Captain Cautious Strikes Again

In my thirty two years on this earth I have never missed a flight. Some of my stellar record in this area is undoubtedly due to luck, but I'm also certain that my ultra conservative travel time estimation tendencies have played a large role in my success.

How conservative am I in my estimations of travel time? Well if an airline says that they open check in three hours prior to departure, I'm aiming to be at the airport 3 and a half hours prior to departure. If the staff at my hotel estimate the taxi ride to the airport will take 30 minutes, I'm booking the taxi for an hour before I want to arrive at the airport.

It actually takes a very pessimistic outlook to maintain this conservative attitude to travel. While other travellers happily book airport taxis based on reassuring local advice, I am constantly imagining unreliable drivers who fail to show up, random break downs and inexplicable episodes of pre-dawn gridlock. As a general rule, I usually allow an additional 30 minutes for each imagined obstacle to travel.

Sure, this usually means I end up with several hours to kill at the airport. But with a kindle in my carry on bag and a steaming cup of chai always readily available, extra time at the airport is no great hardship.

Some travelers book early morning taxi rides to allow for maximum sleep in time - but not Captain Cautious here. This was how I found myself standing in the pre-dawn stillness out the front of my hotel in Varkala at 5 am one morning.

My flight, from the nearby Trivandrum airport to Mumbai, was scheduled for 8 am which meant that Air India Express would close the check in at 7 am. I was aiming to be at the airport no later than 6:30 am. In peak hour it took an hour and a half to get from Varkala to Trivandrum. The hotel staff assured me that in the early hours of the morning nothing short of the return of Krishna himself would cause the trip to take more than an hour. But I would not be swayed and insisted on booking the taxi for 5.

When my alarm went off at 4:15 that morning, I did start to reconsider my ultra conservative tendencies. But when my driver still hadn't arrived by 5:15 I was very glad I had allowed the extra time. We ended up heading off from Varkala at 5:30 and I was still very confident about making the flight.

"You see," I thought smugly to myself, "Everyone pays you out for being so cautious, but if their airport taxi had been 30 minutes late, they would be right up a certain creek without a paddle. You, however, will probably still have 30 minutes leeway at the check in".

We made good time to Trivandrum and pulled up at the domestic terminal at 6:30 am. I took my time zipping up the straps on my pack and hauling it onto a trolley before I strolled up to the Air India Express counter and handed over my printed ticket.

"Your flight doesn't leave from this airport" the nice lady said. To which I intelligently replied, "I'm sorry...What?!" The rising panic engulfing my body was amplifying my heartbeat and she had to repeat herself three times before the news sunk in. My flight was leaving from the international airport not the domestic airport.

I rechecked the paper in my hand and there was no mention of international airport on the ticket. The ticket simply stated that my flight was leaving from Trivandrum and as Trivandrum and Mumbai are cities in the same country I had stupidly assumed the flight would leave from the domestic airport. I would have loved to discuss the accuracy of the Air India Express ticketing system with their staff, but as the check in for my flight was closing in 25 minutes, and I was still at the wrong airport, I elected to save my suggestions for a later day.

My driver had left as soon as I had got out of the car and a quick glance confirmed that there were no taxis to be seen in the vicinity of the domestic terminal. The only vehicle in view was an auto rickshaw, so I ran over and asked how long it would take to get to the international airport. The driver said "maximum 30 minutes" but when I told him that my flight was closing in 25 minutes he shouted "150 rupees - GET IN!". I got the sense he hadn't been lying about how close I was to missing my flight when he motored off when I was still only half in the rickshaw.

Thirty seconds into our journey we hit a queue at the exit gate of the domestic terminal car park. My driver shouted something at the official in charge and we were soon waved through and shooting off towards the international terminal.

For those of you unfamiliar with auto rickshaws, the motor has a similar power to weight ratio to that of a ride on lawn mower. This means that at their maximum speed, of about 50 km/h, the auto rickshaw offers its passengers a bone jarring ride. Knowing my situation the driver had really put the pedal to the metal and I suspected our 65km/h speed might actually get me to my flight, even if I was missing a few fillings when I arrived.

I was philosophical as we rocketed past early morning walkers and local traders setting up their stalls. One of the advantages of my Captain Cautious attitude to travel is that I always know I have done everything in my power to ensure a smooth journey. If I missed my flight this time, at least it was through no fault of my own. Fifteen minutes before the check in on my flight closed, I was resigned to the fact that the situation was completely in the hands of the gods. I said a quick prayer to Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, and settled back to see what happened.

It seemed as though Ganesha wasn't as open to the last minute pleas of foreign travelers as I'd hoped he would be. Just after I finished my prayer to the elephant headed deity, our motor coughed... spluttered... and died. Well, I thought, the gods have spoken. I'm just not supposed to get on this plane.

My driver, whose body language suggested he viewed the failure of his vehicle in this harried mission as a bitter judgement from above on his very soul, was not ready to give up. Fortunately for me, he channelled his bitter disappointment into a manic determination to get me another ride. This was how I found myself, less than two minutes after my rickshaw ground to a halt, throwing my pack into the boot of a car whilst simultaneously thrusting 50 rupees into the hand of my original driver as he shouted "GO! GO!".

Ten minutes before my flight was due to close, the complete absurdity of the situation began to set in. I was in the back seat of a modern white sedan whose occupants, I assumed, had been heading off to work for the day when a crazed rickshaw driver had jumped in front of their car forcing them to stop. Just when I was sure that Ganesha had completely deserted me, he had instead given me the best gift that any traveller can ever hope to receive... The kindness of strangers. I spent the entire 5 minutes of our breakneck journey thanking the driver and his friend and apologising for taking them out of their way - but they would have none of it. "You are a guest in our country" was their only response to my ramblings.

We had barely come to a stop at the international terminal, when the friend jumped out of the passenger seat and ran off to get a trolley for my pack. The driver insisted on lifting my pack onto the trolley for me and tried to give back the couple of hundred rupee notes I had thrust into his hand, but I took off towards the check in counter before he could succeed.

Catching my breath as I watched my pack disappear down the luggage conveyor belt, I had time to glance at the clock above the check in desk. Even with the late taxi driver, the airport mix-up and the break down of an auto rickshaw I had made it with 3 minutes to spare.

Captain Cautious strikes again!

This is not India

I always knew that I wanted to spend the last few weeks of my travels for this year relaxing by a beach. And I have to say that I have found the perfect location for that relaxation in the clifftop traveler's enclave of Varkala in Kerala, South India.

Varkala consists of a lovely crescent shaped beach at the foot of towering red cliffs. The clifftop space is one long line of cheap restaurants, hotels and shops. It really does have everything the budget traveler could need, with the notable exception of a disco to dance in. I was pointing out to one of the hotel staff that all Varkala needs is a good disco when I was informed that public dancing is actually illegal in Kerala.

Who would have thought that in the south of India I would stumble into the plot of the movie "Footloose"! I immediately had excited notions of leading an uprising against the shackles of dance repression, Kevin Bacon style. But further investigations revealed that the locals weren't really that bothered by the restrictions and I ended up deciding to go and have a mocha shake instead :-)

Varkala beach is one of those hippy traveler towns full of shops selling a mixture of "free Tibet" and Beatles merchandise as well as restaurants showing pirated movies each evening. You can go a few days here without meeting a single local Keralan as most of the people working in the shops, restaurants and hotels are from Tibet, Nepal or north India. The names of the restaurants, such as the Funky Buddha, Cafe Del Mar and the Chill Out Lounge, are consistent with the zone out mentality of many of the tourists here.

