In Bruges, Feb 2011

Friday 11th Feb, In Bruges

Richard's birthday and Valentine's Day called for a few days away somewhere romantic. Having recently watched the brilliant film In Bruges I decided you couldn't get more romantic than Colin Farrell (aka Feral Colin). So I booked a surprise trip, which turned out not to be a surprise as I forgot that my iPhone calendar automatically synchs with all the Macs in the house. Including Richard's.
Grace dropped us off at Newport (a place further removed from Bruges in every way you could not wish to find) and we caught the 8:40am Newport to Paddington. Two and a half hours and a couple of tube stops later we arrived in St Pancras. It's quite posh there, for a train station. We checked in at Eurostar and set about doing what we provincials do when we visit The Big Smoke - drinking and complaining about the inflated prices.
First class on Eurostar included a complementary three course meal including wine PLUS a bloody noisy Dutch family next to us with horrid shouty children, thrown in for free. Bargain.
I was a bit perturbed at the idea of going UNDER THE BLUMMIN' SEA and Rich kept glancing out and making a terrified face. Turned out he was catching his reflection in the window.
Two hours later we were in Brussels and an hour after that we arrived In Bruges.
If you do a Google Images search of Bruges you'll see a double-gabled medieval building right on one of the canals. That was our hotel (Relais Bourgondisch Cruyce) and also where Feral Colin's character was supposedly staying when In Bruges. No sign of him now though, sadly.
Bruges is lovely. Really pretty. Much prettier than Amsterdam and I think as pretty as Venice, although not quite so much water. There is an abundance of restaurants, particularly fish restaurants (it is much closer to the sea and Zeebrugge than I realised) and mussels with chips is a local specialty. At around €25 it's not cheap, although the mussels do come in a bucket. Beer is the only thing that's relatively cheap. Unfortunately I don't like beer.
For dinner we chose a likely looking bistro on the canal opposite our hotel. It was very pleasant. Zeebrugge Viss-soepen was accompanied by toast, grated cheese and mayonnaise, which was a bit peculiar, but very good. Rich had meatballs.

Saturday12th Feb, In Bruges

Visited Choco-Story. Was a bit boring to be honest. Was expecting a multiple-sensory chocolate experience, including TASTE, but it was no more than a museum about chocolate. Chocolate was discovered by either the Aztecs or the Mayans and comes from cocoa beans, was about the gist of it. They spread that information over four floors and charged €11 for it.
Bruges is full of chocolatiers and chocolate is moulded into all sorts of shapes and sizes, including phallic and titillating. I gave up chocolate at New Year and was overcome with choice about how and when to break my 2011 chocolate virginity. Eventually bought a box of mixed truffles and decided to save them for Rich's birthday.
Richard doesn't like shops so I dumped him in a very conveniently placed bar on the canal next to our hotel (The Beer Wall) whilst I explored the shops. Joined him later and tried to show willing with the beer thing by drinking a cherry beer called Kriek Boon. Not all that keen to be honest.
Walked to an area called The Winngaard that I'd discovered earlier during my wanderings and shared a Chateaubriand which was good, but the best bit was when Rich fell down the step in the middle of the restaurant. Hilarious.

Richard's Birthday, In Bruges

After Rich opened his presents (all of which were golf-related) I went for a run. What a fabulous way to see a city. Accidentally discovered a path that follows the bank of the canal that forms the circumference of the old city of Bruges (about five miles long). Discovered windmills and gatehouses and boathouses that I never would have discovered otherwise. When I got back and told Rich, he insisted I show him, so ended up running five miles, then walking five miles straight after.
Back at The Beer Wall I acquired a taste for Kriek Boon. Broke my 2011 chocolate virginity by eating three champagne truffles. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm-mmmm-mmm.
Ate dinner in a grand-looking Chinese restaurant - one of those fabulous, endless, multi-dish meals. Happy Birthday Rich.

Valentine's Day

Will spare you the details but I estimate I went to the bathroom approximately 15 times between midnight and 4 am. This was accompanied by the sound of someone else in the hotel having very noisy sex. (Just as well they weren't having quiet sex - the sounds from our bathroom may have been off-putting). Being a medic sometimes doesn't help in these situations. According to my mental fluid input/output chart I reckoned I was about 4 litres in deficit. Convinced I was rapidly going into renal failure, and circulatory collapse would follow shortly afterwards, I lay on the bed sweating and shivering and listening to Rich snoring. At about 6am I was woken by the sound of Richard's stomach gurgling in his sleep. Really loudly. I kicked him in the back.
'WAKE UP!' I shouted. 'YOU'RE GOING TO SHIT THE BED! And Happy Valentine's Day.'

