Exit Interview!

What were your favourite foods?
Steve
Lok Lak - Cambodia
Amoke - Cambodia
Steaks - Argentina

Beth
Green curry and pad thai - Thailand
Any curry! - India

What were your favourite drinks?
Steve
Chaye tea - India
Lassie - North India
All Asian beer
Capriosca and caprihana - Brazil

Beth
Fresh limejuice - Singapore
Coffee - Vietnam (with condensed milk - yum)

What was your favourite natural place
Steve
Mt Sunday - New Zealand

Beth
Inca trail - Peru
Mt Cook, Waimangu, Waitapu and Milford Sound - New Zealand

What was your favourite manmade place ?
Steve
Sydney Opera House

Beth
Angkor Wat - Cambodia
Macchu Pichu - Peru

Which place are you most likely to revisit
Both - New Zealand (in summer)
Steve - South America

Which place are you most unlikely to revisit?
Both -India

What was your saddest moment
Both - Saying goodbye to Lucy in Australia
Beth - also saying goodbye to Auntie Maureen and Uncle Rob in New Zealand

What will you miss about travelling?
Steve
Excitement of seeing somewhere different every day

Beth
Being with Brown 24/7
Freedom!

What will you be glad to see the back of?
Steve
People who rip us off
Heat and unbearable humidity

Beth
Being with Brown 24/7 (only joking!)
My backpack

Which country is next on your agenda?
Steve
Canada
Bolivia
Indonesia

Beth
Japan (scuba diving and snowboarding in one country - result)
Trans-Siberian express from Russia to China
Mexico
Italy

What has been your greatest achievement?
Steve
Managing to get through a whole year with Beth!
Avoiding food poisoning

Beth
Leaving home!
Loosing three stone
Completing the Inca Trail

What are you most looking forward to?
Steve
Temperature
Fast Internet
Seeing friends and family
Clean streets with no litter

Beth
Salad cream on warm pasta with sweet corn, raw onion and black pepper
Marmite whenever I want it
No bartering
Toilet paper in public loos
No stray dogs
Seasons
A routine
English weather!

Home, Sweet Home

Heading to Chennai it was clear that 1000km to the east made little impact on the heat - or our waning enthusiasm. We searched within ourselves and found our hearts weren't really in travelling anymore - our heads were in England finding jobs and buying 1971 vw camper vans (singular we hasten to add). We decided to forget the plans for a week in an ashram, after all who wants to be woken up at 5.30am every morning (without the aid of caffeine), chant and then sit in funny positions all day only to go to bed at 10pm without alcohol. After all nirvana to us has always been a rock group and we are not 'jugglers' at heart. That rationale combined with the homesickness we had been fighting off for months concluded the debate and we brought our BA flight forward by two weeks. Checking into a five star hotel with air conditioning and a bathroom (for the price of a Travel Lodge!) that amazingly appeared to have been cleaned in the last two years, we stuffed our faces full of the last genuine Indian food we may possibly ever eat and caught our flight home.

We landed at Heathrow to a disgruntled pilot informing us of drizzle in a grey London. We just looked at each other and said 'brilliant'! Walking into Heathrow was surreal - systems worked, queues were orderly, people spoke our language and noone was farting in public. We saw no litter, we seemed to sink into the carpeted floors and the toilets had seats with paper that you could actually put in the bowl. A coffee cost the same as a nights accommodation in most of the Asian and South American countries we had visited and our dress; flowing tunics and baggy trousers (Steve), ribboned skirt (Beth) seemed decidedly out of place amongst the non-descript English uniforms of jeans and suits.

Seeing our parents was amazing and we re-enacted the Heathrow scene from Love Actually as we (well, Beth and the two Mums) launched ourselves on each other in a frenzy of hugs and kisses. Steve went to Bedford and Beth went to Stroud - it was very difficult to part after being together for 24 hours a day, seven days a week for an entire year but overcome by the temptation of being mothered for a few days.