I used to really look down my nose at places like these and, by association, travelers who chose to spend time at places like these. I mean, this really is not India. The idea that someone could travel from the U.K all the way to India and only spend time drinking and eating by the beach in places like Varkala used to be a bit depressing to me.

The reality is that though Varkala is not India, it is a lot of fun. And sometimes you don't want challenging backpacking adventures, you just want to enjoy the sunset with friends and cheap delicious food. Most people I've met here have also not been visiting only Varkala, but rather using it (as I am) as a bit of rest and relaxation before they head home or off to their next backpacking adventure.

I had expected to spend a lot of time swimming, eating and reading in this lovely corner of Kerlala. What I did not expect was that Varkala would offer a veritable smorgasbord of social options. It was less than three hours after I arrived in Varkala that I bumped into the Belgian component of what would become our united nations of a social group. I had spoken briefly to Linda, Annie and Chris in the Ashram and was very pleased to see them again (and not just because they gave me an excellent tip about a cheap hotel room!).

My second day in Varkala saw me bumping into more lovely ashram veterans at the Juice Shack. It soon got to the stage where I was lucky if I managed to walk past two restaurants in a row without being called over to the table of someone I knew. It was like living in a small town with all of your friends. Though most of our group were aquainted from the ashram, we also had people who were "friends of friends" or "hotel neighbours" with someone we knew.

After a few days we fell into a kind of routine where we all did our own thing during the day, which often involved joining someone you randomly bumped into for a yoga lesson, a swim or a drink, before meeting up for dinner and maybe a movie in the evening.

One of the slogans at the Sivananda Ashram was "Unity through Diversity" and our little Varkala gang was certainly a testament to that. We had people from Australia, Scotland, Ireland, South Africa, Belgium, Germany and Italy in our group and the ages ranged from 20 to 55. The occupations of those in the group was just as diverse as our countries of origin, as we had a photography student, a tour bus driver, a dentist, a TV producer, a yoga teacher, a business manager, a real estate agent and, of course, a teacher in our midst.

I don't know if it was our diversity, our shared passion for storytelling, our eagerness to laugh or some combination of these factors that caused us to gel so well...But whatever it was, it was magic. Indeed that magical lure of Varkala was such that people found it very difficult to leave. I had always planned to stay in Varkala for nearly three weeks but everyone else had initially planned to move on after a few days. This lead to the situation where we were frequently having "farewell nights" for members of our group only to bump into them the next morning and hear that they had decided to stay for a few more days. Some in our group (you know who you are) had no fewer than three farewell dinners in their honour before they finally managed to make a clean break of it!

After the last of my new friends left on Monday, I was thinking that I would now have a week to catch up on my reading. I ended up having a day to myself before I started chatting to a lovely Swiss lady as we watched the movie "Slumdog Millionare". Rahel and I ended up catching up for breakfast and dinner 4 days in a row before she too headed off to Gokana.

So, after expecting to enjoy three weeks of solitude in Varkala, I will end up managing to get three days completely to myself. I had thought I needed to spend the last few weeks of my big trip reading and reflecting by myself. Instead I learnt from, and laughed with, some wonderful new friends.

Just goes to show you that the universe always delivers what you actually need, rather than what you think you need :-)

Goddess or greased pig?

One of my goals for this year was to be open to new experiences. I can now happily report that I have succeeded in achieving this goal in each of the seven countries I've visited during 2011. It was this goal, that lead me to the ashram and it was also this goal that saw me signing up for an oil massage.

My first oil massage (yes there have now been more than one) was at the ayurvedic clinic at the Ashram in Neyyar Dam. It took the immense pain that resulted from 5 hours of cross legged sitting and 2 yoga lessons each day to overcome my natural reluctance to try this ayurvedic treatment. Why was I reluctant? Well, during an oil massage the only thing dangling between you and complete nudity is a rather small calico loin cloth.

I was prepared for the loin cloth, having discussed the massage procedure with other women at the ashram, so I was not surprised when my lovely masseuse smiled, handed me the small scrap of calico and gestured that I should remove all my clothes. There were, however, a few rather awkward moments after that while I waited for her to leave the room and she grew more and more insistent about me removing my clothes.

It turns out that even the modicum of modesty that the loin cloth affords you is an illusion as the masseuse gets to see everything anyway as you struggle into the loin cloth. As if the entire situation was not embarrassing enough, I then managed to tie the loin cloth on back to front and my masseuse had to rip it off me and retie it herself.

After this less than stellar beginning, the rest of the oil massage was as smooth as...well...an oil massage. My aching ashram abused muscles truly loved the oily attentions of my masseuse. After an hour of treatment I was so relaxed I didn't even pop open an eyelid when she massaged my boobs for longer than I thought was strictly necessary (there are, after all, very few yoga postures requiring strenuous use of your breasts).

By far the best thing about that first massage was the hot water bathing afterwards. There was a cold shower in the small bathroom adjoining the treatment room and I was also provided with a large plastic tub of lovely hot water to aid the oil removal process. I also managed to craftily discover the hot water tap in the bathroom and was thus able to refill the tub several times during a luxurious 20 minutes of bathing.

After that initial experience, I started encouraging others in the Ashram to try the massage with the passionate fervor of a new religious convert. Some of the women that I spoke to said that they didn't enjoy the oil massages that they had previously tried as they were "a bit rough". I thought they were completely mad until a week later when I had my second experience with oil massage.

As a reward for surviving two weeks of yoga vacation in the Ashram, I decided to treat myself to a deluxe oily experience in the beach resort town of Kovalam. This time I opted for the full body massage as well as the sirodara (which is a treatment involving the steady stream of oil poured onto your forehead for half an hour). Other travelers I've met had credited the sirodara treatment with everything from deep relaxation to opening their "third eye" so, needless to say, I had high expectations.

In addition to the sirodara, I had also forked over a large sum of rupees to have not the regular, but the four handed massage. It seemed I had learnt nothing about the dangers of excess in the Ashram, as I reasoned that if I had thoroughly enjoyed the attentions of one masseuse in my first massage surely I was going to have a transcendental experience with two masseuses.

It all started well.

Now that I was familiar with the practice, I did not hesitate in stripping off in front of the two women and, after I donned the loin cloth, I sat on a stool to enjoy a vigorous head massage.

The first clue that this treatment was not going to feel exactly like my first oil massage came in the form the table I was asked to climb onto. This was not the standard padded massage table I had lay on in the Ashram but rather a heavy, wooden structure about 1.5m x 2.5m with a small groove carved around the sides to allow the oil to drain into a pot. As I gingerly reclined on the hard surface I was reminded of my friend Lana's comparison of a similar table she had her massage on to a butcher's block. I now had first hand knowledge of how accurate her description had been.

Determined to relax, I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the oily attention. I have to say though, that I did not love the four handed nature of the experience. When there is only one masseuse there is some certainty in where the next hand will be placed on your body. For example, if one hand is massaging your left shoulder you know you will not suddenly feel someone tugging on your toes. The same cannot be said for the four handed massage.

As the massage progressed I also began to get the unnerving sense that the women were egging each other on as each stroke felt firmer and faster than the last. Forty minutes in, the strokes got so vigorous that it felt like they were trying to physically redistribute my fat to other parts of my body. The sensation was sadly more bruising than relaxing.

