Tea, Cake, Thenthug and Leopards.

Siliguri 20/1/13

Well my time in India is almost up. I leave tomorrow to meet little Joe Richardson (see photo) in Thailand. Absolute mayhem may ensure, when me and Joe get together… …oooo mama, CHAOS. For the meantime I’m just looking forward to a new country, Siliguri is a bit boring little transit town but I did have a good Kebab a minute ago, a little mutton number which I followed up with a fudge chocolate Cornetto, LIVING.THE.DREAM.

(Little Joe on the left there)

Had a good month so far since Nasi. Met the parents in Kolkata, CHAOS. Stayed in a lovely little guest house there called the Oberoi Grand, Bathroom attached, thick mattress, veeerrrry comfy. It was nice seeing where Papa grew up, everything was still there, just about. The school where Papa and my aunties went was as old as Papa and they were very similar. 56 years and still there, the Masonry could do with a look over but still of use for the time being, though I imagine the upkeep is much more expensive than that of a modern building. (Sorry Dad) It was amazing going to the swimming club where papa and my aunties learnt to swim and seeing that they still had record boards up with my Aunties’ names and times on for various mile long swims. I don’t remember ever learning to swim a mile, not sure how much use it is, I assume it’s a nautical mile and I’m not sure how long that is. We also got to watch a bit of cricket at Eden Gardens, as I am heading back to Kolkata tonight I hope there is some going on when I get there as I have a day to kill. Had some cracking meals with the family, Papa beat me at pool (still bitter), got ill and the best thing that has happened on the whole of my trip.

I WON A BIRTHDAY CAKE.

There was obviously some sort of mix up as me and Gill had both told them it was Michael’s birthday. Ineptitude does have it’s benefit and it’s cakes.

Here’s a picture of Papa proving that you can have your cake and eat it.’ (lol)

Kolkata to Darjeeling was then next trip, Darj was fun drank lot’s of tea and did touristy things. I was put at ease as soon as I got to Darjeeling by the owner of the guest house with this bit of crucial advice.

‘Make sure you come back not too late, a leopard bited a man.’

‘Oh God, does that happen often?’

‘Sometimes’

‘Was it in the town?’

‘Just by the main square.’

‘Okay’

Good advice usually I just get told which toilets work or where and when I can get hot water. It may have been a bit of fun to be honest. As a piece of false advice it is even better. If I owned a b&b in England I would do the same.

‘Yeah your rooms there… breakfast is between 7 and 10, oh and there’s a pack of dogs that attacked a child last night.’

Speaking of England I had a cracking English Tea by a roaring fire in the Windermere hotel. So many letters from historic figures on the walls as well from Nehru to colonial Commanders of India as well as some poems about Darjeeling by famous authors. Don’t know why I had an English Tea to be honest, I never have one at home. Apart from when I play cricket, but I don’t think 2 sausage rolls, an egg sandwich, a handful of wotsits, biscuits and cake really count.

After all the tea in Darjeeling, I went to Mirik a small village by a lake on the border with Nepal. Bit quiet watched a school football match though which was pretty entertaining, it’s funny how even though I don’t have a clue what the players or supporters are saying you can tell what the players are like by the way they play and the supporter’s response. My favourite was the young lad who I only ever saw him boot the ball as hard as he could several times much to the amusement of his friends watching. Every time he would clear the ball it would go miles. The penalty shootout was stressful everyone crowded around the penalty taker and keeper. They should do it for major finals though. A whole stadium around the box would be intense. Apart from that Mirik offered nice walks in the woods and hills amongst Tea and Japanese cedars as well as a cracking Tibetan restaurant. A cheeky Thenthug and I’m anyones. Anyway I’m done best go get train and stop watching cable tv. Just finished watching transworld sport for the first time in about ten years.

Oh and I have passed the 10,000 word mark. Possibly the most inconsequential useless series of sentences and paragraphs ever written.

Kebabs, death, racism and panpipes.

Varanasi 1^st December 21:05

Hell of a holiday period. So I’m in Varanasi, Benaras, Kashi and all that. Big river called Ganga, lots of tiny alleyways to get lost in and many tourists in alibaba trousers. Hmm. In fact on the subject of tourists I heard a Canadian fella ask a waiter for a banana lassi then remark. ‘yes banana, I know you have lots of them.’ Ahh racism, lovely.

Nasi is pretty relaxing and there’s a restaurant that has an organic all you can eat breakfast. Smoked ham is nice with scrambled eggs and seeded brown bread. Apart from that walking along the ghats, sitting having a read and then playing the odd hour of ghat cricket here and there. It’s nice to have a break its ruddy hard work all this travelling lark. The last few weeks have rushed past.