Even the queues on the M4 held delights - no incessant horn honking and the fields beyond? Stunningly green and the houses all had roofs (forgive us, it has been some time). We rediscovered the beauty of England with it's country cottages, brilliant yellow fields of rape, cow parsley lacing the hedgerows and the spring-time sun bathing the green fields and dancing over the clusters of bluebells and sweetly smelling wild garlic. Ironically it is has taken one year of travelling across 15 countries, three continents and throughout a myriad of cultures to discover that the most beautiful place in the world is actually home.

Our Indian Adventure

"The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it" was penned by Rudyard Kipling and was surely inspired by India. The smells (not all pleasant) are one of the keys to the level of acclimatisation that must be achieved before the wonders of this culturally diverse country can be appreciated. India is a country that is nuclear enabled; has just purchased warplanes and is about to enter an alliance to "position India and China as the centre of the technology world" (in the words of the newsmen). Also a country that has no sanitised water or sufficient plumbing to supply much needed supplies to areas of rural India where millions have died in droughts or through disease from contaminated water supplies. A country that provides no social welfare system and so ignores the plight of (the many) physically handicapped beggars who rely solely on donations from the public to stay alive. You have to wonder about the priorities of such a Government.

Women travellers in particular find themselves under scrutiny and it is little wonder that centuries ago Indian women observed Purdah - an act of hiding themselves away to avoid the lustful looks of men. An Indian told us that whilst women may rule the home, on the streets the men rule and little has changed by way of the lustful looks; it is just that women rarely are seen on the streets by day.

Yet despite the challenges visitors to the country must confront and a modern India faces, the country is tremendously beautiful; from the hostile and strangely unworldly desert scapes to the architectural wonders of the Taj Mahal and imposing hill forts and the beautifully coloured cities. The culture too is an adventure from the food, which is prepared with a fierce pride that has proved an inspiration for many other countries that fuse Indian curries with their own cuisine, to the influence of the many religions on a nation that is surprisingly materialistic in their aspirations for social stature.

People who have visited India often say that you either love it or hate it. That is like saying that there are no shades in the spectrum of colours. It is possible to experience an entire repertoire of emotions in the space of 15 minutes often of such an extreme nature that you learn depths of your character that may otherwise lie dormant. It is not simply a question of summarising and filing India away - such a country is too unique and besides we could not insult the memory of a country that has allowed us such life-changing experiences.

Backwaters of Kerala

The deep green vegetation of Kerala was a welcome sight after the desert landscapes of Rajhasthan and the equally sandy Goa. From the comfort of the air-conditioned train carriage we pondered the similarities between south India and Sri Lanka and looked forward to loosing ourselves in the wholesome scenery. The humidity and heat however had other ideas and we have never been so conscious of travelling on the Asian sub-continent out-of-season and before the relief of the monsoon arrives. We had been outside for no longer than five minutes when we found ourselves dripping in sweat and at a loss to know what to do with ourselves in the unrelenting, oppressive heat. So we did what we do best and headed for a restaurant. Our first sample of Keralan food (under a large fan) was blissful. We tried idlys (lentil and rice batter) and spongy dosas soaked up in thick pellets of rice and spicy pickles offset by creamy okra curry and served on a banana leaf. Weight gain was obviously going to be a problem in this region of India.

Kerala is famous for the remote beauty of it's backwaters and we spent a peaceful day floating down the rivers in a rattan boat listening to the cries of the water birds and watching the reflections of the palm trees rippling in the river. A Keralan lunch preceded a canoe ride through thick vegetation where pineapples grow wild and water hyacinths were plucked from the river to make necklaces for the girls. Hibiscus flowers tangled with mango trees and ducks fought for space with the water boatman in the narrow waterways.

Back at the hotel we struggled for sleep. 35 degrees heat and intense humidity is not conducive to rest and we may as well have had a revolving door on our bathroom for the amount of cold showers we took through the night. After two nights like this we decided it was time to move on before we lost our sanity and with that decision taken we headed on the night sleeper to Chennai (formerly Madras) in the Tamil Nadu region of southern India to seek some respite from the heat.