When I had to be assisted to turn over, slipping and sliding near naked in the pooled oil on the table, the sheer absurdity of the situation hit me and I got the giggles. I had thought that having four hands lavishing attention on my body would make me feel like a worshipped goddess. However, the reality of the experience was closer to that of a greased pig!

Oh well, I thought, even if the full body massage was not as lovely as I had hoped at least I still had the steam bath and sirodara to look forward to. However, as I was asked to climb down from the slab, it soon became apparent that the steam bath was not going to involve the masseuse running a hand held steam producing device over my reclining body as it had in the Ashram.

In Kovalam the steam bath involved me climbing into a large wooden cupboard, with a stool inside, that looked remarkably like an iron lung. Once the door was shut, my entire body from the neck down was encased in the steamy enclosure. The steam did feel lovely on my oily skin, but it wasn't long before my giggles returned. I tried to explain to my puzzled masseuses (apparently laughter is not a normal reaction to the treatment) that I felt like a magician's assistant waiting for someone to slide a sword into me - but they didn't seem to understand.

Finally I was released from my wooden enclosure and lead to another wooden table, with a large brass pot suspended over one end, for my sirodara treatment. The steady stream of warm oil on my forehead initially felt quite bizarre. After I while I found it difficult to focus on any sensation apart from the oil being squeezed through my hair before being returned to the dangling pot above my forehead.

I certainly didn't feel anything close to my "third eye" opening but there was a nurturing aspect to the experience...A bit like having your hair washed by your mum when you are a child. This comparison turned out to be uncomfortably accurate. For just as my mum rarely managed to keep the shampoo out of my eyes as a child, it wasn't long before my eyes were stinging with therapeutic oil in Kovalam.

All in all, my deluxe oil massage and sirodara treatment in Kovalam turned out to be not so much transcendental...as excruciating :-)

Chants & Chairs

A word of warning: this is a pretty long post (I know, aren't they all?) so best settle in with a cup of tea :-)

As you could probably tell from my previous post, the unrelenting schedule of ashram life tends to result in one day being quite indistinguishable from the next. Fridays are different because they are "free days", but really the only other excitement for the week (apart from when the boutique restocks its supply of coconut balls) is the Saturday night talent show.

Those who know me well are fully aware of how much I love the sound of my own voice, so it should come as little surprise that I was unable to resist the lure of the microphone on talent show night.

To set the scene, by Saturday morning the number of people who had signed up to perform at the show was zero. This lead the Ashram director to declare that if there was no talent show he would be forced to give us a long boring lecture instead. This was how I decided that maybe I should spend my precious few hours of free time knocking up a chant about how I was coping with ashram life.

I performed the chant below on my first Saturday night and it detailed how I felt on my second day at the ashram. It was performed in a call and response style so everyone had to join in.

Ashram Life

By Bernadette Wilson

A chant to the tune of the daily chant at the Sivananda Vedanta Ashram at Neyyar Dam Kerala.

1. Bell rings, wake Enjoy satsang in the dark. Bell rings, wake Enjoy satsang in the dark. 2.Sit & meditate, chant & pray My legs have gone numb. Sit & meditate, chant & pray My legs have gone numb. 3.Oh when is tea time? When is tea time?! Why didn’t I eat more At dinner last night? 4. Prayana, asana, Get your body to move. Prayana, asana, Get your body to move. 5. The only pose I’m good at Is savanasa. The only pose I’m good at Is savanasa. (NB* Savanasa is the "corpse pose". You just lie on your mat like you are dead :-) 6. Who knew it was possible To sweat this much?! Who knew it was possible To sweat this much?! 7. Cross-legged eating Use your right hand. Cross-legged eating Use your right hand. 8. Oh no! They’ve run out Of sweet delicious rice. There’s never enough Of that sweet delicious rice. 9. Oh joy! Joy! Joy! Now we have free time. Oh joy! Joy! Joy! Now we have free time. 10. Library, internet, boutique, Or health hut? Library, internet, boutique, Or health hut? 11.Tea time by the tree, The best part of the day! Tea time by the tree, The best part of the day! 12. The lecture would be better If my legs weren’t so numb. The lecture would be better If my legs weren’t so numb. 13. Afternoon yoga, Practice, practice! Afternoon yoga, Practice, practice! 14. Why can’t mosquitoes Be vegetarian?! Why can’t mosquitoes Be vegetarian?! 15. It’s hard to “just relax” Getting eaten alive. It’s hard to “just relax” Getting eaten alive. 16. Cold shower, feel clean For about an hour. Cold shower, feel clean For about an hour. 17. Dinner, remember 16 Hours til the next meal. Dinner, remember 16 Hours til the next meal. 18. Oh joy! Joy! Joy! Evening free time.  Joy! Joy! Joy! Evening free time. 19. Library, internet, boutique, Or health hut? Library, internet, boutique, Or health hut? 20. (Slow)  Evening satsang, Time to contemplate. Evening satsang, Time to contemplate. 21. I am devoted, Devoted to chairs. I am devoted, Devoted to chairs. 22. Chair! Chair! Chair! My kingdom for a chair! Chair! Chair! Chair! My kingdom for a chair! 23. Sivananda, Sivananda, Sivananda! Sivananda, Sivananda, Sivananda! 24. Ashram life is good, Once you get used to it. Ashram life is good, Once you get used to it. 25. But I’m in pain! I’m in pain! Pain absolute, Pain I am. 26. (slow) When the pain is gone I’ll feel bliss absolute. Bliss, bliss, bliss, Bliss absolute.

The chant went over very well with the audience. So well in fact that for days afterwards people were approaching me to tell me how much they liked the chant and to ask for a copy of the words. 

I think there were three reasons why the chant was so well received. Firstly, the audience was relieved someone did something for the talent show so that they were off the hook. Secondly, they identified all too well with the themes of the chant. And, finally, people at an ashram are so full of love that you will never find a more supportive audience!

I performed the chant again on my second Saturday night at the ashram and added the verses below:

27. Week 2 at the ashram
and things are looking up.
Week 2 at the ashram
and things are looking up.

28. Serving brunch has improved
my forward bend.
Serving brunch has improved 

my forward bend.

29. My abs are stronger
I can even do a shoulder stand.
My abs are stronger
I can even do a shoulder stand.

30. I am devoted
Devoted to oil massage!
I am devoted
Devoted to oil massage!

31. The only thing better,
Is the hot shower afterwards.
The only thing better,

Is the hot shower afterwards.

32. Krishna got married
and we had a big feast.
Krishna got married
and we had a big feast.

33. When you want help with romance
you don't think of an ashram.

When you want help with romance

you don't think of an ashram.

34. But my cloth got blessed,
Now Krishna's finding me a husband!
But my cloth got blessed,
Now Krishna's finding me a husband!

35. We saw films about
Vishu - Devananda.
We saw films about
Vishu - Devananda.

(NB* Swami Vishnu - Devananda brought Swami Sivananda's teachings to the west and established many ashrams around the world)

36. I loved seeing his peace plane
and him in a hammock.
I loved seeing his peace plane
and him in a hammock.

37. Ashram life is good
When you actively participate.
Ashram life is good
When you actively participate.

38. Surrender to the schedule
and pick up a tambourine!
Surrender to the schedule
and pick up a tambourine!

39. (Slow) Sivananda ashram
Thanks for all you've given me.
Sivananda ashram
Thanks for all you've given me.