A couple of hours and several glasses of water later we both reckoned that we'd beaten The Shits and headed out for breakfast. Bacon, eggs and toast didn't result in a relapse so we figured we were cured. Decided to climb the famous clock tower in the square - the one the tubby Irish guy throws himself off. We climbed to the first level via stone steps and stopped for a rest. A fat American couple lumbered past. No we didn't say anything but I wish Feral Colin had been there: 'Hey, you can't go up there' 'Why not?!' 'Because you're a bunch of feckin' elephants!'
Anyway the Fat Americans would have had the last laugh because the spiral stone stairs became open-tread wooden ones for the top half of the climb and we both bottled it. Another wasted €11.
Went on a boat trip instead. This was lovely. And was followed by a trip to The Beer Wall. Feeling completely better, and having decided it was the Champagne truffles which had poisoned us, I tried the Charel Chaud - a hot apple wine. Was delicious.
Chose a very expensive and exclusive looking fish restaurant for Valentine's Evening Dinner. Unfortunately, just as we had placed our orders, The Bloat started. Turns out this was phase 2 of the illness In Bruges.
Neither of us had eaten since breakfast and should have been starving, and the food set before us was absolutely fabulous. But scallops followed by a bucket of garlicky mussels doesn't sit well with The Bloat.
Back at the hotel we lay about like those sheep in Far From The Madding Crowd. The ones who ate too much clover. I looked about for a biro to use if we needed to urgently decompress each other. Later on we moved into The Flatus phase. Was really romantic. Happy Valentine's Day.

15th Feb

UNDER THE BLUMMIN' SEA again. Bruges is fabulous despite The Shits, The Bloat and The Flatus. And despite not running into Feral Colin. We didn't see any manky hookers either, although we did see a dwarf. Don't know if he was racist though.
Would definitely go back.