Goan Days

Goa is cocooned from the rest of India and if it wasn't for the Indian menus in the restaurants then you could forget you're in India at all. The arched beach of Palolem sweeps around from Island at one end to rocky outcrop on the other and palm trees fringe the golden sand leaning in towards the bronzing bodies as if to provide some shade from the intense sun. Huts on stilts fashioned from coconut palm trees nestle into the trees and music billows gently from the beachfront restaurants with enticing smells of fresh mango, watermelons and papaya. Ten, maybe twenty, fishing boats line the beach with their nets stretching wide to dry from the morning's catch. The handsome Goans are used to foreigners invading paradise and their gazes are not as penetrating and uncomfortably long as in the rest of India. The sea itself is so warm that little relief is found from the tropical heat of off-season Goa but the cooling sea breeze is blissful and we floated on our backs for hours squinting up at the waving palms silhouetted by the sun.

The package holiday resorts are further north up the Goan coast and Palolem is more of a backpackers place. The coco huts are only 1.80GBP a night and very basic - a bed, fan, mosquito net if you're lucky and a hose in an outhouse for a shower - but most people spend more time on the beach and in the bars anyway.

On Sundays Indian families arrive by the busload to enjoy the paradise of Palolem. Groups of children play tag; adults play a version of our 'pass the parcel' in time to the banging of a drum and shrieks of laughter ring out when the object stops with one of them. Boys play cricket and football on the sand whilst others form human pyramids in the sea waiting for the next wave to wash over them in a jumble of arms and legs. We didn't wear bathing suits that day, feeling conscious of our scantily clad bodies next to the women bathing in sarees but we were sorry to see them go and missed the unselfconscious laughter that contrasts so sharply to some of the drug-euphoria seeking, sun worshiping westerners.

As the evenings draw in, people play Frisbee and handball under the pink and violet stained sky. Catches of the day are promoted in the beachfront restaurants; kingfish, red snapper, lobster, tiger prawns and the smell of grilled, sizzled and tandoori fish lace the sultry air. We ate the fish, drank like fish, supped cold kingfisher beer (spotting a theme here?) and watched the surf thunder against the beach.

The monsoon nights are just as fantastical as Goan days. The sky darkens dramatically and the air becomes oppressive, heavy and close. The wind whips the sand into frenzied whirlwinds and rain lashes the dried palm leaf roofs. Forked lightening splits the sky and blots out the twinkling stars as ominous thunder rumbles behind the clouds. Sheltered in our beach hut we were spectators of an angry mother nature demonstrating her awesome force in the shape of a Goan storm.

We treated our time on Palolem like a holiday; little budgeting (no shopping around for everything from mosquito spray to the cheapest place for dinner); no lugging our increasingly heavy backpacks daily from one place to another; no denying ourselves anything within reason. We had a couple of nights out at the 'Laughing Buddha' bar just behind 'Blue Juice' coco huts where we stayed. According to the English guy who runs the place, the nights have a "blend of ambient music and trance with a fusion of house, hiphop and live lyricists". We had absolutely no idea what that meant but we had some great nights there listening to live MCs, although when we requested a bit of Abba and Kylie we were met with blank faces and some very determined jungle music as if to cleanse themselves of the very idea! The late night parties were seriously loud though and after a while we moved to the more sedate 'Brandon's' coco huts that overlooked the sea for the ultimate in relaxation. Unfortunately we had a room mate for our three nights there - a gusset-munching rat who lived in the rafters and ate through three pairs of Beth's knickers, two skirts and bikini bottoms. Its daily offerings of rat poo were not appreciated either but our standards must have dropped so much that we opted to live with it until we caught the train, reluctantly, to India's southern state of Kerala.

The train to the south was pretty much full so we had to pay extra for the air-conditioned sleeper class. As we lay in the luxury of cool air and more comfortable benches we raised the tiny spiral shells, collected as souvenirs from the beach, to our ears hoping to recapture the sound of the surf breaking onto the golden sands of Palolem once more.

