ANOTHER 8 hours to kill in Mumbai Airport

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After an all night train journey, followed by the bus journey from hell we ended up in the middle of nowhere in a place called Coorg where all they do is make coffee. Spent a few days walking about (accompanied by Maurice's commentary about different species of bird which he definitely couldn't see, even with binoculars). Also encountered our first really serious problem with the Indian accent/sense of humour when, convinced we were going for a pleasant lunch at a BAKERY, we in fact ended up with nothing but the sights and smells of a.......... PIGGERY (say it aloud in an Indian accent and all will become clear). Another treacherous bus journey followed and we were then in Mysore, another crazy city, but this time complete with an amazing palace which was lit up at night and looked like something straight out of Disneyland. Sadly Becky was so taken aback by the wondrous sight before her eyes that she stepped straight into a fresh cow-pat (in flip-flops), belonging to one of the many cows that permanently resided on the hotel doorstep. Nice. Mysore was also where we decided that enough curry was enough and, much to the delight of our bowels, spent most mealtimes at Pizza Corner, even sampling a Conizza (a pizza shaped like an ice cream cone. Weird).

A little over 2 weeks into our trip we were already craving some Western retail therapy which was provided by a whistle-stop tour of Bangalore. Unfortunately our trip was cut short as there were fears that rioting would break out as people assumed we were Jade Goody and Jo O'Meara and got a little angry (actually it was because of a water dispute but that's not as fun....). Another night train and we were miraculously transported to Hospet, a manky little town which luckily is very near to the fabulous ancient ruined city of Hampi. We spent a chilled out few days here, except the day we climbed up quite a dangerous little mountain (hill) which was difficult enough for us (who had to adopt the crab posistion at some points on the way down), let alone the aged Maurice, who insisted on going the whole way while holding an umbrella as a parasol!

We were quite surprised when we arrived in Goa as we thought our early morning train had taken a diversion via Benidorm. Our beach, while lovely, was somewhat ruined by flabby, tatooed, sunburnt British package tourists sitting under their respective country flags AND an enormous, ugly, beached oil liner, ironically named the River Princess, which ran aground several years ago and has since taken up permanent residence about 10 metres from the beach! As soon as was physically possible we ditched the OAPs of the group and headed independently for a far more idyllic beach in the south of Goa called Palolem, where we have spent the last few days living in a beach hut and soaking up the rays. Perfect.

Now waiting to go to Singapore and for the second time in a month are spending 8 hours in Mumbai airport, but are both very excited about our lonely hearts trip to Sinapore Night Safari as a Valentine's treat tomorrow! We are slowly but surely putting photos on the internet so will send out a link to them asap.

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Comments

[Dad(mighty quinn54, 53 actually)]

Ageist or what?
Great to read of your exploits. Very funny and more informative than the Sunday Times Travel section. But you have to admire the old gent with the parasol!!! ( His relatives might read your report, so go easy on him.) Enjoyed my first blogg.