Middle Seat Passenger

Bright pink coats & Flipping the coin

Nepal

So, “Here we go again” 22 years later, same man, same £1 coin, different route, we’re off Around the World for 5 months (after the shit show of a year we had in 2024) theres nothing like getting away from it all to make you feel better & make you realise you still have lots to laugh about.

Ok, so I’m doing my thoughtful “day to day” diary in private & then I’m doing my usual…”what the hell?” & taking the piss version on here.

First stop, Nepal…don’t get me wrong the flight from Dublin to Doha was luxury (certainly not how we travelled first time round) however I couldn’t get over the fact every time the crew asked if you wanted anything they would say “Yes M’lady”…6 hours & 50 minutes of M’lady…thats not going to get weird at all.

Arriving in Kathmandu was as crazy as expected, 2 hours to collect your bags as they just start to make a big haystack of them by the side of the belt, so one searches through the pile as the other watches the belt incase it has escaped the mini mountain.

In Thamel, every shop is like stepping back in time to my first job in Razzberry Bazaar, I was £1.50 an hour away form offering to do their stock taking for old times sake (yes for those who didn’t know I used to help Mam do the stocktaking in RB – I would climb & shout down the prices as she wrote them down & added up)

Kathmandu is full of beautiful temples & old Durbar Squares, Pashupatinath (although very special & an absolute honour to be allowed to be there) maybe wasn’t my best ever idea after the amount of funerals we had last year, I’ll park that one there and put all of that in my day to day diary.

We had a few days in Kathmandu before moving onto Chitwan National Park we pick the bus up at 0700 for a 5 hour journey (or “thereabouts” as they say).

Its a freezing cold bus, do you have heating? No because when the sun comes up, whenever that maybe? the bus is hot & everyone vomits, ah I’ll look forward to that. That would also be because none of the roads are finished & you’re rattle around like peas in a fairy liquid bottle.

6.5 hours later we’re there. So “thereabouts” loosely means 1-2 hours extra.

Arriving at the hotel we’re back to a bucket, jug & luke warm water to get washed in. As its a National Park the plan is to go out to to see the wildlife, we are told to wear greens, blues, black or brown not bright pinks or yellows as it can attract the wildlife and they can charge.

Off we go, our guide, the two of us, a lovely Indian couple and a Nepalese family, a peaceful canoe ride along the river & then a Jungle walk. We’re all told to be very silent, walk in single file & keep our eyes wide open incase there is anything around us. After about 15 mins of creeping through the jungle the guide stops & says “just a moment I think there is a Rhino heading towards us” let me check. He walks a little further and then returns and says “yes theres a large Rhino heading our way, if he starts to run at us find a big tree to hide behind!” – The Nepalese woman in her bright pink hat & coat with a “Woahh” was gone before he had even finished his sentence. Now that wasn’t the only Rhino we saw, in the afternoon we did a jeep safari – 4 hours bouncing around…nothing..not a thing…we took the canoe back to the town side & there he was, the biggest Rhino you’ve ever seen walking through the restaurant, we could have sat in the sunshine with a cappuccino and waited for him to come to us, what happens now with “hide behind a big tree?” theres just a few deckchairs and straw umbrella and I don’t think the little nepalese woman even bothered getting out of the canoe!

No matter where you go everyone still stares and asks for a photo, followed by “where are you from? its just like India 22 years ago. If we thought the Rhinos were a rare sight to see we’re as rare a Rocking horse shit!

On the move again from Chitwan to Bandipur by bus, yes you think we would have learned our lesson from the last time (2 hours or “thereabouts”) let’s just make that one 3.5 hours

We’re picked up from Dumre (the village at the bottom of the hill) ready to head up the mountain roads to Bandipur, obviously theres no need for seat belts as I’m assuming the sole purpose of them would be to garotte you by the time you make it up there.

Next bus, no still hadn’t learned, oh joy it’s already hot so the buckets/bins are tidied to the seat legs & he’s just handed out a couple of carrier bags. The road from Bandipur to Pokhara is meant to be in better condition (arrive 1300 or “thereabouts”) well we’re an 1 1/2 hours in, Richard picked up a couple coffees (they came with lids on? the first lids we’ve had in Nepal) they obviously know something we don’t.

For those that are old enough to remember, it was like an episode of Jim’ll Fix it, my jeans have the coffee stains to prove it However not as bad as the poor man opposite (although I did snigger every time it happened) he had water bottles on the shelf above him & every time we went down a hole one fell off & hit him on the head (& we’re talking litre bottles 🤭)

We just look longingly out of the window to the freshly tarmacked side of the road whilst we bounce along on the shitty side, that’s even if we get there at all as every hole we hit you can hear the tyres scrapping on the wheel arches. Bonus is, at least if the tyres blow out I’m right next to the emergency exit to make my quick escape to drop & roll onto the smooth tarmac!

After getting off the bus it was decided that it was time to flip to coin for the next journey. Heads – fly from Pokhara back to Kathmandu (25 minutes) Tails – Bus (8 -10 hours or…well you know by now) Heads it was, much to Richards delight.

Pokhara is on a beautiful lake called Phewa. In the centre of the lake is a small island with a temple on which you can get to by rowing boat, (max 4 people per boat – “or thereabouts”…there’s a bit of a theme emerging)

Seriously, someone needs an abacus as one boat looked like it was just arriving from Calais!

Lots to see in Pokhara, beautiful sunrises over the Himalayas, temples & shrines.