The Stranded - Part 2

It seems mad to expect sympathy when you're stranded in a beach hotel on the Indian Ocean for a week. But it wasn't quite like that, honest.
The worst bit was when the ash cloud was still hovering and still believed to be a significant risk for aircraft. Frustratingly there was no-one to blame and no predictable end in site. Someone (it may have been me) helpfully announced that the last time this volcano erupted it carried on erupting for two years. TWO YEARS! Can you imagine how that makes you feel at 2 am in a sweltering hotel room in Southern India with a suitcase full of dirty clothes and a snoring husband for company?
The news that Gordon Brown was sending the Royal Navy in was joyously welcomed. What larks THAT would be. Spirits lifted amongst The Stranded. At lunchtime, when there was still no sign of a Navy Ship on the horizon, panic started to set in again. Irritations intensified and it turned out I was wrong about the first murder victim. Turned out Murder Victim no. 1 was going to be the one whose voice was at such a piercing pitch that you could hear her above everyone else in the hotel at all times and what's more she never shut up. It was when she declared that the Government would be sending a low-flying Jumbo to pick up all the school children that she sealed her fate. (She knew this because her sister was an advisor to the Government - God help Gordon, I say.)
Decided to go body-boarding whilst we waited for the Navy to arrive. When they STILL hadn't pitched up after we'd been out and celebrated Will's birthday I thought I'd better check it out.
Oh. I see. Gordon wanted us to 'make our way to Madrid'. Right. OK then.
Next available flight to Madrid was May 4th. Went to bed on a bit of a downer to say the least.
By now the Heathrow Airport, NATS and BBC News websites were bookmarked on my iPhone and I checked them every thirty seconds or so day and night. I started sending emails to anyone I could think of. To the British Consulate, the MD of our holiday company (a bit of cunning internet sleuthing got me his email address, hee hee), Qatar airways, and anyone else who knows me. Sorry about that folks.
Woke to the news that Heathrow had opened. YAY! Everyone very happy. We'd be home by nightfall for sure.
We checked our flights on the Internet. 29th April (9 days time). We checked them again 10 minutes later. 29th April. Emailed holiday company. 29th April. Got taxi to Qatar Office in Trivandrum. 29th April. However, man we dealt with assured us that Qatar would be providing an extra flight and we would almost certainly be going home within the next day or so. Phew.
This news seemed to spark off some sort of competition amongst The Stranded (who were all flying with different airlines). Murder Victim No 1 went into a sort of frenzy. Thank the Lord she had lost her voice. Although this made her even more annoying as she had this way of getting right in front of your face and forcing you to lip-read when all you longed to do was head-butt. She sealed her fate as Murder Victim No 1 in the future movie of The Stranded late that evening when she dashed into the Internet room, and did a little jig, waving tickets in our faces.
'I emailed Daddy!' she croaked (this is a grown woman with a family ffs). 'He's paid for us to go First Class! We're leaving tonight!'
This movie was going to have a plot similar to Murder on The Orient Express, where it turns out EVERYONE killed her.
Flights leave from Trivandrum to Doha at 5 am and that night we decided to storm the airport and make them give us tickets. Unfortunately they have security on the door and won't let you in without a confirmed flight. And you can't get a confirmed flight without getting in it seemed. Blagged our way into the airport manager's office by saying things like 'doctor' and 'people dying'. Qatar airways bloke was summoned but wasn't impressed by Britons dying unnecessarily in UK A&E Departments. 29th April he said. Like it or lump it. I cried all the way back to the hotel. Started sending unreasonable emails to MD of holiday company blaming him, and to everyone else I knew including everyone on Twitter and FB asking them to 'do something'. Sorry about that.
Took taxi to Qatar offices again next morning. Same bloke said same thing - no flights available to anywhere in UK. 29th April. Lucky it's not mid-May seeing as how it was all the British Government's fault. What about the extra flight they said they were putting on, I said. I said that just to shut you up, he said. (I lie. He didn't say that.)
Got Very Cross. Gesticulated a lot. Told them about dying patients strewn all over UK A&E departments who they were directly responsible for. Told them about massive press campaign I'd launched which would FINISH Qatar Airways. FINISH it. Got louder. Gesticulated more. Two men appeared. Braced myself for manual eviction from office. They muttered in their own language. I fixed them with 'seek and destroy gaze' whilst Holly squeezed my shaking hand under the table.
As if by magic they produced four tickets for flights home the following evening. By actually biting my lip right off I managed to accept them graciously.
Became very happy, but tried hard to hide it from remaining Stranded. Advised them to lie. Advised them to throw a paddy. Unfortunately some people are really nice, and find it difficult to do either. Neither do they have a rich daddy to bail them out. Maybe they also have principles which wouldn't allow them to buy their way out when others couldn't afford to, anyway.
We are home now. Sadly those lovely people remain The Stranded.
That's not very fair is it?
Life's a beach and then you die.

