Varkala – we’ll go back to India later

26^th August – Sitting in Tibetan café perched above cliffs overlooking Arabian sea. OK it's not too hard to be here deep in backpacker territory.

We came down the mountain from Kodaikanal (7000ft above the Tamil plains, post to follow) on 4 buses in 8hrs for about A$8 each & C only (nearly) needed the sick-bag once. Stayed a night in Kottayam, not the most interesting town but we were a little tired.

Yesterday a tuk-tuk to the station & a gentle 3hr train ride brought us to what might be our 3^rd 'country' in India. Moving from the north to the south felt like changing countries & coming to this little place tucked away miles from anywhere feels the same. Only here we could be on a Thai beach, a Bali beach or somewhere north of Mombassa.

It's actually fine & we are going to love it but seriously dislocating after so many weeks careering around the subcontinent.
The signs are exclusively in English, the tourists are 95% white & 98% dressed in backpacker beach chic (which never seems to change) Buddha, Gandhi or Ganesh T-shirts, baggy pants, spaghetti strap tops & sunburn. The local boys grow their hair, buy some shades & have a wonderful time with the European girls & Indian men come on day trips to ogle the bikinis. There is a cop wandering the beach to stop inappropriate staring but he's having too much fun to do any enforcing…

No Bob Marley as yet, but it's just a matter of time, plenty of Tracy Chapman though & other stuff from the late 80s early 90s, why is that? Had to listen to an execrable album by some ex-member of the Eagles yesterday while C was looking for a room, god it's hard. Bet they wish they were getting the royalties that cafés in places like this owe them.

Today we slept in till 10, threw caution, & cool, to the wind & had a banana pancake each for breakfast…in a Tibetan café… Like I say, not really India but we need a rest. It's been a huge trip, it's coming to an end & we are so over-stimulated we can hardly string a sentence together.

C is off having her first Ayervedic massage & I'm happy to watch the passing parade, the red kites fighting with the fish eagles & drinking surprisingly cold beer from a blue & white mug with a weeping giraffe on it in case the cops come by… there's an Italian couple on the next table eating a passable mushroom pizza…like I said it's hard…

Madurai #1 – hate it but kinda love it too…

Monday 17^th August - After the damp gloom of Munnar we took a bus up, over & down the eastern side of the Western Ghats. The first section, through more tea plantations, took us in & out of cloud & through narrow passes that often meant backing up & sliding past buses coming the other way, all a little nervy; the driver has credit card sized mirrors & the conductor guides him with his whistle, with a 100m drop concealed by the fog.

Madurai was an all day ride away & we enjoyed the journey despite the earsplitting Tamil movie & the aforementioned risk of certain death.

The city itself is large dirty & noisy, on a scale of Katoomba (0) to Agra (10) it rates about an eight. We hated it straight away.

However… we ended up having the best time & possibly the most intensely "Indian" experience of the whole trip at the enormous Sri Meenakshi temple. More of that later.

Life is subtly different here in the state of Tamil Nadu, the saris & longhis are less colourful, the tea is less spicy but the food is wonderful & the temples are a riot of colour. And most of the hotel people are terminally grumpy.

Also you can see strange & wonderful things like

• A calf eating the movie posters off a corrugated tin wall
  
• A cow butting C out of the way as she walked along a pavement (very funny)
  
• A woman on a moped with crash helmet visor but no crash helmet
  
• Emasculated tuk-tuks. At some stage a local ordinance was passed to ban tuk-tuks from having the powerful horns you hear everywhere else in India. The joke is that they have to use coiled brass hooters with a rubber ball at the end & squeeze them by hand, just like on a Model T Ford or somesuch. Hysterical, a bus will come past blowing a pair of air (fog?) horns that could grace a small supertanker & the tuk-tuk will come back with what C described as "an irritated squeaky toy". They must be so pissed off.
  
• Lots of food stalls & cafes called "Tiffin Station - Morning & Evening"
  
• (In a nod to British military history) Restaurants called messes e.g. "Kumar Mess – Veg & non-Veg"
  
• Rotary club meeting in our hotel – Madurai East branch 6pm
  
• The filthiest bathroom mats ever, in every hotel we looked at. Don't even want to step on them in shoes…
  
• The spattiest spats on a jewelry shop guard. He was all smart combat uniform & huge moustache & had shiny white plastic spats over his polished boots.
  