As we head to the airport there is thick fog so its closed, however even though we’re delayed by 2.5 hours we arrive in Kathmandu and we still would have been bouncing our arses around Bandipur by now with at least another 5 hours (or thereabouts 😂 to go!) on the bus.

Now worse case scenario if I don’t want to go back to being a yoga teacher when I get home I’ve found out that I make a much better taxi driver (& more sober one) than we had from the airport, I was in charge of directions and shouting watch the man’s legs, watch the bike, watch the dog….man with basket, now turn left, left, left no you’ve turned right!

Now I know I take the piss out of Richard, but for those who know him will know how thoughtful & sentimental he is so every time there’s live music he’ll always ask for James Taylor “You’ve got a friend” as he knows it one of my favourite songs….now cut to a small cafe in Kathmandu, and the singer & guitarist are now scrolling through the phone to find it. I couldn’t even look at him as the opening bars of the song started from…Toy Story!

So on that very cheerful note it’s time to say goodbye to Nepal, its momos & mint tea & say Hello to Malaysia…we’ll be there tomorrow at 8pm…or thereabouts!

Namaste 🙏🏼

Cocoon & Alice Cooper

Well over my time I’ve tried various types of different massages but this must be one of the weirdest!

On entering thermes de chaves it was like walking into Cocoon, I was the youngest in there by at least 35 years, so, on that basis, I thought its got to do you good.

I chose the “Douche massage” not to be confused with what that means in the USA otherwise that would be really weird with all these 90 year olds!

So, imagine walking through a giant puddle and you climb up onto a very high very soggy sun bed with a sponge on top, you’re lying face down & then you get a hot towel thrown over the back of your head.

Then they turn a shower on over the top of you (albeit thermal water).

Then comes the avalanche of oil so that they can massage you.

It was like having a massage in the pissing rain, whilst holding your legs as steady as possible on the bed so that they didn’t go sliding off with all the oil on them, closely followed by your entire body!

However, all I could think of was, I wonder how long it takes for his toes to go wrinkly plodding around in this puddle all day?

I forgot to say, you go in with your bikini on so at the end of the massage, god love him, he had to tie the bikini top back on & I did think between all of the water & oil I’ll be amazed if both of the girls are in when I stand up. However, this was the least of my worries as he shook my head under the hot towel & as I’d forgotten to take my mascara off I skidded my way back to the changing room, due to the amount of oil now in my flip flops, and I looked like a cross between Oor Willie & Alice Cooper! certainly not like the fresh faced 90 years olds downstairs!

All that was called for after that was a glass of Chaves finest!

Cat’s Arseholes & Camel Toes

(a year of online yoga teaching)

Well… nowhere in the yoga teacher training courses I have done mentioned anything about how to deal with the last 12 months…which to be absolutely frank, has been one hell of a shit show!

I signed up to be a yoga teacher, at no point did I want to learn anything about lighting, sound engineering or camera angles but low & behold a baptism of fire was heading our way in the form of 2020.

Don’t get me wrong, I doubt Joe Wicks has had the problems I have with his professional camera equipment, I’ve been crawling underneath the dining room table every week since March with the iPad and plugging it into the TV (my first techie purchase, after about 3 weeks when I realised there was no way I was able to see things clearly on a 6 inch screen 2 metres away). Followed by a very quick second purchase of a headset which cuts out all of the other sounds in the house, so Richard can clash, bang & fart his way around, happy in the knowledge that I’m not recording it!

To be honest I was late to the Zoom party as I’d been doing online recordings of classes and just letting people do them in their own time…what was I missing??? Well, quite a lot actually.

Zoom is perfect for having a nosey into other people’s houses, I think for the first couple of classes as soon as someone logged in, I immediately looked over their shoulder to see which room they were in, what the wallpaper looked like, what furniture they had and those who put a virtual screen up well, you can only assume that they either haven’t tidied up or have a boyfriend / husband sitting on the couch behind them scratching their balls.

Speaking of balls, only a couple of weeks in I realised that it was going to be everyone’s pets that were going to be the stars of the Zoom classes. Lovely Rocco the Cockerpoo was so confused one morning (I didn’t help, as I did keep repeating it just for my own amusement) he heard the word “ball” about halfway through and then spent the remaining 30 minutes of the class trying to find it clambering all over his owner.

At the beginning of each class I mute everyone, as it makes life an awful lot easier, however, Basil the cat was obviously having none of this, on glancing at his square all I could see was his arsehole then the microphone switching back on! You have no idea how challenging it is to explain to humans when they first use Zoom…look at the picture of the little microphone…now tap on it…no tap on it a bit harder…no harder…nope, it’s still not right. How the hell did the cat manage to do it with its arsehole???

I’ve had a steady stream of photos sent following a class showing cuts and scratches where pets that have just decided that they have been calm all day and now was the right time to attack.

When we first started, I treat it like I was going out as normal to the studio, matching leggings & top, hair done, some make up & perfume on however, now they are lucky if a flannel has touched my face and sometimes in Downdog when my nose is next to my armpit I seriously wonder what the hell I have eaten the night before, the smell coming out of my pores! Actually, I know what I’ve eaten…too much!

Apart for the random crap that I have bought from Amazon over the last 12 months the only essential purchases have been high waisted leggings…they are getting higher by the month, I swear by the time I do eventually get anywhere near a studio again they will be up to my sweaty armpits.

Now depending upon how close or far away peoples screens are from them, this can give a very different impression on how hard I think they are working in the class.

We have the ‘point up to the ceiling‘ angle which, unless they are standing up with their arms in the air I have no clue what they are doing, to be honest they could be sitting down with a glass of wine and cheese board for all I know.

