Oriental bay

The weather isn’t great here. But on a nice day the harbour can look like Lake Como. Not that I’ve been to Lake Como. But I imagine. Oriental bay is a beach in the inner city which has been created with imported sand. Not a bad investment metinks.

Wellington

Back in Wellington after two years and ten months. Don’t know how to convey Wellington’s charm. Hillsides covered in ferns/ ponga trees and native bush, with the odd wooden house perched wherever they can find a foothold. The hills surround a large natural harbour, which opens on to the Cook Straits. Behind the harbour here you can see the Rimatuka range of mountains.

Mumbai

Last day in India. Took overnight train to Mumbai/ Bombay. Caught evening flight to Wellington, NZ via Sydney, Australia.

Sick boy

Suffered various skin infections in my last few weeks in India. Initially around the eyes. Here on my chin and nose. Not pretty. A lesson in vanity.

Vehicles

I love the Indian vehicles. The Royal Enfield motorcycles and old Ambassador taxis. All the bicycles conform to this ancient design as though gears and cantilever brakes had never been invented. Can sometimes be painful watching the rickshaw drivers set off with a heavy load.

There is obviously a weakness in the design of the front forks, but rather than re-engineer them, extra bracing is added.

Cricket

Sometimes think I should show you all more of the squalor in India. The rubbish that pollutes every corner. But that would detract from it’s beauty. Obviously Tom.

Perving

This is a word I learnt from the gays in Sydney, who would go down to Tamarama beach every Sunday for a perv at the talent. Here in India the Indian men arrive in a pack early in the morning to walk nonchalantly up and down the beach and suddenly find something interesting to look at/ talk about whenever in the proximity of a scantily clad female tourist. What to do?

Sunset

Gokarna

Reunited with Avital for my last week in India. Left the family to go back to the coast in Karnataka and hook up with my lovely Israeli friend. The family followed a day later.

India is full of Israelis. They too travel as a family - mishpuche in Israeli. If you are Israeli, you need never be lonely in India. Although their tendency to travel as a pack, haggle hard, and translate directly from their own language into English (rather than be aware of the politeness of English+Indian spoken English) does not always make them popular, they tend to be friendly and open.

Afternoon at the reservoir

Julie, Sally and Kaya (aka Hilly, Marge and Edna) havinalarf. Should explain that we all had alter egos on this trip. I was called King Arthur. You’ll have to ask Hilly and Marge why. Must have had something to do with my innate wisdom and authority.

Packed lunch

This is how Indians transport their lunches to work, or if they are going for a picnic. Stainless steel dishes stacked and locked together holding rice, dahl and chapatis.

Elephant stables

Hampi kids 3

Hampi kids 2

Hampi kids 1

And one for the kids

One for the ladies

One for the men

Saucy

Travelling in India can be hard work if you’re a woman. Western women - no matter how they dress - and Indian women wearing western dress occasionally receive unwelcome sexual attention. The problem seems to have existed for a few centuries.

Soul food

The pilgrims transport was usually bedecked with flowers and orange flags, providing valuable sustenance.

Pilgrimage

Hampi is an another important destination for Hindu pilgrims. Many of them were dressed all in black. Looked a bit scary, but really quite friendly.

Hampi

Hampi

The family and I got an overnight “sleeper” bus to Hampi - Imagine a standard bus with about two dozen bunk beds. Hampi is home to the remains of a Hindu Empire from the 15th and 16th centuries. It’s charm lies partly in its extraordinary post-glacial landscape of haphazardly strewn boulders, partly in the architecture, but mainly in the people. The touts and hustlers here - unlike in the north - would accept the answer “No” with an amicable “OK. Fine. Have a nice day.” Bliss. A license to chill.

New Year's Eve

Star for the night was Julie. Off her face, alternately playing her bongo drum and raising both arms in the air to shout “Two thousand and seven.” Again and again and again. We went down the coast to Anjuna after a lovely Italian meal in Arambol and partied the night away with a bunch of young Russians.