The Stranded - Part 1

A volcano erupted in Iceland. You would've imagined this would have been of only passing interest to us, lying on a beach in Southern India. My husband Richard and I, and our daughters Holly (19) and Grace (17) had been lucky enough to enjoy a two week adventure tour of Kerala, finishing with two days relaxation at a beach hotel in Kovolam.   
Were due to fly home on Saturday 17th April. A 5am flight to Doha, then on to Heathrow, due to arrive at 13:15. Ha ha. God laughs at your plans.  
Apparently there is a cloud of ash and ice 10000ft above the UK, which tends to clog jet engines, so UK airspace is shut, pending further notice.  We were advised to turn up at the airport in Trivandrum to show willing, so heaved ourselves out of bed at 01:30 and duly attempted to check in at the airport. Chaos. Turned away as onward flight to Heathrow cancelled and whole of Middle East stuffed with disconnected Brits. 
Arrived back in Kovolam at 0300, at same time as horrendous thunder & lightening storm that took out Internet and TV in whole village. 
At that point I felt a little scared. And vulnerable. 
Next morning our travel company informed us they would pay our hotel accomodation for 2 days.  This was very good of them. It's not their fault after all. Neither is it the airline company's fault. Nor the UK airspace people. It's not even Iceland's fault. A volcano erupted, it's no-one's fault. Which is the very reason I've been drip feeding Virgin Travel Insurance money for the past 5 years for worldwide, family, 'Silver' cover. 
So, policy in hand, I called them to confirm they'd be covering the cost of accomodation until we were able to fly. I referred to section K - 'catastrophe'. This includes costs incurred as a result of your holiday being buggered up by 'fire, flood, earthquake, storm, lightening, explosion, hurricane or a major outbreak of an infectious disease'.
Was swiftly informed that Virgin Travel would not be covering accomodation costs incurred as a result of the volcanic eruption because it was the airline companies who were responsible. I questioned this. OK, airline companies may have made an indirect contribution via the unproven and sensationalist theory of global warming causing increased numbers of natural disasters, but they're clearly not directly responsible. No-one can make a volcano erupt, even I know that. 
'Nonsense!' I said. I read out section K of policy. 
'Yes, and I think you'll find, MADAM, that the words 'volcanic eruption' aren't included in Section K.' 
Sarcastic sod. I took his name. 
'And in anycase, MADAM,' he continued, 'a volcanic eruption would only be considered a catastrophe if you were actually there. In Iceland.'
I laughed. Out loud. So presumably you would have to be at the actual epicentre of an earthquake or a tsunami for it to 'count'? Or actually in a fire, struck by lightening, swept away by a flood, or sick with a major infectious disease before Virgin Money would consider your claim?
Remind me to cancel my policy with Virgin Money when I get home. I'll take one with Nat West, who I'm told by a fellow strandee, honour their deals. 
Anyway, it turns out that our holiday company, Exodus, who are also definitely not responsible for the eruption, are decent people and have agreed to pay for accomodation for all 30 groups of travellers with their company who are stranded worldwide, until they are able to get them home. Bloody brilliant company.
As far as places to get stranded go, this is pretty good. Unlike those poor poor people stuck in airports, we are stranded in a lovely hotel with a pool and a private beach on the Arabian Sea. Accomodation paid for, food cheap as chapattis. But, whoever said 'There's No Place Like Home' knew a thing or two, I can tell you. And whoever said 'No news is good News' was talking out of their arse.
It's end of season here. The only people left in this lovely hotel are The Stranded: four British families. One of the families have been our travelling companions for the whole trip. Will and Sally and their lovely 9 year old twins, Joe and Ellie. (Will is a travel writer. What a scoop). The other two families have been on a similar trip.  We bonded. We each had our own tables at breakfast, and our own space by the pool. We met in the Internet Room and exchanged news. We wandered the empty hotel corridors like dislocated souls. We feared the arrival of Jack Nicholson with an axe. We ran out of clean knickers. We have become The Stranded.
Tensions ebb and flow with each NATS update. Panic overlaps with passivity. The control freaks amongst us have had to learn to deal with it. Beer helps. Irritations are becoming irrational. The first murder victim in the future movie of The Stranded has identified himself, as has the murderer. 
Normally rational and intelligent adults, unaccustomed to utter impotency, are hatching hare-brained plans to get home. Like 'we'll get a boat'. And 'we'll phone the Foreign Office'.  
The other blessing is that the hotel has WiFi and I have an iPhone. Not only am I able to keep on top of the news, I am also able to access Twitter and FB. Those of you who are STILL sniffy about social networking sites need to get with the times. Not only are they a useful up-to-the-minute news resource (for example by following #ashtag and @heathrowairport) but they can provide real practical help. Like letting colleagues know what's happening, getting the papers cancelled and keeping track of what's going on at home. The wonderful @indiaknight started the #getmehome hashtag, enabling people to pool resources and help each other to get home. Unfortunately this isn't a lot of use to us, stuck in Kerala, but witnessing that Dunkirk spirit is good for the soul, and helps, in those doubtful moments at 2am, to reassure us that eventually we will get home. Eventually. 
Today, more 'strandees' have been appearing, in dribs and drabs, upsetting the crazed equilibrium of the original cast of The Stranded, and nicking the sunbeds at the pool. Worse, they are mostly German. The Stranded have dismissed their differences and regrouped. United we stand! Bring in the Royal Navy!
As you can see, this situation is driving me insane.  