There’s the ‘my eyesight isn’t brilliant so I’ll have the screen really close‘ angle so every time they lie down on the mat all I can see is a very red face and I have to debate do they need me to ring 999? “unless you have a cat who can switch your microphone on just give me a thumbs up to confirm you’re not having a stroke!”

Then there’s the ‘I think I have this just right‘ angle not too close, not too far away, you can see most of my body but I may just keep moving it throughout the entire class just in case you think I’m slacking.

And that’s not to mention the ‘I’ll just put it there and hope for the best‘ and all I can see is crotches and camel toes…I have seen enough now to last me a lifetime!

Now I know Zoom isn’t for everyone, and it genuinely looks like a really boring game of Guess Who?

“ Is your person at home?” – Yes!

“Do they have a yoga mat?” – Yes!

“Are they wearing leggings?” – Yes!

“Does their expression say I’m pissed off with lockdowns?” – Absolutely!

But we’ve had fun, it’s kept us smiling, waving at each other week in week out, asking how each other are and who knows how much longer we’ll have to do it for but I am so grateful as they have kept my business & sanity going…I can guarantee one thing though… I bet the camera angles will be tweaked this week.

Namaste x

Milk Cartons & Tony 2 Balls

And so to Goa…or “soft” India and it certainly is in comparison to the lunacy of Mumbai!

Guess what? I’m allowed to book accommodation again as I surpassed myself with lovely Jojolapa in Agonda – the bathroom is even bigger than our entire room in Mumbai, it has a garden in it!!!

Gold star for Rachel.

This is for our relaxing part of the holiday – relaxation lasted all of 36 hours before we hired a moped so we can get out and about. Needless to say after my previous experience in trying to ride a bike I am firmly sitting on the back…navigating…kind of? We take a ride out to Patnem, or we would have if I’d told Richard to turn right instead of left…Cola beach it is then! Now to say the road (I say that in the loosest sense of the word) was challenging is an understatement, I just kept saying the encouraging words to Richard like “you’re doing really well”, “you’re such a good driver”, “its fine, just take your time just take it slow” when really all I could hear was my mothers words ringing in my ears saying “Well no wonder you fell off the bike, have you seen the state of the road? – don’t come crying to me when you want some TCP on all of those scratches!” (yes I grew up in the 70’s/80’s TCP was the answer to everything).

Anyhow, Richard is a brilliant driver and we made it there and back in one piece and it was definitely worth turning left for. Patnem another day!

Time to take a trip out to Palolem…Turn RIGHT! and try to find the family we met 16 years ago, such a sweet family who welcomed us, not only into their home, but also took us to his Mams where we cooked on the floor (exactly what I’d wished for before our first trip). So, off on the search for Vitthal & Taru, we had a vague recollection of where their house used to be but Palolem is so built up now it was a bit of guess work, then a breakthrough when asking in one of the restaurants, they say that they think they have a shop at the end of the main street. Off we go crawling, like a couple of stalkers along the street on the bike only to see a head pop out from under several scarfs and skirts with a puzzled face shouting “Richard, Richard – it is you!” It’s Vitthals younger brother, Sanji, he greets us with the biggest hug and says “My brother, he will be so happy you are here, every year he walks up and down the beach with your photograph crying and asking people is Richard staying here? Have you seen him?” Seriously, I think Richard was one step away from having his face on an Indian milk carton from the sounds of it!

“So, where is Vitthal?” we ask “ah…he’s not here – he is away in Karnataka, it’s not far, its only 20 hours on the sleeper bus!” Thankfully, we can avoid that journey as he is coming back to Goa before we leave. Sanji then updates us on all of the family, how they are doing and produces the photographs we sent them back in 2003 when we were all together. “ahh look Richard your hair is different” Sanji says then “Rachel…you…you’re a little fatter now!” Nothing like a bit of Indian honesty to stop you ordering the Nan bread.

We’ll return in a few days as they are closing the shop for the day to celebrate Holi.

The Hindu festival of Holi arrives (the festival where everyone throws coloured power and water on each other) signifying the end of winter and the start of Spring. Our coverings of coloured powder were a more tasteful design done by Mani, one of the Jojolapa waiters, pretty coloured stripes on our faces, unfortunately for Richard he looked less like an Indian festival go’er and more like a gay version of Rambo. One good dunk in the sea and his Rambo stripes had disappeared

We make our way back along to Palolem to celebrate Holi with the family in true Indian moped style…driver – Tick, passenger – tick, bag on your back – tick, water bottle – tick, celebration cake in an oversized box – tick! not one hand spare to hold on incase we hit a pot hole (and there are a few)

A lovely lunch with a lovely family, it’s amazing how little some people have but they want to share it with you.

In true British style we return back to Agonda gasping for a cup of tea so we stop en-route to buy some bigger cups…”Oooh look at those lovely hand painted mugs, we’ll have 2 of those” so after unwrapping the plastic from around them it becomes obvious why they were wrapped up in the first place…they stink! and thats before the boiling water is inside. They are made of tin and as they’ve been painted with enamel paint its like drinking out of a hot radiator.

