For a holy city Varanasi is full of shit. The hordes of cows and buffalo roaming the winding alleys of the old town deposit great steaming piles of it to add to the general detritus of litter, terracotta pots, blood-red paan spit and mulching vegetables that oozes along the narrow pathways. These lanes are barely wide enough for the mangy bulks of bovine flesh that plod through them, indifferent to the motorcycles, pedestrians and wheeled market carts also competing for room to maneuvre. The poo just adds to the fun. Opposite the Ganga Paying Guesthouse, which has been my home for the last few weeks, there is a big field of buffalo and and big field of shit. It is the workplace of a dozen of so women in faded saris and faded smiles, who squat ... read more

I arrived in Nepal with a feeling of numb detachment. The sights, smells and salesmen of Kathmandu didn't move me as I had expected they would, and the rush of excitement that makes you sharply inhale, that tingling feeling of energy that I remembered from previous traveling experiences was missing. Embarking on a year long journey has proved very different to setting off for a few months. Leaving behind all the things I love and knowing that nothing will be the same when I return is possibly the hardest thing I have ever done, and my body and heart felt in a state of shock at the emotional upheaval I had inflicted on myself. Only now, a month in, am I starting to feel alive; vibrations of excitement have crept into my limbs like pins and ... read more