Bombay Mix

As Auckland is to Wellington, Sydney to Canberra and Rio de Janeiro to Brasilia, it's Mumbai (formerly know as Bombay) not Delhi, that is the cultural pulse of modern India.

We stayed in Colaba, the main traveller area and spent hours just strolling up and down the causeway taking in the different stalls that pull together handiwork from throughout India. The streets are tarmaced and whilst the traffic is still crazy, it is controlled by traffic lights and there are no auto-rickshaws (cue kerolene fumes). One afternoon we walked to the north of the city which revealed interesting architecture and impromptu cricket games on the Oval Maiden - a favourite past-time for Indians in the grip of the Indian vs. Pakistan test series.

The art deco regal cinema in Mumbai provides much of the Mumbaiite entertainment and at only 70 rupees (1GBP) we took full advantage of the air conditioned theatre. The decor was pure 1940 glamour with a dress circle and red velvet curtains framing the screen that opened to reveal a myriad adverts promoting everything from the rabies threat, how to fool pickpockets and the best course of action in case of an explosion during the film. We were not sitting comfortably.

The Indian cinema experience is very different from that anywhere else in the world. The audience are almost childlike in their involvement; booing at the villains, cheering the heroes and clapping at the end. They also stand to attention when the national anthem is played at the beginning. They certainly don't obey the no mobile rule however as the Nokia ring tune and muted conversations haunt the film dialogue.

'Phantom of the Opera' and 'Lemony Snicket' were appreciated by us if only to escape the humid heat of Mumbai. We also watched 'Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi' in the hope of seeing a Bollywood musical however we missed the claims that billed it as India's first political film. We are not entirely sure what made it political and why because it was half in English and half in Hindi but it was very violent and very sad...we think.

Mumbai is expensive by Indian standards but after a few days we started to really enjoy the cosmopolitan metropolis - a city that is perhaps a good indicator of how the rest of India will develop.

Browns go to Bollywood

Bollywood is bigger than Hollywood churning out 900 productions a year. For some reason that we haven't fathomed yet, associating with cacasians seem to carry some sort of status for the Indian people - almost like reverse racism - and as a result often feature as extras in the movies. Beth being the vain wannabe that she is was determined to be asked. Parading around Mumbai in a tshirt revealing her...gulp...shoulders and dramatically flicking her hair in an attempt to look glamorous, her ministrations had to date been fruitless. Abandoning hope she stopped forcing Steve to don a cap to disguise the bald patch she had accidently shaved off in her last attempt at giving him a croppy top (more like a toppy crop) and adopted her standard baggy tunic look again. Then we were approached by a 'foreign model coordinator' who asked us to be an extra in 'Chocolate' (yes, that is the name of the Bollywood movie) and would pay us 500 rupees each (only 6GBP but in Mumbai that is one night's accomodation!). We didn't mention that we would have paid them to visit the set and appear as an extra but we groomed ourselves within an inch of our life the night before and held in our curry engorged stomachs as best as we could.

Waiting for the bus to collect us we got chatting to a Scotish couple of extras, Charina and Neil, and compared srategies to be upgraded to speaking parts!

Three hours later after driving through some of Mumbai's slums that are amongst the largest in Asia and thoroughly seeing the outlaying areas, we pulled into a dusty entrance guarded by three sleepy looking security officials. Bollywood was not what we had imagined. We were greeted with tumbling down buildings badly in need of a paint and we couldn't imagine the likes of Harrison Ford putting up with the conditions in Hollywood! The 30 men and 10 women extras were whisked away for make-up. Bright pink was applied to Beth's eyelids then rimmed with thick black and completed with bright red blusher and lipstick. Satisfied she looked like a transvestite they hauled out the costumes. Not the glamourous dress Beth had been led to believe but to her horror a white bra top with an orange ribbon, a tiny white and orange ra-ra skirt so short that orange cycling shorts had to be worn underneath and a white and orange hat. The wardrobe department brought out a selection of the oldest dirtiest looking black court shoes we had ever seen and the group of girls, already reeling in shock from the cheerleader/easyjet uniform we were being forced to wear had to squeeze their feet into shoes three sizes too small. One of the Indian wardrobe men looked at Beth's feet and stated 'big, big feet'. How rude. Beth was given men's brogues to wear with the ensemble. Not a good look and even Kate Moss couldn't have carried off the disasterous costume. The girls were paraded outside much to the enjoyment of the Indian workers on site and we realised that perhaps we were contributing to the stereo type of western women. Fortunately at that stage the boys came back out donned from head to foot in navy polyester suits and Beth hid behind Steve as the girls were briefed on their roles. We were to be waitresses in a bar somewhere in Europe. Of course. Obviously all waitresses in Euorpean bars wear cheerleader uniforms in the corporate colours of Easyjet. Stupid us. The boys were supposed to drink beer whilst watching the Bollywood dancers. The feminist movement would have had a field day.