Now, I haven’t mentioned the additional lodgers we have gained at our hut, “the perfect 4 pack” 4 gorgeous beach dogs who have decided we are their new temporary owners, that is until we get up for yoga one morning and someone has left us a little present of poo on the mat. So for the rest of the day they have all been sent to the naughty step until we find out which one it was – Yes Richard wanted the CCTV evidence – it comes to something when reception has the time to watch 8 hours of footage to find out who was the guilty dog! Low and behold it wasn’t one of them, it was Baboo, the restaurant pug who will hump anything and everything he can get near to. Normal service is resumed and Richard, feeling guilty that he’d blamed the perfect 4 pack, comes back from the shop with an ice cream for each of them…Baboo, watch and weep you’re getting Nothing!

Over the last few days the temperatures and humidity have been rapidly rising so time for the resort to put up some parasols on the beach. Best do it at night for 2 reasons –

it’s cooler
the majority of the guests will miss the fact that the chef has come out of the kitchen (still wearing his hair net) and is using his soup ladle to dig the holes!

Think I’ll give tomorrow’s daal a miss.

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Now as it’s almost my 46th birthday it’s time to have a little pedicure pamper at the same time as Richard is having a massage. Now I’ve mentioned before how famous Agonda is for having power cuts and today is no exception – so you just have to imagine how hot it is in the metal shipping container which doubles as the “therapy centre” not to mention its pitch black as the girl brings out the tray of nail varnishes it’s pot luck what colour I’m getting as I can’t see a hand in front of me – she , at least can see enough to cut my toe nails and scrape off the hard skin. Unfortunately, all of the toe clippings are pinging underneath the curtain where Richard is having his massage, its going to be like stepping onto a bed of pork scratchings when he gets up. All done and into the light…nail varnish result – I ended up with Easyjet orange! Unfortunately, that same night when walking along the beach I stepped in a big pile of cow shit – maybe it will bring me good luck?

Birthday has arrived – off to early morning yoga and then Richard has arranged a boat as a surprise which is taking us around to some of the smaller beaches which the moped can’t get to. On the way we see a beautiful big turtle and dolphins (so lovely to see them in their natural environment), its then off for a little shop, sunbathe and ready for dinner with another surprise of a lovely birthday cake and the crescendo of the evening…Baboo, right in front of us, licking one of our perfect 4 packs cocks, then climbing aboard and going like the clappers. Well gay dog sex wasn’t the birthday entertainment I was expecting, a simple Happy Birthday song would have done!

There is so much on this holiday that has made us say “What?” “you can’t be serious?” just in the short time we’ve been here…

Buying petrol on the side of the road out of empty water bottles to fill the moped…

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Going to buy a bottle of wine and you can buy eggs and a toilet seat in the same place…

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You’re given mosquito repellant with your glass of wine…

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In the airport you can buy a Pot Noodle (in the Indian equivalent of WH Smiths) then boil the kettle to make it right outside…

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AND… the only dog in our “Perfect 4 pack” who still has his 2 balls is called Tony…3 guesses what Richards middle name is?…

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Namaste Pet xxx

p.s Yes we did go back to see Vitthal

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AND…guess who else I saw…”who is STILL making sense” Namaste Sudhir x

No Shits & the Shields Weekly

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Sometimes you can travel to places and be there less than 24 hours and it can feel more like a week – Mumbai is one of those places!

On arrival, after the usual bartering over the price of a taxi we’re on our way to what, on Booking.com, looked like India’s version of a Travelodge – Oh Dear God how I wish it was…I think from now on my responsibility for booking accommodation has well and truly been taken away from me. As we turned off the Road of Death into a back alley – passing the man selling petrol out of water & Sprite bottles we arrive at Fab Hotel – at least I hadn’t booked next-door…they had balconies!

Our previous experience of Delhi hotels comes flooding back and how far the can stretch the truth.

The description on the booking was a Deluxe double room with a view, ensuite bathroom with toilet paper and towels, availability to exercise at the FAB gym and includes breakfast.

Where do I start…Deluxe was a bit of an overstretch, the bedside lamp was held together with a cable tie, I’m not sure what the view was meant to be as there wasn’t a window. We did however have an ensuite bathroom with toilet paper…all 3 sheets of them (so definitely no shits for the next 12 hours!) and the towels looked like they’d mopped up a murder and then gave them a quick rinse. We did have the “availability to exercise” in our very own Roomnasium – so sit on the floor and circle your ankles it is then.

At least breakfast should be on time as we’re right next-door to the kitchen.

Time for a wander I think so off we go for a little walkabout, now to say the traffic is mental is an understatement and this is Sunday so everything is a lot quieter, it makes Manila look like a country village, that being said I think we’ll still take our chances with the cars, rickshaws and mopeds rather than the pavements.

Our “stay away from the curries” plan due to lack of toilet paper didn’t last long as we stopped for our 60p lunch – the food by the way is incredible here even if you are eating it in a shithole. As Richard swallows his 2nd green chilli the sweats and nose running starts so after asking for a napkin he’s handed a page of what is obviously Mumbai’s version of the Shields Weekly newspaper, off he goes wiping away the sweat and blowing his nose only to find the front page news now transferred all across his forehead!

To cool down from lunch and the crazy heat outside its onto the Metro to Adheri – if you weren’t self conscious before you will be after a trip on the Metro and through the Railway station. I thought things may have changed since the last time we were in a major Indian city but Oh no, we’re still looked at as though the Freaks have come to town. I’m not sure which one of use they would have thrown into the circus first…me with the short blonde hair or the tall grey haired bloke beside me!

Thankfully, we’ve managed to stay awake until a reasonable time so if we get a good nights sleep the jet lag shouldn’t be too bad…Alas, this was not to be, due to the aforementioned kitchen being next-door and the paper thin walls we heard every kettle being boiled, cup being washed and tray being clattered for people leaving all throughout the night. We were well and truly awake when our breakfast arrived, Richards cornflakes were gasping for breath in the milk that had been boiled to within an inch of its life (we forgot about asking for cold milk, otherwise everything comes boiling bloody hot).