• Rats playing on floor behind ticketing officer at newish Madurai station, live & let live….

France – seems like months ago…

11^th – 16^th June – Right back at the beginning we spent a week in SW France. My father has lived there for several years & C had not met him so we flew from Southampton, near Mum's to Bergerac, near Dad's. Picked up a car & had a couple of days touring around then stayed with him for a couple of days before returning to England.

We'd booked a gite called "Un Jardin dans la Falaise" (a garden in the cliffs) 'cos it had a nice website & we weren't disappointed. The place was a pile of rubble when Australian Simon & French wife Magali bought it. They met diving some years ago & settled here, way inland, to be near Magali's folks & the best cave diving in southern France (cave diving – work of the devil).

Simon's a carpenter (& now builder) & Magali's an ace cook so they built the three room gite & have found a life they love. The rooms are piled on top of each other, built into the cliff, & their house is topped by the communal dining room & verandah looking down the valley to the obligatory medieval church. Never stayed anywhere like it, a real treat.

We visited a stack of towns & villages, ate & drank our fill, life's good. For picturesqueness (?) there's nothing to top St Circque la Popie, a 100yr old town perched above the Lot river, a collision of 3 Musketeers, Hans Christian Andersen & W Disney. Here's some pix.

Small World #782 – Kodaikanal & Katoomba

21^st August - We live in Katoomba, an often foggy town of 30odd thousand 1000m above the Sydney basin. Today we arrived at Kodaikanal, an often foggy town of 30odd thousand 2000m above the plains of Tamil Nadu.

The cloud swirls, the rain pours but now & again the view is unbelievable, like being in a plane 15mins before landing. We can't believe we were sweltering on a bus in 35 degrees C this morning.

We buy Indian whisky to warm the cockles & then go out for dinner. There's a Tibetan family café serving steamed momos & noodle soup which suits the climate & we tuck in.

Just as we get up to leave we hear Rahul from Bangalore at the table behind say "blah blah blah Katoomba blah blah blah". C & I both turn & blurt out "did you just say Katoomba" ! Turned out Rahul had been working in Sydney & spent a couple of weekends at the No. 14 Guest House about 100m from our home last year & was comparing it to Kodaikanal with his 2 friends. And they're staying at the same guest house here as us.

Funny old world.

Birdwatching in Bundi #2 – dinner with the Maharaja

Mon 3^rd August – After our lovely afternoon sipping beer & snapping bird photos we were introduced to the 'manager' of the resort. We thought he was a businessman starting up a new venture but it soon became apparent that he was the owner of the place & most of the land around in all directions, if not the lake too… He was dressed in a plain shirt & a pair of alarmingly brief white tennis shorts but was a good 6 inches taller than everyone else & quite heavy set. We probably should have picked him as an aristo from the shape/trim/curl/waxing of his moustache but that takes a lifetime of study. The give-away was when one of the paddy field workers came to talk to him. He approached from the side, head bowed, he bent to touch the seated man's feet & was about to kiss them when the raja motioned no. The farmer (serf?) kissed his hand & touched his lord's feet instead. That's feudal Rajastan c2009.

Maharajah Rajendra Singh of Dugari seemed a nice enough chap, jowly looking like a cross between Charles de Gaulle & Fred Flintstone he effortlessly managed the conversation & the evening.

He'd asked Ramesh, whom he'd known for sometime apparently, to prepare masala fish curry in a pot over an open fire so we could all sit around & watch. Ramesh was clearly pleased with the honour & displayed an almost tender respect for the other man.

The funniest parts were the Rajah's description of the cooking process "this is the difficult bit" he said as a selection of spices were tossed into the pot, as if he'd ever had to do it himself. Moments later we asked about the name of a particular ingredient & he seemed to ignore us & got on his mobile, a minute or two later he announced "corriaaander! My wife says it's called corriaaander!". A 24hr translation service.