We were just so excited to be part of the Bollywood action though that we waited in the holding room for our 15 minutes of fame...or shame. We waited and waited. Morning passed and moved into lunch time and game after game of cards kept us sane through the afternoon. At 8pm - 12 hours after we had been picked up and 10 hours after make-up and costume changes we were called on. It was worth the wait to see the beautiful Bollywood star in a diamond encrusted dress (much more covered up than the western girls it has to be said) shimmering her way through dance routines with handsome Indian men in DJs. Steve's moment of glory arrived when the male extras got to dance around the actress with glasses of fake beer. The waitresses were not even featured. Beth and Charina by this time were relieved - they just wanted to get out of the stupid costume and cover themselves up from the army of lecherous production staff. Honestly, cut from the film before even getting in front of the camera.

We got back to Colaba at midnight and went to Leopold's club for well deserved beers with Charina and Neil. After four beers each we convinced ourselves that we were superstars anyway and until the hangovers kicked in we remained Bollywood legends in our own lifetime!

Poor, Polluted Ahmedabad

Cricket delivered us to the city reported by Rough Guide as ranked amongst the world's top 10 most polluted. Pakistan vs. India to be exact, in their first test since the bloody riots of 2002 staged in said city. After our disappointment at the rained off cricket in Australia is seemed rude not to see this legendary game whilst we were so close. So we arrived at 5am with the streets seemingly devoid of activity bar cows and stray dogs roaming. Nothing unusual as they dominate most Indian cities as do the mass of sleeping bodies, dirty and matted, clustered outside the train station - their refuge for the night. The only difference here was the quantity of each of the above. Similarly litter, whilst an unfortunate plague of Indian cities and a lack of education on the part of the government, was literally lining the streets forming small mountains of rubbish.

We headed to a recommended guesthouse despite the auto-rickshaw driver doing everything in his power to persuade us otherwise; it's closed sir, the police are always there sir, I know a better one sir. Correctly we concluded that the hotel would not pay commission to the drivers who delivered us to their doorstep. The hotel was absolutely appalling and wins the accolade of the worst place we have ever stayed in on our travels - against stiff competition too. Stained sheets, sagging bed on the point of collapse, damp and peeling walls, burnt carpet and broken toilet seats. The list could go on but it's too depressing. It was cheap and we were tired so after brushing an over-eager cockroach from the bed we gingerly slipped between our sleeping bag liners until giving up to sleep. The cold light of day did the room no favours which at best should be condemned and at worst, demolished.

Our appearance drew more attention than usual as Ahmedabad is off the normal tourist route and clearly they were not used to foreigners in their midst. We were cat-called, jeered and stared at with every step and at lunchtime we slid into a dining hall finding anonymity in the shell of a building. Nevertheless the food was good - not dumbed down for the palette of foreigners as often seemed to be the case in Rajasthan. Every mouthful was shared with an involuntary gulp of carbon monoxide omitted from the hundreds of auto-rickshaws congesting the roads and wafting kerosene fumes onto the masses.

We optimistically went hunting for cricket tickets only to find they had sold out. Half disappointed and half relieved that we could leave, we managed to change our ticket and left that evening heading for what we hoped would be the civilisation of Mumbai.