We make it across the Road of Death back to the airport for the flight to Goa and found the other handy use of the Shields Weekly…I’m assuming they are keeping the sun out of the cockpit and they weren’t giving it a lick of paint.

Only in India!

Namaste.

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Harry Potter & Penises

Its amazing how 5 weeks in Australia can go relatively smoothly but a long weekend in Iceland not so!

So, in search of the elusive Northern Lights its off to Reykjavik for 4 nights on a package holiday. I can hear my own eyes rolling to the back of my head…I don’t do packages – get on the bus, get off the bus, go for a wee, go see that sight, get back on the bus, sit in the same seat, get off the bus and so its usually continues.

We listened to Tina, the tour guides list of “useful” information from the airport to the hotel – thankfully this is one of the first flights of the day so she’s not sick of her life yet being on tour script repeat, but she did take pride in the fact that Reykjavik is the only place to have a penis museum – Ohh it will be a pretty shitty sad day if we end up in there.

As they had a big snow storm just before we landed it was boots & hats at the ready and out for a walk – Richard managing to find every bit of ice as he made his way into town eventually ending up on his arse just before we made it to the free bus which takes you to Perlan (it’s up a steep hill at the top of the city). I’m not entirely sure Bambi would have made it to the top without breaking his neck…bus it is.

In Perlan theres a planetarium where you can watch a film about the Northern Lights and how beautiful and bright they are – amazing greens, blues, purples, fingers crossed for tonight to see them for real.

We decided, as the sun had come out, to walk back to town – after all it was downhill so it should be easier walking, can you hear the eyes roll again? “Lets take the short cut through the woods” Richard says. Which would have been fine if you’d had a sledge but with size 5 feet and the start of a cold it didn’t bode well, sure enough halfway down the hill I’m flat on my back in the snow and Richards best idea to get me to the bottom was to drag me by one leg. As he marched the rest of the way down he didn’t realise that he turned me into a human snow plough collecting every bit of snow between my legs – only to turn around and say “you see that was easier wasn’t it?” I might just ring the penis museum and ask if they want a 6 foot, grey haired cockney as one of their exhibits!

Just enough time to thaw out my legs and onto the bus for the Northern Lights tour and more of Tina the tour guides script of crap. So, the best chance to see the aurora, theres meant to be no light pollution, clear skies and previous sun shower activity which puzzles me as to why we’ve stopped in a motorway lay-by 50 minutes out of town where you can still see the city street lights! Then it all becomes apparent as the other tour bus has tried to reverse and got stuck in a ditch – so instead of looking up to the skies willing the lights to appear we’re watching the coach driver revving his engine, trying to bounce the coach out of the ditch, then using the passengers on board as ballast getting them to run to the front of the bus as he has his foot flat on the accelerator in the hope they make it out before morning.

Amazingly, it only takes him 1/2 hour much to the cheers on our bus, we can eventually get on our way. We end up on the opposite of the city, I’m still not convinced its dark enough but hayho lets get out and look. After sitting for only an hour and only seeing a very faint milky white arch it’s time to head back to the coach. I chose the well gritted path… Richard chose the frozen lake – I think the sips of brandy from the hip flask has made him think it was some kind of magic potion and he’s Harry Potter and capable of walking safely over it. My parting words of “you’re not serious? crack on then!” wasn’t the best phrase to use, it doesn’t take a genius to work out what happened next. Just as he gets to the opposite side I hear Craaack, followed by “Arghh”, then “can you give me a hand? I think I’ve pulled a muscle, my leg is soaking wet and I have a boot full of water”

We’re last to make it back to the coach just in time to get a luke warm hot chocolate and hear “well they came out for a little bit” Mmmm, no I don’t think so, where was the green, blue & purple? – unless I’m colour blind of course. Never mind, we’ll see them one day.

Its off to the Blue Lagoon the next day and by all accounts Richard wasn’t the only one to have a mishap the night before, it obviously was dark enough for some as one woman fell down a pot hole and another down a half dug grave! Just as well they are all off to the healing silica waters, it might mean they walk back like normal people rather than the walking wounded. 2 hours in the boiling blue water, a face pack and a beer later alas not healed but an awful lot cleaner. We might not have seen the Northern Lights but we were treated to the most beautiful sunset on the way home.

And so it comes to our last day, a shitty sad, rainy Reykjavik Sunday morning – so where else to go? Hello Penises!

So, they are all pickled in jars one from almost every mammal on earth and I had one of my Egyptian moments of thinking how sad it was, these poor animals die and the first thing the Icelanders think of is “do we have one their cocks in our museum” if not, out come the scissors to lob it off! Richard then said “well they’re dead what difference does it make?” I might remind him of that when he’s on his death bed and I’m sharpening the kitchen knife. However, they do already have a human donor pinned to the wall, a Mr Dower – I’m sure he was after the museum staff were waiting to collect his knob completing their card set of Happy Families.

Continuing our cultural day we had early drinks at Bastard followed by a lovely meal in a posh restaurant. Unfortunately, the restaurant had a lot of industrial beams which my head pin-balled between but thanks to the 2 Bastard beers I’d had earlier – didn’t feel a thing.

And so ends another journey…here’s to the joys of India next month.

I’m taking the 6 foot penis with me this time!