After the meal was cooked the classes separated which was a shame. We, the only guests, ate by candlelight in the middle of the lawn with 3 waiters anticipating our every need. The Rajah ate with his cronys around the fire & Ramesh & the other less well bred retired a polite distance away. No photos of the raj alas but here's us feeling silly…

Taj Mahal – unfeasibly gorgeous

Like beauty & the beast the Taj Mahal is threatened on all sides by the festering dump that is Agra. Just to make it interesting we picked up a bad dose of food poisoning on the way into town & had a difficult, sleepless night the details of which you really don't want to know.

Despite this the Taj is immeasurably more beautiful than images can portray. It moved us like no other built structure we've seen.

Yes there were 2-300 other tourists there even at 7am & yes C was so weak she could hardly walk but our visit must rank as one of the highlights this or any other trip. Here's some of our photos but you really ought to try & pop along & see it for yourself…

Rat Temple! – Deshnoke, Rajastan

21^st July - A couple of weeks ago Ramesh took us to visit a temple like no other. In the dusty town of Deshnoke, outside Bikaner is the temple of Kani Mata. "Karni Mata, born in the 14th century, was an incarnation of Durga, the goddess of power and victory. During her lifetime she performed many miracles. When one of her clansmen died and she was unable to bring him back to life and she asked Yama, the god of death to bring him back to life. Yama could not because the clansman had already been reincarnated. Karni Mata made an agreement with Yama that from now on all of her tribespeople would be reborn as rats until they could be born back into the clan."

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/06/0628_040628_tvrats.html

OK so that's the historical perspective. The reality is that there's a temple inhabited by a few olfactorally challenged devotees & approx 20,000 grey rats. And people go there for puja (devotion) or in our case to see how freaky it is. We fully respect their right to worship whoever & however they wish but to us this was the weirdest place we'd been since the roadside drowned-snake whisky sellers of northern Thailand.

The temple has a lovely black & white marble tiled floor & solid silver doors, there are lovely carvings on all the lintels. There are also rats everywhere, drinking from bowls of filthy water & milk, eating sweets in front of the shrine, curled up asleep in the corners. They're also running over my feet, did I mention it's a shoes-off temple? Hmmm. Supposedly good luck I allowed a couple to traverse my toes but when one looked longingly at the dead skin on my heel I moved on. C was feeling a little the worse for wear (think essence of rat and pigeon excrement combined with 40 degree heat) & dreaming of a long shower & a lie down but kept filming, trooper that she is.

After a circuit of the dank, dark corridor, stepping only on the white tiles as Ramesh had told us (& not on the rat shit as all other instincts suggested) we came back out to the main courtyard to some commotion. Ramesh had told us that to see a white rat here was especially fortuitous & that in 24yrs of regular visits he'd only seen 5 white "kaba". Despite our devout atheism we managed to conjure up not one but 2 white kaba during our hour long visit. Quite a feat & it was wonderful to see the childlike glee or religious fervor in Ramesh's smile. A lovely moment in a challenging environment.

So here, for thrillseekers & ratophiles (whatever the word is) is the documentary evidence of all the above. Best viewed after meals, not for the squeamish etc etc. And not a cat in sight. Now where's that foot bath…

Shiva Dancing

Tues 4th August - On our way from Udaipur to Jaipur, Ramesh took a detour to show us one of his special mystery places. We turned off the main road near a town called Tonk and bumped along a road laced with speed humps installed by the locals, finishing our journey at the massive concrete edifice which is the Baselpur Dam – one of the largest dams in India. The area used to be home to numerous villages but was flooded in order to provide water for Jaipur. We walked with Ramesh to a marble stairway leading up to a cave. People milled about, taking leaves and flowers up the stairs. On the left was a small fire pit set in an alcove in which devotees threw coconut husks into the flames. At the top of the stairs in a white tiles temple smaller than our living room was a statue of Shiva – this is a very holy place and people prayed and placed flowers on the shrine, while a water container dripped a constant trickle of water at the foot of the shrine. It was airless and hot and we all clamoured to get a glimpse of Shivling. Ramesh said he could feel the energy generated by the place – Guy and I being cynics thought it might just be the culmination of heat, fire and lack of oxygen & 30 sweaty Hindus.
As we descended the stairs there was a strong smell of incense burning. About 40 women - many with care-worn faces - were joyfully dancing, singing and clapping. I was surrounded by vibrant colours as they twirled and sang. Their chanting was quite mesmerizing and they beckoned me to join them. I tentatively went and sat with them and was suddenly quite overcome and became a bit tearful. After clapping along a bit, I decided to get up and join the dancing.
Opportunities to be among women have been rare in Rajisthan – there is a strong gender divide and women are generally quite removed from the public, rarely mixing with foreigners. I felt privileged to be with such a happy and inclusive group of women and began to feel as light as a feather.