The Backwaters and The Beach

About 15 years ago I had a really vivid dream. Nothing happened in it - I just stepped out of a room onto a wooden deck over gently moving water with meandering river mist and dense overhanging greenery. Was intensely atmospheric and vivid and that dream stuck with me in a spooky kind of way. A few years later I read God of Small Things and it reminded me of that dream. It's a beautiful novel, set in Kerala, and I've wanted to come here ever since. Anyway, last night, whilst drifting along the narrow backwaters in a punt, I actually came across that place from my dream. Don't know why I'm telling you all this - I don't even believe in all that crap. Just saying, that's all.
Our riceboat was great, with four double, air-conditioned, en suite bedrooms. Three crew, including chef, spoilt us with fabulous food, tea, coffee and BEER (seven empty Kingfisher bottles were lined up outside our room next morning in a slightly accusatory manner). After supper Rich, Will and Joe fished off the bow with make-shift rods baited with bread dough. Will (6'4") squealed and did a little jig when he caught a fish and Richard went into a sulk. A flock of wild Egrets flew upstream and a flock of ducks floated downstream. Kingfishers are everywhere (the bird alas, not the beer).  Breakfast was omelettes, toast, fresh pineapple and bananas, whilst Rich dangled his vile fungus-ridden feet in the water and allowed the litle fish to nibble off the dead skin. Poor fish.
Next day we drove to Coir Village, still in the backwaters, and stayed on an island in a sort of paradise. We reached our room via a punt. Truly beautiful. Locals drifted about in punts on their way to do whatever they do. Make rope mostly I think.
Last stop Kovolam. Beautiful beach and Arabian Sea as warm as a bath. Lay about reading, swimming and burning for two days. Have run out of superlatives. Fabulous end to fabulous holiday. 

Next week in Lucewomangetsabout: Volcano erupts in Iceland! How will they get home?!  

Periyar

An interesting drive west, back across the plains and then south a bit before ascending the W Ghats again. Passed through a town called Cumbum. 'CUMBUM STATE PRIMARY SCHOOL'. Like you're really going to send your child THERE. 
Reached Periyar which is on the edge of a massive (770 sq km) National Park/Wildlife Sanctuary, and further into the park we found our campsite. Yes. I know. ME. CAMPsite. It's off season so we were the only guests. Late afternoon we went with guides into the core of the park, initially in a jeep and then on foot.
We were unbelievably lucky and happened upon a herd of wild elephants. The head of the herd and a female and her baby were grazing about 60 metres away and we quietly watched them. Suddenly the mama elephant became aware of us and turned, flapping her ears. It's incredible how fast you can run when a safari guide grabs your arm and hisses 'Danger! Move!'  I swear we literally DIVED into that jeep. Mother elephants and lone males are very dangerous and in fact we heard today that a tea worker was killed yesterday in Munnar, where we were walking in the tea gardens last week, by a lone male. Yikes.
Then there were the leeches. This is where I felt vindicated for bringing my gardening boots (oh how they had laughed at me). The little bastards can sense body heat and sort of tumble towards you. They secrete an anaesthetic so before you know it they've latched on, and you have no idea until they drop off, all fat a sated, leaving you to bleed to death.... Slight exaggeration, but it's true that you bleed like buggery because they also instil an anticoagulant. The Dawson/Gable girls escaped, but others weren't so lucky - Rich discovered at least a dozen trying to break into his trainers and poor Sally discovered to her cost that they also like to hang out under the toilet seat.
Back at the campsite we were served fabulous curries beside a campfire, before crawling into our tents for the night. I can't describe how crappily we all slept. Aside from the fact that I'm way too old and spoiled to sleep on the floor with no mattress, the noise was DEAFENING. Cicadas the size of ashtrays competed with frogs by the lake, which literally sounded like the Household Calvalry clipclopping by all night long. Massive insects bashed into the canvas and black monkeys whooped away in the treetops. Was like the Last Night of The Proms on acid. 
Was a fabulous surprise to find a swimming pool at the hotel in Periyar the next day, and we lazed about like proper Brits for the afternoon.
Later we wandered amongst the spice plantations - really interesting to see cardamom, nutmeg, peppercorns, cinnamon and cloves growing in gardens and smallholdings. Had supper at one of the villagers' houses.  Was served on banana leaves and cutlery wasn't provided so it was a pretty messy affair.
Early morning trek next day - saw black monkeys, White monkeys, giant squirrels and samba deer. No tigers though. Poor beautiful creatures too busy being poisoned by poachers. Did you know that in 1900 there were at least 40,000 tigers in India? Now there are about 3000. The illegal trade of animal skin and bones is second only to the drugs trade, and they're used largely for Chinese Medicine. HAVE NO PART IN IT I TELL YOU! I'd happily shoot the fuckers if I found them. Happily. And I don't even believe in capital punishment.
Had Aruyvedic massage. Hahahaha! Having spent a significant part of this holiday feeling like a harlot for showing my legs and shoulders, I went into a room with a strange woman who immediately insisted I strip completely NEKID! She then drenched me in oil and gave me a total body massage.  Which included breasts. Hahahaha! Was rather nice though. Would've been better if I could've stopped giggling at the thought of Grace in the next room. 
Meanwhile Rich went to watch some local marshal arts and Holly spent an hour on the Internet, reorganising her shredded personal life. 
Met up for dinner at restaurant which actually sold beer. 
Yay! Result!