Manky Manila, Hobbits & Hookers

So after seeing a friends recent photo of meeting Michael Palin on the train to London I thought it was about time to write up the Philippines journey and where better to do it than on the train to London, alas no Michael Palin!

Sometimes in life you have brilliant ideas and sometimes, not so brilliant – Manila was one of those not so brilliant ones. Where do I start? Apart from the entire city smelling of raw sewage and horse shit, which trust me once that smell is up your nose it doesn’t come out for hours, we were staying in the mankiest part of the city and on top of that you couldn’t throw a ping pong ball without hitting a hooker…many of which were guests come breakfast time sitting across the table from their rotund, balding man friends. I swear it was the hotels idea of a joke when the music they played was “Someday my Prince will come” there was a communal sigh as they all looked across the table to the said man friends shovelling in their bacon and eggs.

So, we decided to leave the city behind for the day to give our lungs a rest from being infested and off to the volcano at Taal.

You have a lovely relaxing boat ride across the lake then walk or get a horse to the top of the volcano…so the guide book said. We wondered why there was a big plastic sheet in the boat when we climbed in and then it all became very apparent as we sped across the water, it was like a bloody log flume all the way across. 25 minutes later and soaked to the skin, the dye from my Indian dress now imprinted all over my legs and we’re off. Would you like a horse to the top of the volcano, looking at the poor horses no that’s fine we’ll walk. So off we go, midday, up the volcanic sand in flip flops…yes I know you don’t have to say anything! So, 45 minutes & 3.5 miles later we’re at the top. My animal principles fully intact, less can be said about my horse shit covered crocs! Never mind, I’m sure the log flume ride back will clean them less can be said about my Indian stained legs that will have to take a bit of a scrub when we make it back to the shit-hole. And it did take a bit of a scrub – 3 showers to be exact and I doubt my bra will ever be the same again.

Out for a beer asking the reception where is ok to go…ie no prostitutes, “no, no prostitutes around here” err I think you might want to look in your breakfast room anyway we got the directions, which in reality should have gone:

“follow the procession of cockroaches, passed the dead rat, step over the concrete blocks & steel girders & heaven help you if you have to cross a main road, even the green man runs instead of walking”

We arrived at the bar, Ok so not the worst but by no means the best so Richard says “Swallow up & we’ll leave” I’m guessing thats not the first time that’s been said in here!

I have somewhere else for us to go its called the “Hobbit House” – now the name should have given it away but not to Richard, in we go through the large round wooden door and over to the bar. Now, I’m not sure if anyone else does this but Richard likes to have a look at the bottle before choosing a beer – So off he goes choosing a couple of beers asking the girl if he could see the bottles first, he still didn’t quite get it as I rolled my eyes saying “seriously, you couldn’t have picked another one? It had to be the one on the highest shelf!”, “What for?” was the reply as the girls head whizzes passed the top of the bar & then the penny dropped…”I thought she was sitting on a seat when I asked her!” So as she whizzed passed, did you think she was on a mobility scooter???? I do wonder sometimes.

Oh joy, back to the Best Western “No hookers here” hotel only to be woken up at 4am from the antics going on through the adjoining door – give me strength – time to make a move to the beach tomorrow.

On the taxi ride to the airport the driver asks us where we’re going to “we’re off to Boracay” “ahh its closing” he happily informs us. “what do you mean its closing?” “ the island is closing, as in closed” Well it better bloody not close in the next 3 weeks as I’m not coming back here a minute earlier than I have to (yes we’re booked for a couple of nights before we go home).

Off to Boracay we go, and apart from their welcoming sign of the Most Wanted Murderers & Kidnappers I can completely understand why they are closing it – the roads are falling to bits and they are wedging hotels and bars into alleyways getting ever closer to the beachfront. Aside from that we have a lovely hotel overlooking the sea, no dead rates and no smell of horse shit…happy days!

Now there are 3 things that are everywhere on this island…Sea food, Garlic & hair braiding, OK so I’m failing on all 3 – I’m a veggie with a garlic allergy & ½ a shaved head however, it still doesn’t stop them asking, “are you kidding I’d look like something out of the Flintstones if your plaits come anywhere near me”.

This is definitely needed though after Manila, Sunshine, Sunbathing & Diving. Although it’s very busy we do have our little sanctuary of the balcony, watching the sunset with our music and incense wafting over us – until 7pm that is when all of the bars turn up their music. I don’t think my Indian Sitar music can compete with Korean karaoke and the Venga boys – So incense and Barbie girl it is!

Getting away from the madness and going for a massage – now in my time I’ve seen a few massage couches but these ones are something else, they are like a kitchen table with a mattress on top – lets just go with it. After climbing on, they moved mine so they could easily walk around it, I was just waiting for Richards to move… because he is heavier, it took a bit more effort. As they dragged his kitchen table with him on top I don’t know what was louder, the sound of the legs dragging across the floor or him shouting “Whaoo” as he was unexpectedly catapulted towards the curtain.

The usual conversations ensued “where are you from? Are you on holiday? What is wrong with you, you have no bones! And their favourite “Do you have babies?” followed by the face of disappointment when you say no….Oh please don’t pity me I’ve just come back from 5 weeks in India, I’m going to France in 2 months time & I’ll be back in the Outback before Ant & Dec have a chance to say their first “I’m a celebrity Get me Out of Here!” Sometimes, life has more to offer than pushing a head out of your whoha.

