Our retreat back to Siliguri and India, by the cheapest local bus available, was a breeze. The expected old jalopy was actually roomy and comfortable, and - contrary to the outward equivalent journey - we emerged at the border in the morning with all our belongings. A further bus dropped us back in Siliguri, conveniently outside the Sikkim tourist office where permits are readily available without charge (the usual photocopies and a single photograph are required; 30 days are given if you specifically ask). The shared jeep up to Pelling in Sikkim (200rps) was mercifully under occupied, the back seat having just Ali, a young local lad and myself. They both slept soundly on my shoulders oblivious to the buckarooing ride. As the hair-pins wound ever upwards dusk was hastened with the arrival of a mighty ... read more

This is a brief entry and not (as if they ever are) an entertaining one. There is little information out there regarding the Andaman Islands and what is available is outdated. This blog is intended to provide some pointers for potential backpacker visitors because whether to visit or not does merit serious consideration. Straight off the bat: the nitty-gritty. Of India’s 29 States none have more expensive accommodation than the Andaman’s Havelock Island. Well… OK, bizarrely, Nagaland and some of the other deserted North Eastern Tribal States may just steal that mantle. These two sets of locations could not be more different: the Andamans are developing as a major diving/fishing/Indian honeymoon holiday destination (and prices are soaring) whilst the Tribal States see no tourists and certain unscrupulous destinations currently screw every penny they can out of ... read more

To the west of Rajasthan, near the border with Pakistan, lies the Great Thar Desert; but, in the east, it is cloaked in a different, vibrant, swaying yellow, that of mustard fields. The Rajput – historically warrior clans - are not retiring violets and this is reflected in their dress: the mustachioed and turbaned men with gold studs in their ears; the headwear bearing little resemblance to sleek, sculpted, Sikh turbans, being great globular, Ali Baba, mounds in vivid colours. The women’s saris and ghungta shawls are un-patterned in block colours of shocking red, pink, yellow or sky-blue; their left nostril possibly adorned with a gold ring of bracelet dimensions. Eyes may be unnervingly beautiful pale shades of brown or feline green. Without doubt – and not without good cause – Rajasthan is the most touristic ... read more

Almost without exception the initial exposure elicits a profound feeling of wonderment and awe, mixed with a certain amount of repulsion and bewilderment. That first encounter with any of the possible ports of entry is an assault on the senses: the myriad colours of the disparate mass of milling humanity; the cacophony of sound; the jostling, jousting multitude of vehicles; roaming beasts; heady aromas of incense, cut flowers, spices and sandalwood battling the astringent stench of urine and stagnant effluent; and, unless arriving in a Delhi winter, all bathed in a stifling, oppressive heat. Juxtaposed, like nowhere else on earth, are tarmac and dirt, wealth and poverty, the mouth-watering and the repugnant, the hi-tech and the medieval, suited businessmen and loin clothed or naked sadhus, ladies in stunning sari/choli combinations and filthy rag-wrapped old crones, munificent ... read more

Well, that was our third and last stint in what had come to feel like home, Kuala Lumpur. Many, many thanks again to Mark and Anke. From here on in there is no bolt-hole, no respite, no washing machine and… horror-of-horrors, maybe no roti canai. Without doubt the penultimate listing sends the biggest shivers down Ali’s spine. KL once again did us proud. Ramadan was almost unnoticeable. We are fattened, alcoholically re-hydrated (an oxymoron I know), saturated with images that appear on a square screen, relatively re-informed of world events, patriotically puffed-up (Olympics) and raring to go. Shuddering out from the low rainy-season clouds at dusk Myanmar lay spread below us in the grey gloom, a patchwork of soggy green and builder’s tea brown. It really has been raining; we are slap-bang in the middle of ... read more