40. (Slow) Mindfulness, community
and an addiction to coconut balls.
Mindfulness, community
and an addiction to coconut balls.

The new verses to the chant were well received, though the audience vibe was very different to the first week. Two hundred people had arrived at the ashram on that day, for the month long teacher training course, and they were definitely more subdued than the yoga vacation crowd. 

Writing and performing the chant was a hugely positive experience for me. Not only did it allow me an outlet for my emotions, but it really helped to connect me to the ashram community.

Ashram Agony

I never considered myself to be the type of person who would stay in an ashram. 


The very word "ashram"conjured up a group of associations in my mind that I had zero desire to align myself with. I imagined an isolated location, lots of prayers, and people handing over their sanity - along with their bank balances - to gurus of questionable authority. I imagined people hallucinating on LSD and declaring that they had "found themselves". People who went to ashrams, I unfairly imagined, were blind followers. And though my eyesight may be poor, I have never considered myself to be a blind follower.


So how on earth did I just end up spending two weeks at the Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Dhanwantari Ashram at Neyyar Dam in Kerala?


Well, the seed was planted by a lovely English traveler called Rosie who I met in Beirut, Lebanon in April. When she heard I was planning to visit Kerala later in the year, she insisted that I visit the ashram at Neyyar Dam. I was so resistant to the notion, that I didn't even fully listen to her as she raved about delicious vegetarian food, cheap accommodation and great yoga lessons. I even recall trying to politely rebuff her good intentions by saying, "it sounds great, but an ashram's not really my style".


Rosie could tell I was not buying and the conversation moved on. When she left the dorm a few days later however, she left a note with the details of the ashram under my pillow. The note said something to the effect of, "just look it up on the internet before you dismiss it". A big thank you to Rosie, because without her persistence I certainly wouldn't have just spent two weeks improving my health and quietening my mind.


For those of you who are interested here is the link to the ashram:
http://www.sivananda.org/neyyardam/default.htm


I decided that, as I wanted to get healthier, the yoga vacation program would be a good place to start. The ashram had a minimum stay requirement of three days and I kept repeating that as my mantra in the weeks leading up to my arrival. My thinking was, even if it is horrible I only have to stay three days - so how bad could it be?


I knew that my body was not ready for twice daily yoga classes, so while in Sydney I started attending yoga classes a few times a weeks to prepare. I started telling family and friends about this yoga retreat so that they would hold me accountable if I backed out at the last moment. I needed that push because everything about staying at the ashram terrified me.


Ashram life was not just "out of my comfort zone". Ashram life was at least a twenty hour flight away from comfort zone! I was definitely most afraid of the physical pain that would result from 4 hours of yoga a day, but really everything from the twice daily meditation sessions to the fact that they only served two meals a day freaked me out.


Anyway, on the 31st of October I finally sucked up my courage and took a taxi from Trivandrum to the ashram. The superb setting of the ashram, amid 12 acres of tropical forest with cool green coconut tree groves, a nearby lake and colourful flower-filled views, did much to alleviate my anxiety. Within a few hours I was swept up in the daily schedule of ashram life which I have detailed below:


5:20am - Wake up bell


6:00am - Morning Satsang (30 min silent meditation, 40 min chanting, 10min talk on a spiritual theme and 10 minutes of prayers).


7:30am - Tea 


8:00am - Asana (yoga) class for 2 hours


10:00am - Brunch (this was also my karma yoga duty  - like a daily chore - while at the ashram. So I left yoga at 9:50 to set up mats/trays/ cups in the dining hall. I then went around serving food. Following that, I ate for 10 min and then I had to clean up, sweep the hall, mop the hall, empty bins etc. The whole process went until 11:15)


11:15am - Free time


1:30pm - Tea & snack


2:00pm - Lecture on one of the five points of yoga for 1 and a half hours (Proper exercise, proper breathing, proper diet, proper relaxation & positive thinking/meditation)


3:30pm - Asana (yoga) class for 2 hours


6:00pm - Dinner


6:30pm - Free time


8:00pm - Evening Satsang (30 min silent meditation, 40 min chanting, 10min talk on a spiritual theme and 10 minutes of prayers).


9:30pm - Free time


10:30pm - Lights out


Predictably, by day two I was in sheer agony. 


Every muscle, tendon, atom of my body hurt. Though the yoga classes were the main culprit, it was actually all the sitting cross legged that I found the most unbearable. By the time you add satsangs, lectures, meals to the portions of the yoga lessons that we spent cross legged -  I was averaging about 5 and a half hours of cross legged action each day.  


My course started on a Tuesday and I was just willing myself to get to Friday, because Fridays at the ashram are "free days". This means on Fridays you only have to attend morning and evening satsangs. Most people use this opportunity to leave the ashram on lovely day trips to the nearby beaches of Kovalam or Varkala. I was planning on using my "free day" to lie flat on my back sleeping or sitting on a chair reading. But, the universe had other plans and I spent most of my "free day" in the bathroom with a lovely case of traveler's diarrhea.


Still, I soldiered on and when I awoke on day five to only moderate pain - I knew things were on the up. By day 6, I was almost pain free and able to start appreciating the benefits that ashram life was delivering to me. 


There was noticeable improvement in my strength and flexibility during yoga practice, my mind was calmer and I was actually looking forward to meditation sessions. The biggest change, however, was that I had got to know a number of my fellow yoga vacationers and I began to feel a real sense of community. Just like soldiers  who are forever bonded by their experiences on the battlefield, I think that the yoga vacationers who stayed beyond the pain of the first week also forged life-long bonds. No one else will ever fully understand the joy of finally mastering the plough posture nor our new found appreciation for chairs, hot water or coconut balls. 


Another part of ashram life I found surprisingly enjoyable was the chanting. Though I often didn't understand what we were chanting about, I definitely appreciated the positive vibrations of the Sanskrit words as well as the amazing sense of community you feel when a hundred people are chanting together in unison. I enjoyed the chanting so much that by the second week I was frequently picking up a tambourine. I even wrote a humorous chant about ashram life for the Saturday night talent show. The words to that chant will form the next post.


That's it for now. 


Om tat sat. Om, shanti, shanti, shanti....

Coils, Culture & Comics

Its tropical climate ensures that one thing Fort Cochin is not short of, apart from excellent eateries, are mosquitoes. Despite religiously coating what little skin I was not covering with clothing in DEET each day, I still found myself being bitten with alarming frequency. My main concern with mosquito bites is not the annoying itch but rather the chance that a bite could result in malaria (night time mosquitoes) or dengue fever (daytime mosquitoes).

As I am not taking any medication to prevent the contraction of malaria, I am particularly paranoid about mosquito bites. As an added incentive not to get bitten, my skin sometimes completely overreacts to insect bites. This overreaction leaves me with small raised scars that look suspiciously like, but according to skin specialists are not, skin cancers (attractive I know!). I still have one of these beauties on my forearm from a mosquito bite I got on my last visit to India nine years ago.

The one exposed area of skin that I was not covering with DEET each night was the sensitive skin on my face. One night last week I paid the price for this decision when I woke up after being bitten on the cheek and forehead. At first I thought it wasn't that bad. The bites felt really big - but I was sure it was just like when you have a pimple that feels like it is enormous but when you look in the mirror is actually quite small. As the itching sensation spread however, I gave up trying to fall back to sleep and decided to view the damage in the bathroom mirror.