(ps am writing whole of this travelblog on my phone so please excuse grammar/spelling mistakes)              

The Road to Mandurai

The only problem is that alcohol is not freely available or consumed in public places. They hide it. 
Having discovered that our hotel had no alcohol Rich decided to find some. He took a Touk Touk to a Toddy Shop - a little shack which sells liquor. The place was packed with local men buying whiskey. He bought 6 large Kingfishers and bought them back to the hotel to keep us going for a few of days.  As he put the bag down in our room one of them smashed. Resultant temper tantrum was alarming, fueled by inability to blame anyone but himself. Finally calmed down and as he settled into chair to enjoy beer a spactacular lightening storm erupted from the sky. He swivelled round to watch and smashed a second bottle. Was scarily cross. 
So we climbed onto the roof and drowned our sorrows by polishing the rest off up there, watching lightening over the spectacular Western Ghats.
Next day we trekked through the tea gardens along elephant tracks, complete with elephant poo. Can't tell you how beautiful this was, you really had to be there. Watching those wonderful women picking tea leaves (for the Tata Tea Co. - produce Tetley) will make me appreciate a nice cuppa so much more. 
For some reason the Indian people adore Richard. ADORE him. It's weird, and led to a terrible fit of the giggles at the TaTa Tea museum. Am very bad example to my daughters.
Next morning we continued west across the mountains. Cardamom growing beneath Teak trees and Poinsettia and Datura growing 12 feet tall on the roadsides. Crossed into bordering state of Tamil Nadu and then descended, via 17 hairpin bends and much hyperventilation, onto the drier plains.  Here agriculture is the big thing. Bull carts are used to transport sugarbeat, mango and rice straw. Women here carry everything on their heads. Even the very old women remain very straight and I've seen no hunched hobblers like we get in the West. Have decided to adopt the head carrying practice when I get back home. Probably get a few funny looks in Waitrose - but what else is new?
Passed through small village in throes of local festival. Everyone had their faces painted pink and was dancing in the street. All the men were totally pissed - throwing up and passed out in shade. Looked brilliant fun.  Seems Hindus have festivals all the time and celebrate everything. Am thinking of converting.
Arrived in Madurai in the late afternoon. Bad news: Stealth Mosquitos. Good news: underground (literally) bar which serves giant G&Ts. Huge sigh.....
Madurai is completely mad. Completely. There are no traffic laws, or if there are no-one knows them. Except one; if you intend to pass anyone you place your hand on the horn.  Cars, touk-touks, bikes, scooters, bull-carts and people in their gzillions jostle randomly whilst Holy Cow!s amble about chewing the cud with an air of serenity. But the people aren't angry like they are in Western cities, though they have far more reason to be. They smile and wave and invite you to their houses. 
The nucleus of Madurai is the Meenashki Temple.  As we made our way there we happened across a Tamil festival/ritual. This was pure chance - it normally takes place later in the year - and really alarming to witness. Half a dozen young men were parading though the streets with three metre long swords piercing their cheeks, like huge whiskers. They were supported, physically, mentally and spiritually, by drummers boys in front and girls with flower vases on their heads behind. Whole thing was very frantic with many of them going into hysteria-induced trances. It was 35 degrees and they were en route to a temple 16 km away (on foot with a sword through your face mind..). They do it as a sort of penance, to bring good fortune to their families. Can't even get my kids to load the bloody dishwasher. 
Our travelling companions are Will and Sally, and their 9 year old twins Joe and Ellie. The whole spectacle proved a bit much for Joe and he fainted. Out coldon the pavement. Bless him. It wasn't really a twitpic moment.  
The Meenashki Temple is spectacular, and several weddings were going on. Young brides were dressed up, ready to
leave their families, marry a man they didn't know and have sex for the first time - all in one day. Blimey, no wonder they looked miserable. Meanwhile Holly told her boyfriend of three years to fuck right off for being a lying cheating bastard. She looked pretty miserable too, mind you.     
We went to see the Banksy exhibition in Bristol Museum last summer. There was this great painting of a couple of overweight white tourists with big cameras and loads of shopping bags been pulled in a rickshaw by a small skinny Indian. It was characatured and witty, Banksy-style. Anyway, later that day, that was us that was. (I'm ashamed to say.) Was actually terrifying too.   
Had supper in rooftop restaurant over-looking the crazy mad city with humungous fruit bats swooping about our heads. Fabulous.  

