Will. Roger Moore, however, did give a text book lesson on how to deliver a most effective sleazy one liner. In addition we have all made sizable inroads into our reading material. No one more so than Rhys , who after finishing his first ever book (One Day, the heartless bastard didn't shed a tear) has started Stieg Larsson's millenium trilogy. Personally, I think he'll make it 20 pages.

I sit writing this post in an airport waiting lounge, tiesto beats pumping through my headphones, so it seems appropriate to call time on a enlightening cultural tour of Rajasthan. The pill popping raves of Goa are waiting.

Techno techno techno. Shaan