Oh joy, time to make it back to the shit-hole – now as you know we are fond of a room change or two but never a hotel change, neither of us could face going back to the BW hell hole so time to find a new hotel in the Old City, just in time for the Birthday girl to celebrate – in whatever & wherever is open as its Easter weekend and everything except the church is closed…church it is then and anyone who knows me will know this is not somewhere I’m comfortable in – in fact I get a nervous laugh when I get within 10 feet of one. So there I am, unable to swing a dead rat without hitting Jesus or a cross trying my hardest to not say something to offend – best just leave and find somewhere to eat tonight.

In a nutshell, we found a restaurant with a buffet who’s vegetarian options were plain noddles or a banana, just when you think ‘fine birthday this has been’ out comes the owner who said she’d make us a veggie curry if we’d stay and we can watch their cabaret for free. Ok, so it turned out to be the most surreal night ever – the cabaret being a mixture of the King & I, told be someone dressed like Huckleberry Finn, Richard almost having his ankles broken by someone banging sticks, an impromptu birthday cake and ending up on the stage saying “give me your biggest hat to wear!” Yes there was some wine involved too.

I nearly forgot, we passed Jesus on the way home but I think he’d had too much holy wine and fallen off his cross.

So yet again a birthday to remember…roll on the next one!

One last thing, in all my years I’ve never seen anyone re-heat food with a hairdryer, everything is attached to a stick including the massive amount of Korean tourists and they have the oldest buskers known to man, so much so they have to take a nap halfway through their songs!

Happy Travels everyone…next trip, Outback Australia

Boiling Piss & St. Bernard

So, it’s time for Dora to get her summer airing and finish off the “Tour de France” Geordie style. Eurotunnel and the trek down to Langres – thankfully uneventful if not a long drive.

After last years fiasco of the midnight tree swinging, the caravan was pitched so that nothing was hitting, bumping or resting on it. Although, we did have the conversation through gritted teeth of who knows best how to level it…however once the cold beers come out of the fridge you really don’t mind if the thing is on a slight slope.

A couple of days sightseeing and it’s about time for a chill so off to the pool we go, we did notice that there weren’t very many children around and guessed when we got to the pool that was because it looks like the slide is taking them straight down and into the oncoming traffic. After a good couple of hours sunshine and the breeze is starting to pick up I was just about to say “shall we make a move” when a fly away sun umbrella heads Richards way – what do you do? – quick where’s the phone this will be hilarious if it hits him! – Damn it! Caught just in time.

Now I’m not sure why anyone would feel this is necessary but Richard decided to take off his trunks (remember in France it’s all about the speedos) before going back to the van, so there we are standing with a towel wrapped around him as he changes – its only when we get back to the caravan that he realizes he doesn’t have them…time to trace your steps back to the pool. On his return, without the said Speedos, he’s convinced someone must have stolen them…of course some Frenchman wants a wet, slightly over stretched worn pair – it’s bloody windy, they’ve blown away! Now it was at this point when chuckling away to myself about the flying umbrella and now the flying speedos that my face felt a bit tight and I realized that in my amusement about the slide taking away any unwanted children that I’d forgotten to put suntan lotion on my face – I looked like I’d had a chemical peel with a white line around my chin where the suntan lotion finished and my new face started… I think you call that Instant Karma.

On leaving Langres, we kept our eyes peeled for Richards flying Speedos just in case they were hanging from a tree or stuck on top of someone else’s Motorhome wing mirror.

Alas no luck, a new pair in Annecy it is then.

After a slightly more eventful journey to Annecy when ‘super sat nav’ wanted to take us through the tiniest of car parks onto a single track lane, it’s at this point I’m glad Richard does most of the town driving with Dora, we eventually make it to the campsite.

Caravan level – tick

Beers in fridge – tick

Speedos – tick

Taking a bike ride into Annecy sounds idyllic, or it would be if it wasn’t 37 degrees of full sunshine, 22 miles and no padded pants. A Greggs pasty had nothing on what my bits looked like by the time we got back…lets take the car tomorrow.

So off to Menthon St Bernard (where the Saint & the dog are from) – gorgeous castle that looks like its balanced in the clouds. Now here’s where my “but why?” & “that’s complete crap” comes from where religion is concerned. When touring the castle, in the library there’s a carving (yes all very beautiful) above the fireplace which was meant to depict the story of St. Bernard, here’s the brief story of the first 5 carvings…

He wants to go into religion…his father says no…so he is locked up in a tower…he jumps out of the tower…is caught mid-air by another Saint…he then preaches in churches for many years & becomes a saint himself, he then starts to build many churches and, on the side, looks after mountaineers & people driving!

The guide then proceeds to say “the last 4 carvings we don’t talk about as we don’t think that they are true” What???? So, jumping out of the window and being caught by someone flying passed makes sense? You see…complete crap.

Then…he said it was St. Nicholas that caught him, it took all of my effort (and Richards eyes staring at me) not to blurt out “So Santa saved him? – just as well he jumped out on December 24^th otherwise he would have been buggered then!”

Taking a leaf out of St. Bernards book we tried the jumping into mid-air thing ourselves – alas no sleigh and reindeer to save us just a French man strapped to my back with a parachute.

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So we’ve had another 5 red hot days around Lake Annecy and Dora the caravan has been basking in the French sunshine so what do you not want when you open the door to the bathroom? The hatch to the toilet hasn’t been closed (not me I might add) and the smell of 5 days of what is now boiling piss is wafting through the caravan like an Ambi-pur plug in air freshener not to mention to two floating turds which are adding to the aroma…Ahhh the joys of caravanning!