Well, to say the bites were big is a bit like saying Greece has some debt. Not only were these the biggest mosquito bites I had ever had, but my face was bearing a stronger resemblance to that of the elephant man with each passing moment! How big were the bites? The bite in the middle of my forehead was as least as big as a 20 cent piece and the one on my cheek was larger than a 50 cent piece.

How ballsy was this mosquito?! It must have feasted on my sleeping visage for an hour to suck that much blood! I hastily looked around the bed trying to find the blood sucking spawn of Satan, convinced it would be easy to spot flying low under the burdensome weight of 10% of my blood supply. Just as I gave up the futile search, I realised that in addition to a painful itch my night time visitor may well have given me malaria. But maybe not....Maybe I would get lucky and just be left with scarring that looked like skin cancer covering half of my face. Thankfully the lasting legacy of that evening was not malaria, or disfiguring facial scars, but rather a whole new appreciation for mosquito coils!

After spending more than a week in Fort Cochin, and getting through a new book about every two days, I decided it was high time I engaged in an activity besides eating or reading. To that end I set off on a lovely day trip through the stunning backwaters of Kerala.

Sitting in a long canoe as you silently glide through the tiny canals of Kerala is one of the most peaceful experiences you can have. The lush greenery provides welcome shade and lets you focus on the natural beauty of lotus flowers, multi-hued dragonflies, iguanas, birds and river snakes all around you. The trip had a bit of a school excursion feel to it, so naturally I felt right at home, as we disembarked from time to time to learn how the locals made ropes and baskets from coconut husks as well as to see how the different spices are grown.

I actually took a half day backwater tour when I was last in Kerala and it was interesting to note how the area has changed over the last nine years. There is definitely more development along the canals now, we even passed a new guesthouse with a large banner advertising its rooms stretched across the canal, but for the most part little in this beautiful part of the world has changed since my last visit. I even had the exact same older gentleman guiding my canoe through the canals as the last time I visited! The man in question seemed pleased when I pointed out that guiding canoes full of foreigners through the water with a long bamboo pole must be good for your health, as he did not look a day older than when I last saw him.

In addition to taking in the local scenery I thought I should sample some Keralan culture while I was in the region. Last time I visited Kochi I took in a Kathakali performance so this time I opted to see some classical dance instead. The female dancers were stunningly beautiful with their shimmering costumes and dramatic eye make up. Seeing the elaborate hand gestures and facial expressions that occur while the dancer is also moving vigorously around the stage gave me a whole new appreciation for this lovely art form. With every hand gesture and eye movement having a different meaning, the physical control required by the dancers is truly astounding. No wonder they have to study for up to ten years to perfect their art! 

Given that Fort Cochin is blessed with one of the best bookstores in India, in the form of the wonderful Idiom Bookshop, I thought that I should take the opportunity to read up on Hindu mythology and Indian history. With more than 300 million deities making up the Hindu pantheon, it was important that I found reading material of a depth and gravitas befitting a scholar of my intellect. Fortunately, Idiom was able to cater to my needs perfectly with its extensive range of Indian comic books! Never have the adventures of Krishna or the tales of Ganesh been so colourfully portrayed, or easy to digest. I even found a comic detailing the British massacre at Jallianwala Bagh, with appropriately gory artwork.

One of the religious comics emphasised the true power of friendship by detailing the story of Sudama, a childhood friend of Krishna. Overall the story had a lovely message, but I was slightly concerned about the depiction of Sudama's lovely wife. The story outlines how she "patiently bore" their life of poverty because she "looked upon Saduma as her god". This part of the story is illustrated with a picture of Sudama staring thoughtfully into the distance while his wife bows at his feet.

Well at least now, with my new found understanding of Indian culture, I'll have a good answer the next time some well meaning local asks me on a train trip why I am not married. I'll just smile and say, "Unfortunately I have not yet met a man I can look upon as my god" :-)

You are the walking girl, yes?

If you ever want proof that different states in India are like different countries, each with their own unique landscapes, culture and language, all you need to do is board a flight from Delhi to Kochi in Kerala.

After disembarking from the plane, I was met in Kochi by clear skies, lush greenery and an astounding lack of hassle. Imagine a pre-paid taxi service that involves no shouting or shoving! You simply go to the counter in the airport, pay the fee and take your receipt to the taxi with the corresponding numberplate to your ticket. Amazing!

After frantic sight seeing in Delhi and Agra, I decided I wanted to just stay put and chill out somewhere nice for a couple of weeks. I certainly picked the right location in Fort Cochin. I really enjoyed the few days I spent in Fort Cochin nine years ago, but the area is even more traveler friendly now. Fort Cochin sits at the top of a peninsula, about a 30 minute drive from the heart of the city in Kochi. Its somewhat isolated location, colonial buildings, beautiful churches and lovely tree-lined streets combine to make Fort Cochin a gorgeous oasis of calm.

My cheap room at the Princess Inn (Rs 400, or $8 per night) meant that over the last two weeks in Fort Cochin I have had no problem staying within my daily budget whilst still managing to extensively sample the outstanding local cuisine. Usually when travelling, most places you eat are OK and you may find one really great place in a particular location. It is, however, rare to find restaurants or stalls offering the holy trifecta of great food, great value and great atmosphere. The latter is particularly valuable to me as I prefer to linger after my meal reading for a few hours. Well Fort Cochin has not one, but four different establishments that fulfill the trifecta! : Kashi Art Cafe, Teapot, Shala and Dal Roti.

Kashi is a gallery/cafe with excellent westernised breakfasts, lunches, outstanding coffee and the best Chai Masala I have had in my life. A typical Kashi meal for me: French toast (two slices of home baked brown bread french toast topped with wild honey and coupled with a huge plate of sliced tropical fruits) and a cold coffee (tall glass of expresso over ice with a side jug of milk and pot of sugar syrup that you add to the glass).

Teapot is a lovely themed cafe catering to western tastes. Tables are made from modified tea chests, clusters of teacups dangle over doorways and the walls are filled with shelves overflowing with teapots. Apart from an amazing array of teas, teapot also does a scrumptious cheese and chicken omelet as well as a pretty decent chocolate cake.

I know people always go on and on about how good South Indian food is, but to be honest I never understood why. I now realise that the problem was that up until this trip, I had never had good South Indian food.

Shala is run by the same people as Kashi and it shows. This restaurant however, is only open for dinner and serves delicious Keralan cuisine prepared by local women. The vegetarian special changes each night and may feature: A beautifully spiced black bean curry accompanied, thali style, by small side dishes of hot pickle, dhal, shredded vegetables and red rice. The heat of the vegetable special is perfectly offset by the cucumber mint lemon cooler drink on offer  - which is even more refreshing than it sounds.

If you want an indication of how good Dal Roti is, you just need to look at the queue out the front. Its dinner service starts at 6:30pm and there are always at least 4 groups of people waiting to get a table by 6:40. With a large menu of delicious Northern Indian influenced cuisine, generous servings, a menu containing a helpful glossary and an extremely friendly owner, Dal Roti lives up to its excellent reputation. The night rush makes me feel guilty about lingering over my kindle so I prefer to visit Dal Roti for lunch. My lunch of choice? A paneer & mixed vegetable kati roll (a fried flat bread wrapped around fried, spiced cheese and sweetly spiced vegetables) accompanied by a ginger lime soda. Mmmm.....I have eaten and discussed books with the owner of Dal Roti so many times on this trip that he gave me my last meal for free. Now that's customer service!