Kerala

My family would be having a far less annoying time if I'd stop shouting 'Holy Cow!' everytime I saw one.  Also if I'd stop declaring 'That shallot!' whenever I spied a small onion.  Ah well. There's a lot of both in India, as it happens.

Holiday started in usual fashion with Rich rediscovering his iPod as we were hemmed into an overcrowded Gate 24 at Heathrow.  He only uses it on holidays and it was the same old story: he pressed 'PLAY', catapaulted himself out of his seat and roared 'GRACE! HOW DO YOU TURN IT DOWN?!'

An attempt to wangle an upgrade on the basis that I'm an Emergency doctor and would offer my services if required was rejected on basis that First & Business class were both full. A likely story. Then the bloody bastards had the cheek to 'use' me anyway when someone collapsed in the toilet. Qatar airways owes me one I reckon.
         
Arrived at rather dinghy hotel in Fort Cochi at 5am and tried to get a few hours sleep, despite the AirCon system which was like sleeping in a room with a helicopter, rotary blades and all.  At least it had AC though - stepping outside was literally like stepping into a sauna.
 
Fort Cochi is busy, and old. Shops everywhere selling magnificent old artifacts, and whole families riding on one scooter. Cows wandering about (Holy Cow!) and goats eating billboard posters. The Chinese fishing nets were spectacular to watch, but didn't seem to catch many fish. The people are abundant and very friendly and seem to have achieved a peculiar balance between religion and communism and fridge magnets of the Hindu Goddess Lakshmi sit happily beside those of Che Guevara.
   
Couldn't find anywhere to have a beer at beer o'clock, so had to gatecrash the bar of a very posh hotel overlooking the bay, where we sat and watched dolphins jumping as the sun went down. It was lovely.
 
Next day we set out at 5am for a bird sanctuary. The most fabulous thing about this was the passionate enthusiasm of our guide. He was literally beside himself with excitement when he spotted a pair of sleeping Frogmouth birds (apparently the rarest nocturnal bird in the world) and it was difficult not to be excited too although in truth they were just a couple of birds with mouthes like frogs'. There are loads like that in Newport. His house was in the sanctuary and we had breakfast there with his family before he had to dash off to court. He was a lawyer in his other life.
Next day was another pre-dawn start, and once again we headed east. The countryside is lush, in the original sense of the word, with spectacularly smart new houses, built and owned by people who have earned a fortune in Dubai then come home and bought a rubber plantation. 
We stopped at a market which was fascinating and stinky, with mountains of weird and wonderful fruit & veg, but by far the most fascinating things there were Holly & Grace, who were wearing short shorts for God's sake. I did warn them....

We reached the banks of the river Periyar and had breakfast sitting on the rocks watching elephants having their morning bath. I adore elephants but found them scary close up.  The others helped scrub them clean which they seemed to love. They lay in the water groaning with pleasure. The elephants that is.

We drove further east, ascending the Western Ghats, and five hours later reached our hotel - it's perched high on a remote mountain surrounded by tea plantations, about 6 km from Munnar. 
It so happens that Holly's best friend from school is backpacking in India at present, coincidentally. And guess which hotel she happens to be staying in tonight? Yep, ours. 
Holy Cow, if that isn't a spooky coincidence I don't know what is.