Jaiselmer fort slideshow

Thursday 23rd July - We were in Jaiselmer for 3 days. The westernmost city in our Rajastan tour & only about 100km from the Pakistan border. Here's a slideshow of a morning wander around the fort that towers over the town. Wandering through the lanes we came across a just-born calf.

Press play icon to start slideshow, if you hover over the bottom part of the photo you should see play, pause, back & forward buttons. If you click on the photo you'll open a new window where you can watch the slideshow full screen in Picasa, which is where I uploaded them. Enjoy

A Pint from the Past – Porthdinllaen 28 years on

For a few years in the late 70s early 80s we had a hill farm called Caer Ferch Uchaf on the Llêyn peninsula in North Wales. I was at Uni in Salford, Greater Manchester, then frightful now redeveloped as Lancashire’s Silicon Canal. For my 20th or 21st birthday I invited all my Uni mates over to camp at the farm & have a party in the farmyard. Most of my friends from high school – Ysgol (school) Glan-y-Môr (by the beach) Pwllheli came up the hill from town to join us. I guided the (mostly) student bikers to the venue with a kite on 400ft of string.
It was a great night until the strength of the home brew worked its magic on the cultural differences between the two tribes & a fight broke out. All very silly & no bones broken, a fine time was had by all. Many slept in the cow shed, some couldn’t find their tents & slept around their bikes.
The following day we all went down to the legendary Ty Côch (Red House) Inn on the at Porthdinllaen.

The pub is right on the beach in a hamlet of 5 houses & a lifeboat station only accessible by walking along the beach or across the clifftop. My guests ate & drank their fill & then rode (carefully) back to Manchester.
I’ve not been back to Ty Coch for about 25years & as the weather was good on the one day we’d set aside for me to show C North Wales we ended up walking to Porthdinllaen.
It was just past the point of the day when I can usually persuade C to let me have a pint (about 12:15pm, depending if I’ve been good).
The place hadn’t changed a bit, other than the weather being perfect, & we sat on the wall outside the pub & lapped it all up. Across the bay, looking north up the coast two mountains called The Rivals peered down at the village of Trefôr. Miserable spot that is, in shadow most the day even when the rain stops, Trefôr recently cheered itself up by unleasing Welsh soul diva Duffy onto an unsuspecting world, she’d not have been born till a couple of years after the last time I was here. Ho hum.
One of the best lunchtime pints of my life. Just perfect.

Night in the dunes #2 - Txting & Camel farts

We returned from our afternoon on camel-back sore but happy. The dinner in the little mud-hut compound was very good, one of the 3 curries was made of the Rajastani desert beans which became a favorite. A local band sat cross-legged on a sheet in the dirt & played fairly genuine local folk music. C & I really got into it though a French family with 4 teenage daughters was harder to convince. The maman looked as though she was terrified of the tabla player & what he might do to the girls with his exotic rhythms. We danced & hammed it up under the revealing starlight as the clouds cleared & the turban was passed around. The tabla call & response sequence with the clapstick players was mesmerizing.

I say 'fairly genuine folk' because after the dancers left Ramesh pulled the class thing on us. Our Delhi friend Emily had explained on our 1^st night that in India that not only do we visitors get lost in the caste system (3 main castes & 3000+ sub castes) but overlaid on that is a good old fashioned class system just as unfair as in the good 'ole UK. As part of "it's India, you'll never know what the f**k is going on" (a continuing series in 708 parts) Ramesh condemned the players we'd enjoyed so much as not from the right caste, playing home-made instruments, wearing the wrong clothes & generally being not up to much. We refused to let these details distract from the lingering sense of fun & prepared to leave again for a night in the dunes.