To offset this non stop eating, I have been going for daily walks and occasionally engaging in some yoga-like stretching. My daily 6 am walk is when I most feel like a local in Fort Cochin. Why the ungodly hour of 6 am? Well Fort Cochin is many things, but bearable when you are more than 2 metres away from a fan during daylight hours is not one of them. On my first afternoon in this leafy neck of the woods, I nearly gave myself heat stroke by exploring the local streets on foot for two hours. Returning to the hotel drenched in sweat, and with alarmingly swollen hands, I knew I would have to plan any future exercise at a cooler time of day.

My daily morning stroll takes me along the waterfront, past the fishmongers and the outstretched wooden arms of the enormous Chinese fishing nets, hovering above the low tide like giant praying mantises. The tree-lined footpath is full of other early bird walkers and locals who like to do their yoga stretches with a view. South Indian people are far more reserved that their northern countrymen, and it took a week before the familiar morning faces started to say hello to me as I walked past.

Twenty minutes into my walk I run out of waterfront and head inland. This part of the stroll takes me past the naval yards and down back streets where women smile at me as they collect water from the local pump. The last stretch of my morning amble takes me past the local sports field, which usually contains at least three of the following: men playing cricket, boys having soccer training, friends playing badminton and goats grazing on the few remaining tufts of grass surrounding the field.

In two weeks I have yet to see another foreigner on my morning walk and I think this may have contributed to my own local celebrity. Over the last week several of my interactions with shopkeepers have begun with, "You are the walking girl, yes?". Well...I've been called worse.

привет Russia!

Firstly I'd like to apologise if the foreign characters in the title of  this post mean anything other than "hello" in Russian. As my own mastery of the Russian language is limited to vodka, I've had to lean heavily on google translate (and just between us - he isn't always up to the task).

Why am I attempting to greet my audience in Russian? Well you may not know this, but the blogger set up has a stats area where I can see how many people have viewed my blog in a given day, week or month. It also has an audience function where I can see the countries from which people have viewed my blog.

Naturally enough, most of the page views I get are from Australia. I also get some page views from New Zealand, the UK and Germany but that is not hugely surprising to me as I have friends and family members in those countries. What is surprising to me is when I suddenly get page views from countries where I don't know anyone. Then I start to ponder how these people came across my blog. It is possible these people are travelers I have met this year who have gone on to visit other countries. It is also possible that these people are Harry Potter fans that I met at Leaky Con.

However, to my knowledge, I have not met any Russians in my travels this year. So I am curious. Who are you Russian reader? Thank you for taking an interest in my blog and, if you are so inclined, please leave a comment explaining how you came across my ramblings. I'm dying of curiosity here. Also, if there are other readers of this blog from countries I did not mention earlier, I'd love to hear about how you stumbled onto my little corner of the web.

A teardrop on the cheek of eternity

My decision nine years ago, to not visit the Taj Mahal during three months spent in India, is one that some people have found difficult to understand. My mistake last time was planning to see the Taj near the end of my time in India. As the end of that trip grew nearer, two factors played into my decision to avoid Agra. Firstly, I did not have the energy left to face the inevitable hassle that would go with visiting one of the most popular tourist destinations on the planet. Secondly, I knew by then that I would definitely be coming back to India again in the future.

Making my way out of Agra Cantonment train station last week, I realised that even I (an experienced traveller of the sub continent) had not fully anticipated just how insane the welcome at Agra was going to be. In the already crowded station, hundreds of men swarmed on all the foreigners, shouting in our faces, pushing,  shoving us towards waiting taxis. Even my silent death stare, coupled with a purposeful stride towards the pre-paid taxi stand, did little to put off the persistent touts who stuck to my side like white on rice.

If anything the screaming, shouting and shoving actually got worse in front of the pre-paid taxi stand and as the crowd reached a new crescendo the utter absurdity of the situation hit me and I started to laugh hysterically. A french woman near me, whom I suspect thought I was mad, looked like she was going to have stroke while waiting for her nearby husband to negotiate a ride to town. I tried to distract her from the scene by asking her how long she had been in India and then understood her terrified look when she responded "Today is the first day".

My first view of the majestic Taj came at sunset on that first day. I ascended several staircases to a roof top restaurant, and literally gasped when I saw the stunning view of the marble monument captured in the pinkish glow of the afternoon light. If you have seen the movie Aladdin, you may remember the scene when Aladdin takes Jasmine up to his makeshift home on the rooftop, pulls back a sheet and reveals a stunning view across the dilapidated rooftops of the city to the glorious palace. My first view of the Taj Mahal reminded me a lot of that scene. The monument is completely mesmerising, especially in the rapidly changing twilight, and I was shocked to discover after I finished my chai masala that I had been staring at the gorgeous view for nearly an hour.

From the vantage point of the roof top restaurant, it soon became obvious that the local wildlife almost matched the number of tourists in Agra. Hundreds of monkeys, or as I have come to think of them disease spreading beasts of satan, scurried from roof to roof scavenging scraps from the abundant waste in the area. The tiny alleys surrounding the Taj Mahal are also home to hundreds of emaciated, snarling stray dogs which made the "focused walking" required to get back to my hotel just that bit more challenging.

I must say that Agra is the first place in India where I have really been struck by the appalling poverty that many in this great nation have to endure. There is immense poverty all around India and to be honest it has never really affected me before. I don't know why the dire living conditions appalled me so much in Agra, perhaps it was the striking juxtaposition of the opulence of the Taj and the revolting open sewers of the surrounding streets...

My second day in Agra started early as I went to visit the Taj Mahal in the dawn light. It was pleasing to see that the Indian Archeological Society is putting the large foreigner entry fee (about $15) to good use, as the entire Taj Mahal complex is beautifully maintained. In some ways, walking through the stunning ornamental gardens towards the Taj felt like returning to a place I had visited many times before. You see so many photos of the gorgeous marble structure, surrounded by perfectly symmetrical gardens and watercourses, that at first you think there is little to surprise you. It is only once you get up close that the astoundingly detailed craftsmanship reveals itself.

In photographs the Taj often appears as a solid white block of a building. Up close, however, you can see the individual pearly grey swirls that differentiate each marble brick from its neighbours. Similarly you need to see the intricately carved marble screens, the calligraphic quotations from the Quran made with inlaid jasper and the amazingly detailed pietra dura (flower designs inlaid in the marble with semi precious stones) of the main chamber to fully appreciate that over 20,000 craftsmen from all over India were involved in creating the most beautiful building on earth.

The symmetry of the design is also hugely impressive as the four faces of the Taj are perfectly identical. Every tree and shrub on the west side of the ornamental garden is mirrored on the east side and the beautiful red sandstone mosque on the west side of the Taj is matched by an identical structure on the east side that exists solely to balance the symmetry of the complex.

The Taj Mahal was built on the banks of the Yamuna River by Shah Jahan in the middle of the 17th century. Built as a memorial to his third wife, Mumtaz Mahal, the emperor said it made 'the sun and moon shed tears from their eyes'. Given that Mumtaz Mahal died giving birth to the couple's 14th child, I personally think that building a monument described by Rabindranath Tagore as 'a teardrop on the cheek of eternity' was the least the emperor could do to honor his late wife.