“Short & not so Sweet”

This is a very short post (post 2 glasses of wine! 3 & I fall asleep)

Sometimes you have these kind of weeks:

Go to put your hand on something…not there…where the hell did I put it???
We have breakdown insurance…oh no you don’t
Fart Shaming someone in the yoga class (not on purpose) then being so embarrassed you make everyone stay upside down for the next 10 minutes.
Include an ex-boyfriend, of almost 30 years, in a group WhatsApp chat because you didn’t put full names on your phone!
Your husband tries to cheer you up by drawing a cock on your hallway mirror.

God help the people coming to the workshop tomorrow morning, who knows what mental state they’ll leave in.

Fungus & Farting the National Anthem

Yeah! time for the next trip – not a one that I can honestly say was thought through very much, it was a case of “where have we not been that will be hot in March? Hong Kong & the Philippines it is then!

With that being said, it will become apparent that some of our choices were dubious ones.

So off to the airport we go in the mankiest of Sunday morning taxis that were obviously available, to the point that I wiped my feet on the way out and had to give Richard a dust down to get all of the hairs off him. As we floated through duty free it was a liberal spray of any random perfume to get rid of the smell of dog which had also lingered with us. Now, thanks to still having friends in the airport and getting some exit row seats, I’m still convinced that airlines are trying to put people on diets as these seats definitely couldn’t fit anything over a size 12 in them, every time I crossed my legs I changed the channel on the TV & ate from the elbows down (ahhh the middle seat joy!)

A couple of hours into the flight there was a distinct smell coming from my right…I can only guess on Richards trip through the duty free he had sprayed Shit R US on himself! the altitude had certainly not vacuum sealed his arsehole, that’s last time I order him an Asian Vegetarian meal.

Change of flights & 16 hours later…Hello Hong Kong!

Driving into Hong Kong I wasn’t really sure what to expect but the only way to describe it is “New York on a Hill”, it is a truly amazing site – shiny skyscrapers, twinkling lights and designer shops as far as you can see. Alas, we bypassed all of that to our accommodation where there was a strong whiff of shrimp paste (if you’ve never smelled it, don’t – it stinks) and deep fried chickens feet.

As I said, we hadn’t really done any planning for the trip so the 1st conversation was very much “what do you want to do?”, “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” Anything that stops the smell of rotting fish sticking up my nose I’ll be happy with, a walk through the park and to the Peak tram it is, with a coffee stop on the way. Now not one to cast aspersions on anyones height but what the hell is the crack with their stools???? its like sitting in an infant school classroom with a bunch of over grown tourists looking like they’ve been placed on the naughty chair!

Food time! I was expecting the food to be amazing, however finding a vegetarian restaurant in Hong Kong is like finding a needle in a haystack but none the less we found one eventually. The menu said “stir fried vegetables, fungus & monkey head” – tell you what, lets leave the monkey head, whatever the hell that is & just go with the vegetables & fungus!

On 2nd thoughts, after seeing the fungus which looked like over tanned, wrinkly old ladies nipples, you could have left those in the kitchen too and for pudding Tea & Cheese – no I don’t mean a cup of tea with a lump of cheddar on the side, I mean Green tea topped with cheese – yep we’ll side swerve that one too.

And so starts Day 2 of the sunny Hong Kong adventure, until we opened the curtains and it’s tipping with rain – waterproofs at the ready & we head over to Kowloon. Stepping off the ferry and heading towards the city centre you’re bombarded with “looky looky” bags, belts & watches and after the 10th person has thrust his business card under our noses saying “you wanna buy a Rolex” the words “what makes you think I can’t afford a real one?” came out of my mouth…then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in Louis Vuittons shop window, my Indian dress had slipped down to my knees with my scarf trailing behind me like a tail through the puddles & my poncho wet through resembling a black bag – I was one step away from selling heather… Ok, point taken!

Lets head to Kowloons Kung Fu park, well as expected it didn’t take Richard long to try out his best Karate Kid pose and the maze was completely and utterly wasted on Gulliver too.

Food time again and this time on a recommendation, Ned Kelly’s.

Now forgetting the fact that it was the darkest and dingiest place possible in HK (in amongst all of the neon outside) when you sit having a coffee and the conversation at the bar behind you consists of a very loud Australian man declaring that he can fart almost all National Anthems you have to wonder – who the hell recommended this place? that was without tackling the Krypton Factor of shit to get to the toilet. (part of me did want to hear God Save the Queen though!)

That’s it, tomorrow I’m finding somewhere to eat, so following a beautiful serene day at Lantau Island visiting the Tian Tan Buddha (the largest outdoor Buddha in the World) I was very much back to my India calmness…Indian it is and guess what there’s a “restaurant” just round the corner from our hotel…I found it on Google.

When the nicely dressed Chinese family came out of the broken lift shaking their heads muttering no, no, no – clue… 1 it will be fine lets take the stairs and we can just step over the homeless man asleep – clue 2…it will be fine. So there we were, at my recommendation (well googles really) with an OK looking curry in what can only be described as restaurant / laundry but at least we were eventually on adult sized chairs. Trying to do the right thing by taking our left overs and leaving it next to the sleeping homeless man on the way out, heres hoping he’s not looking forward to a tasty Chicken curry when all he’s getting is Chickpeas!

Now there’s a weird translation thing going on, what is obviously a very reputable company in Hong Kong doesn’t really translate back into English that well.

Say Hello to the Ming Hing Water Company!

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So its a fond farewell to Hong Kong & Hello Manila…

Manky Manila, Hobbits & Hookers to follow!