The City of Lakes: Udaipur

It took ten hours by bus from Jaiselmer but it was actually not as bad as we had imiagined and we had certainly travelled on worse in Laos but it was just soooo hot. We arrived safely (a miracle) and checked into the very nice Kumbha Palace, targeted by us because it advertises marmite on toast for breakfast. Oh the joy of feeding our addiction after so long of going without! Our delight seemed to offend the chef who clearly would have preferred us to go into raptures over his (excellent) alu gobi.

Udaipur is named the most romantic city in India and the guide book promised us 'shimmering reflections of the Lake Palace in the water of Lake Pichola'. Unfortunately not much was reflected by the dry lake bed - without water for years now. D'oh. Watch James Bond Octupussy to see Udaipur at it's most romantic complete with shimmering lakes and chaotic rickshaw scenes.

We had little time in Udaipur so we took an auto-rickshaw (a very jolly Indian driver) and were driven around the sights of the city; from the heady heights of the monsoon palace to the splendor of the city place, from the 4000 year old Jain temple to the ancient Royal Cenopaths before rounding off with a traditional puppet show. The latter only served to perpetuate our view that the Indian men are sexually repressed - the puppets appeared to hump and gyrate their way through the show at the hands of the pervy puppeteer!

Two hours of the day was spent sending parcels. And we thought Royal mail was slow? In India, they do not use cardboard packaging for international post but goods are wrapped in cheesecloth then hand stiched around the items and finally sealed in place with wax stamps. Honestly, it's an art form, albeit one that involves a frustrating amount of time to execute.

Reluctantly we moved on leaving the cleanest and least polluted of cities we had visited, to pray for rain to restore their most famous lake to it's former glory.

The straw that broke the...

Excuse the pun but it really did seem as if the camels were carrying everything but the kitchen sink on our safari into the Thar desert (including us) but of course they are not called the 'ships of the desert for nothing'.

We were totally overcharged for our safari when we should now know better by now but that aside we were taken 85km by jeep into the heart of the hostile desert where we saw not a soul but desert people for two days. It was just the two of us, three camels, the camel driver and his boy Friday - a motley crew that made for interesting conversation around the embers of the campfire where under the stars we lazily compared rural life for Muslim villagers to the professional lives of the British. We weren't sure who were the happiest actually! With a Bullet beer (Special Brew has nothing on this 8% rocket fuel) for us and a coca-cola for our (Muslim) driver, we ate homemade chilly chicken with chapatis to mop it up and a strong helping of sand blown in for good measure.

Camels might be ships of the desert: sturdy, strong and able to travel for days without water but comfortable they are not. Steve (already bow-legged) now walks like John Wayne and Beth has seemingly permanent bruises on her butt cheeks. We did a five hour trek and people who do the three day version deserve a medal of endurance in our opinion! Camping overnight in the sand dunes made it worthwhile though as we fell asleep under the stars using a cactus to shelter us from the swirling sand. Next morning over porridge eaten with our fingers and sweet, sweet chaye, the little boy started screaming in Hindi. Our camel driver leapt to his feet as we sat bewildered, cross-legged with porridge covering our mouths and dripping from our fingers (haven't quite mastered the whole eating with your fingers thing yet). Apparently a snake was the cause of concern and we saw its tail disappear into the thicket of the cactus bush before we could leap behind the camels. We learnt that snakes, scorpions and spiders are common during the dry period in the desert and we thanked Mohammad that we didn't posses that knowledge before we slept!

On the way back to the jeep we finally became more au fait with the operating instructions. Unlike horses, camels don't have a bit between their teeth but two holes drilled either side of their nose (we were assured it's like ear piercing - painful at first but okay after they recover). Ropes are connected to the holes and unsurprisingly tugging on the reins gently moves them a lot. To make them go faster you click your tongue as if emulating a galloping horse for a child. We sounded ridiculous but it worked all the way back to the jeep and where we headed back to Jaiselmer, stopping only for photographs of some royal cenopaths situated in front of some wind turbines: a good example of new and old India even in the depths of the desert.