A surprising highlight of my time in Agra was visiting the magnificent ancient fortified city of Fatehpur Sikri which lies 40km west of Agra. Overlooked my many tourists who just do a day trip to the Taj, the red sandstone city of Fatehpur Sikri was built by the Emperor Akbar in the 16th century and is a World Heritage site in its own right. The city with its three palaces and gob-smakingly beautiful Jama Masjid mosque is still in near perfect condition as the ancient city was abandoned not due to earthquakes, but rather lack of water in the local region. The immense mosque, with its stunning 54m high Buland Darwaza (victory gate), is now on par with the Umayyad  Mosque in Damascus for the title of "most awe inspiring place of worship" I have ever seen.

As it turned out, the ancient architecture on offer more than made up for the hassles and sanitation (or rather lack there of) in Agra. With the one item on my "must see" list for this trip to India officially ticked off, I was happily looking forward to a less frantic environment down south.

Who is the fairest of them all?

When I stepped out of the terminal at the Indira Ghandi airport a few days ago, there was no mistaking where in the world I was. The warm heavy air that cloaked me, making it an effort to even sweat, was full of the scents of incense and sewerage as well as the sounds of drumming, chanting and the shouting of taxi drivers. Welcome to India!

I always treat myself to a nice hotel when I first arrive in a country, and Wood Castle was indeed a lovely oasis of air conditioned tranquility in the midst of Delhi mayhem. The staff were so considerate that it didn't take me long to forget the predictably frustrating taxi ride that I had taken through the dark backstreets of Delhi to get there. It is good to know that withholding payment until you see the sign of your chosen hotel, coupled with suggestions that we ask the local police for directions when the driver takes you to several different hotels claiming he can't find your chosen hotel, still seems to be an effective tactic nine years after my first visit to India.

My first task in Delhi was to head across town to the Khan Market to purchase some locally appropriate attire. I was not looking forward to the inevitable hassle of negotiating an auto-rickshaw ride to get there but luckily for me Delhi has invested in some excellent new public transport since I was last in town.

Ode to Delhi Metro

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thy easy to follow network map.
My soul soars at thy set, fair prices (30 rupees, 80 cents, to get right across Delhi and back)
I love the efficiency of thy service
Which arrives every few minutes.
My old griefs, with groping men,
Are long forgotten in the face of thy
Glorious air conditioned women only carriages!
Oh Delhi Metro
Thou dost bring a smile to this traveler's heart.


I felt much more comfortable, in both a temperature and cultural sense, when I donned my newly purchased salwar kameez from the lovely Anokhi store (thanks for the tip Beck). Now, appropriately attired, I felt ready to tackle Delhi's Old City for a spot of sight seeing.

Wandering around the lovely gardens surrounding the Red Fort, I had the opportunity to practise both my deflecting attention and wildlife spotting skills. The gardens were full of equal numbers of birds, scurrying squirrels and overly friendly males and it wasn't long before I headed off to the Museum of India's Struggle for Independence to brush up on my history.

On my walk through Chadni Chowk, past the stunning Jama Masjid Mosque, on my way to Karim's (thanks for the excellent restaurant tip Kate & Vas!) I got to practise another skill essential for survival in India. I like to call it 'Focused Walking'. The frantic, crowded and chaotic streets around Chadni Chowk are no place for a gentle stroll listening to your ipod. I know what you're thinking: "It's just walking down the street. Stick to the footpath, how hard can it be?".

Well, firstly there often is no footpath (or if there is, it is usually blocked by stacked merchandise, or street carts spitting hot oil as their owners fry some local delicacy). You try to hug the kerb, but you don't want to get too close lest you accidentally step in the open sewer that is the gutter. So you are walking on the road amid other pedestrians, cows, auto rickshaws, trucks, cars, and (most dangerous of all) cycle rickshaws.

Much of your attention is spent checking how close cycle wheels are to your right leg. A cycle wheel narrowly missing your right leg it is not actually a cause for celebration. This is because it means you are probably about to be clipped by the, much wider, back wheel and carriage of a cycle rickshaw. Your usual reliance on sound as a cue for approaching vehicles is also next to useless as every driver eases their passage through the congestion my keeping their hand on the horn.

The obstacles to a safe journey that I have outlined above are those faced by all pedestrians in India's crowded cities. But as a foreigner, there are some extra ingredients added to the chaotic mix. You have eager salespeople stepping in front of you, desperately trying to sell you their wares: "Madam! Postcard? You like jewelry? Very cheap! Just look". You have overly friendly staring males trying to "accidentally" bump into you. And, most annoyingly of all, you have rickshaw drivers nearly running you over: "Madam! Where are you going? Metro station? It is very far. My rickshaw very cheap!"

You can see why I call it "Focused Walking". Whilst it is certainly more draining than a stroll around the block in Sydney (you often feel exhausted after moving just a few hundred metres) the trick is to actually try to relax.   If you are too cautious, stopping all the time, you are much more likely to get into trouble than if you concentrate but just try to go with the flow and keep moving. Though it certainly doesn't seem like it at first sight, Indian drivers are quite adept at weaving around moving targets. Stopping is much more hazardous as the drivers don't know where you are going next.

After all of that "Focused Walking" I felt I had earned the luxury of a room service meal in front of the TV in my air conditioned room that night. In my nine year absence from the country I had forgotten about India's (or a certain section of India's) obsession with skin lightening creams. Every second ad on TV was for some skin whitening lotion or another, but there was one particular ad that absolutely stopped me in my tracks.

It showed a young woman being embarrassed and trying to cover up her armpit as she held onto the over head rail on a busy train. Just when I thought it was a regular deodorant ad, the voice over said "Would you like your under arms to be fairer?". Yes, that's right, they are selling roll on deodorant with a whitening agent! Well this was very good news for me. Because if the true mark of beauty in India is now fair under arms, then surely my lily white armpits must make me the most beautiful woman in the land!

Sydney Siesta

This post is a bit of an explanation for my foreign readers who may be wondering why I have recently been so slack about updating this blog and posting about events that happened more than two months ago.

Back in Istanbul in July I found myself feeling a bit flat. I was four months into my travels and I had officially hit the backpacking wall. I was tired, sick of having the same traveler conversation ("Hi, Where are you from?" "How long have you been travelling?" "Where have you been?" "Where are you going next?") and missing friends and family back in Australia. On top of that, while I was feeling crap half a world away, I was going to be missing the birth of my best friend's second child as well as the wedding of another good friend back in Sydney.

I had intended to go straight from Orlando, Florida to India in mid July and to stay in India for about 5 months. This was not going to be my first foray into the sub continent, as I had spent nearly 3 months in India back in 2002.

India is a place that tends to polarise opinion. It is not a place that, after visiting, you can be ambivalent about. People tend to love it or hate it. Although I have long resided firmly in the "love it" camp, I also understand why many people find it is not their cup of chai. India can be hot, full of hassle and totally overwhelming. Because I know this, I also know that India is not a good place to go if you are already feeling a bit over the travel experience...

So I decided to head back to Australia for a bit of a break. As soon as the decision was made, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I was able to really enjoy my remaining time in Istanbul, Israel, Palestine and of course Florida.

Those who know me well know that the decision to come home earlier than I had originally intended was not an easy one for me. It meant letting go of the "suck it up" mentality I often ascribe to and having to actually acknowledge, not to mention act upon, the way I was feeling. It also meant having to go significantly over my budget for the year as well as having to (gulp) change the plan. This last prospect was by far the most difficult one for me. I always have a plan.