From the freezing kashmiri nights in Srinagar to Christmas dubstep/metal in Kathmandu. ‘Kashmiri nights’ is also the name of a world music project I’m working on. A lot of Sitar, baverian brass and pan pipes. In fact I remember having a conversation with Jonas in Mcloed Ganj about how in most European cities you can find a Native American man playing panpipes with some sort of backing CD. Yet in India there is a strange lack of panpipists.

Moving on… …Trekking was excellent, not much to tell just a hell of a lot of walking lots of photos up and down thousands of steps. A lot of steps. Too many an escalator wouldn’t have hurt, and then you have the choice.  Pokhara was a bit touristy to be honest, which is a comment I love to make as much as possible as a tourist and equally love to take in from other people.

I tell you what Charles, Jaipur was nice. Amazing choice of hotels and lots of restaurants and really close to all the major attractions which was very useful cause I don’t like walking when I’m on holiday.

but very touristy and a lot of tourists which was a shame.

Pokahara is pretty relaxed particularly in the lakeside area. Particularly when compared with Kathmandu.

Kathmandu’s ramshackled concrete buildings are crammed in around streets where people, motorcycles and Maruti Alto taxis negotiate for space. You are constantly looking over your shoulder for motorcycles. The buildings are all a few stories high so it’s can be quite choking during rush hour where there is a nice healthy dose of smoggy air waiting for you also. Spent a few days there over Christmas.

Christmas day was bizarre. Having met Rob’s friend Roshan he explained that his friends were putting on a dubstep night at a rock and heavy metal club called ‘purple haze’.  This entailed  a lot of screaming over dubstep, makes a change from cliff Richard and shaking Stevens. I left after 30 minutes to get a sandwich and go to bed with a full belly.

I then headed back to good old India. Having travelled for around 12 hours I made it to the train station in India where I had missed my train despite most trains being delayed by 5-10 hours. Because of this I had to hang around in the train station from 00:00 to 06:00 for the next train. Then came the most frightening non event of my life.

Due to so many trains were delayed the ticket hall floor (about the size of two tennis courts or more accurately 4.5 badminton courts with the .5 being linked laterally to the 4 badminton courts arranged in a larger rectangle formation.)  was Sergio Ramos-ed with people sleeping on the floor. Having negotiated my way past sleeping heads and feet, large wrapped luggage and a small group men playing cards I reached the middle of the ticket hall when it all went a little bit weird. Suddenly there were loud screams in the centre of the mass of people to my right followed by shouting in Hindi, immediately after this the crowd, like a terrified Mexican wave emerging from the centre of all towards the platform At which point not knowing what happened I am pushed with the crowd and the shouting and noise has also followed.

I did a little poo in my pants and I am still unable to understand quite what happened and I’m not sure if anyone running in that crowd new either. It was pure fear-driven chaos probably deriving from a bit of shouting in a room full of sleepily befuddled people. I think that counts as a near near-death experience. My heart was thumping.

I ended up in Lucknow eventually. It was nice, it had a lorra history. It also had a place that lonely planet claims to be the best Kebabs in the world. I take issue with this for many reasons. Put simply I have had better.  I will say it was the most tender kebab meat I have ever had. BUT there is a litany of reasons why it is NOT the best Kebab in the world:

1.      Salad. Salad consisted of onions and a squeeze of lime. Not good enough, even the most rudimentary of kebabs should include chillies, lettuce, cucumber, tomato and onions. All of which should be slightly warm from being in an open counter all day.

2.      Bread. Now the quality of the bread was fine. Very nice paranthas indeed. However bread did cost extra. I don’t care how many rupees you charge for the meat, the bread should be free.

3.      Sauce. There were no sauces. (Ketchup, mayo, mustard and special sauce are essential.)

4.      Selection of beverages. I cannot fathom how anyone can fully enjoy a Kebab with out a can of lilt.

5.      Portion. The Kebab was only big enough for one meal.

I propose the best Kebab can be found at

Al NAWAZ, Curry mile, Rusholme Manchester.

Submit your entries and foiled wrapped sample kebab to

The Kebab Kouncil (formerly known as the Kebab Kollektive)

PO BOX 172

KORNWALL UK

(The above section is a frighteningly similar to a Manchester comedian’s material about Kebab shops, minus the bit about a drunken kebab not being perfect until you’ve pissed up the outside wall of the kebab house.)

In Lucknow I also had a weird moment at The Residency where the English were held up in the 1857 Siege of Lucknow. Two shaggily dressed men asked If I could take their photo for them, then they posed, I asked ‘do you have your camera?’ they said no. So I took a photo with my camera, I showed them and they then nodded and walked off. I’m still confused.

LOVE YOU BYE!!