Whilst I acknowledge that I am a bit anal, my planning seems positively anarchistic compared to that of my Dad. My planning for the Middle East, for example, consisted of purchasing the Middle East Lonely Planet, booking one tour in Turkey and a rough itinerary that outlined which months would be spent in which countries. It did not involve an excel spreadsheet detailing which hotels I would be staying in, a list of possible sight seeing activities for each day or a column to tally the total distance traveled so far in the trip (Hi Dad!). That said, the fact that the mere thought of drastically changing "the plan" made me physically ill does point to that fact that I really am my father's daughter in this regard.

Anyway, the decision to return home early ended up being one of the best ones of my life. There is nothing like being on holiday in your own city. I was able to surprise my good friend by turning up at his wedding as well as spend quality time with my best friend and her two lovely children. I was able to catch up with friends and spend a week recharging the batteries in Brisbane with Mum and Dad. But most importantly, I got to spend quality time with my sister, brother-in law and two lovely nieces. Not only did my sister and her family provide me with a place to stay for two months, but they also provided me with a crash course in sanding, painting and nappy changing!

I originally delayed posting as a diversionary tactic to avoid tipping my friend off to the fact that I was back in Sydney and going to attend his wedding. I have no excuse for the last month though except that I got out of the habit. Sorry about that.

Now that we are all caught up, and my travelling mojo has been restored by some R & R in Australia, it is time to hit the road again... Onward to India.

The Wizarding World Of Harry Potter

I was not feeling at all sentimental on my first visit to the Wizarding World Of Harry Potter theme park in Orlando, Florida. I say first visit, because I had purchased four day pass to the park and ended up visiting several times during and after Leaky Con. On the day in question it was 7 am, I was still tired from dancing at a wizard rock concert until very late the previous night, and I was on a mission. I was attempting to beat the crowds to the 'Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey' ride, buy some merchandise and still make it back to conference for an event that started at 9 am.

All my well thought out plans of hot-footing it straight to the ride went to hell as soon as I rounded a corner, found myself standing in the main street of Hogsmeade and saw Hogwarts castle looming in the distance. By the time I heard the theme music from the Harry Potter movies playing I was a blubbering mess. I had expected to like the theme park a lot. I had not expected it to be such an immersive experience that it moved me to tears...but it did.

What really amazed me about the Wizarding World Of Harry Potter was not that they had managed to build the complete village of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts castle, but rather that they had managed to make you completely forget that you were in a theme park. The excellent architectural design of the buildings in the village meant that you couldn't see any of the other roller coasters from the Universal Islands of Adventure theme park that you knew were only a few hundred metres away. The quality of the design was astounding and I realised why Jo Rowling had only given permission for the park to go ahead if Stuart Craig (the production designer for the Harry Potter movies) was directly involved.

All of the details, from the steam billowing from the Hogwarts Express to the moving illustrations on the covers of the books in the window of Flourish and Blotts, were perfect. A trip to the ladies toilets included listening to the laments of Moaning Myrtle and the Hogsmeade Post Office was located right next door to a large owlery - to ensure that there were always enough owls to handle the large volume of mail that was sent from this part of Florida. In Ollivanders you could see that the wand did indeed choose the wizard and everything from Pigmy Puffs to Fanged Frisbees could be purchased from Zonko's. In Honeydukes the wooden shelves groaned under the weight of Ton Tongue Toffees, Every Flavour Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands and Lemon Sherbets. The enormous Chocolate Frogs came in ornamental boxes complete with wizard trading cards.

The three rides in the park cater to thrill seekers, children as well as hard core fans of the books. The Dragon Challenge ride, based on the Triwizard Tournament, was the one for the thrill seekers as it involved two "dragon" roller coasters twisting, looping and climbing around each other at alarming speeds. I usually avoid roller coasters like the plague (due to a debilitating medical condition I suffer from called "scardycatitis"). However there was no way I was going to miss out on any experience at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter - so it was with some trepidation that I joined the queue and boarded the Chinese Fireball roller coaster.

I noticed in the queue that many people were holding onto their thongs to avoid having them fly off during the ride. I decided that I could just grip my thongs hard with my toes and, as it turned out, I had no problem holding onto my thongs. As we flew down the first heart-stopping drop everyone was screaming. But no one was screaming louder than me as my glasses flew right off my face!! I got a hand to them just before I completely lost them and spent the next two minutes fighting off both intense nausea as well as centrifugal forces as I struggled to keep one hand clamped to my face as we repeatedly hurtled upside down.

Luckily my glasses and I made it through the ordeal and I decided that the much tamer Flight of the Hippogriffride might be more my speed. Set around Hagrid's Hut and the Forbidden Forest, the child friendly ride gave me time to settle my stomach as I took in lovely views of Hogwarts Castle.

The real marquee attraction of the theme park is the 'Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey' ride as it caters to both thrill seekers and hard core book fans. For book fans the queue for this ride is just as much of a drawcard as the ride itself. The ride is part virtual reality/part live action and is set in and around Hogwarts castle. While queuing for the ride, fans get to take in the many rooms of Hogwarts castle, including a portrait gallery where the moving portraits of the four founders of Hogwarts engage in a heated debate about which house has the best quidditch team. Highlights of the queue for me included:

*Wandering through the herbology greenhouses.

*Walking past knights as well as a statue commemorating the architect of Hogwarts in the stone corridors of the castle.

*Getting to hear from Dumbledore and see the interior of his office. In various rooms, characters from the movies appeared and spoke to you. The technology involved is so good that, although you know that the designers have used some kind of projection, you would swear that the characters were right in front of you. Similarly the moving portraits did not look like screens, but rather real moving oil paintings.

*Getting to hear from the Fat Lady as I entered Gryffindor common room.

*Getting advice from the sorting hat.

*Visiting the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and then getting invited to a quidditch match by Ron, Hermoine and Harry.

The premise of the ride itself is that Hermoine has enchanted a cupboard we are in to fly and we are following Harry and Ron (who are on broomsticks) in and around Hogwarts castle to the quidditch pitch. On the way we encounter giant spiders and get chased by a dragon as we hurtle up and around the towers of Hogwarts. The technology in the ride is gob-smakingly amazing, and it is such an immersive experience, that you really do feel like you are flying around Hogwarts at break neck speeds. I came dangerously close to throwing up several times on the ride, but it was worth walking back to the hotel covered in vomit (thankfully it didn't come to that) to get to experience Hogwarts in that way.

One of the ways that the creators of the park have succeeded in getting you to completely forget you are in a theme park is the catering on offer. You cannot purchase any food or drink in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter that is not either mentioned in the books, or traditional English fare. That means that there is no Coke or Pepsi on offer and patrons must instead purchase Butterbeer, Pumpkin juice, water or cider to quench their thirsts.

I was particularly keen to try the butterbeer and I now understand why the Weasley twins repeatedly stole bottles of it from the kitchens of Hogwarts. It is full of butterscotchy goodness and is topped by deliciously creamy froth that is enchanted (or chemically enhanced) not to go flat. The only concession to the Florida heat they have made is to also offer frozen butterbeer. This is like a butterscotchy slushy and also comes with the trademark froth. The pumpkin juice has a similar taste and consistency to mulled wine and whilst delicious, was not all that refreshing in the Florida heat.

My last visit to the theme park occurred on the day after Leaky Con had ended. After buying still more merchandise, I headed to The Three Broomsticks pub for lunch. Who knew that cornish pasties would taste even better when accompanied by frozen butterbeer? I sat in the Three Broomsticks for a couple of hours, drinking butterbeer and reading John Granger's thoeries on the links between the Potter saga and 17th century Florentine history. It was, quite simply, a perfect day.