Ramesh lent me his 'cow-stick' (a 4ft rigid bamboo pole he uses to clear 'obstacles') & we packed head torches & warmer clothes & mounted up again outside the compound. The route to the dunes was the same as earlier but this time we were in complete darkness. As our eyes adjusted to the starlight we could just make out each other, our camels & the medieval camel cart with it huge wooden wheels trundling along ahead of us. This carried the French couple while their daughters rode like us. My colloquial French came flooding back as the cart camel unleashed an enormous fart right at their heads & they swore & cussed as the rest of us laughed.

The only sound other than our voices was the rhythmic tinkle of camel bells & the faint thud of hoofs on the sand, completely hypnotic. Riding my evening camel was more of a trial though, having no string stirrups to rest my feet in meant added terrible thigh strain to the list of ailments posted before as I struggled to stay on & avoid a plunge into the darkened thorn bushes.

The camels spread out on top of the dunes & we had our own crest on which to sleep. The young cameleers laid out a rug, sheet pillows & a thick quilt (jeez, we do it tough) for us before retreating 20m or so to settle in next to their charges. We settled in & counted shooting stars while the lads chatted & the camels burped & farted. Some disturbance later as a pair of hoons from the village scrambled up the dunes on a motorbike, narrowly missing camels, sleeping Francaises & falling off a 10m sand cliff. They were soon dispatched.

In space no one can hear you scream, in the dunes no one can avoid your text messages…Little Nokia bing-bongs & chirrups floated around for a few hours to my amusement & apparently I contributed as I found 2 txts on my phone in the morning, one from UK one from Australia.

It was a delicious night & waking from time to time was a real pleasure as the starscape tracked across the sky. Dawn was magical, soft light, soft sounds of Hindi chatting, yawns, stretches & hoiks. Bliss

And yes, camels do chew the cud all night.

Driving Rules- FAQ

Do I need a driving licence?

Yes, you must always have a driving licence with you when you drive. These are available after an intensive driving course & a test, or by popping round the back of the market to the third door on the left, ask for Vikram.

Is there a limit to number of people I can carry in my car, on my bike, autorickshaw, tractor etc?

No, the maximum number of people you can carry is up to you, your gods, & Newton's laws. Alternatively if you run out of fingers & toes that's probably enough passengers.

There is a truck going 2kph less than me 2 meters ahead & 2 trucks & a tractor abreast in the oncoming lane. Is it correct to overtake?

Absolutely, all traffic in India is surrounded by a force field about 2cm thick over which is a thin layer of an invisible Teflon-like substance. Overtake, go for your life! Enjoy!

I am driving along a 4 lane highway with a pleasant grassy central reservation. There are vehicles travelling at high speed in both directions in all four lanes. Should I be worried?

Absolutely not, see above.

I approach busy a roundabout. There is a cow standing on the podium where the policeman should be. What should I do?

1. Drive resolutely towards cow veering to left or right of the obstacle according to your mood.
   
2. Slither
   

I had a dream the other night, I was looking at a copy of the Indian Highway Code. Inside the beautifully embossed cover was one sheet of paper & on it was written "This Page Intentionally Left Blank"

Agra – it’s Awful!

Driving into Agra after a day in the Ambassador our hearts sank. We knew it would be a grubby industrial city but not as filthy as this. The pollution rivals Bangkok in the old days. First memorable sight was a 3-wheel delivery van sporting a huge "Sunlight Pure" margarine logo on the back mostly obscured by the enormous plume of black smoke it was pumping out.

We stopped a couple of times searching for the cheap leather hold all I should have bought in Jaiselmer, no luck, & almost gagged on the humidity. It'd rained earlier which left pools of diesel/water/cowdung soup everywhere & an atmosphere you could cut with a chapatti.

The Hotel Royal Regency is the sort of business place we expected, functional & used to tourists who only stay the night, see the Taj, breakfast & then split. On a major road in the middle of nowhere there are a couple of other hotels & 2 of the saddest malls you've ever seen given they're only a few years old. In between all this are patches of wasteland & slums.

Ramesh had warned us not to go out, eat in the hotel restaurant, don't use credit card anywhere, etc etc as "Uttar Pradesh is mostly full of criminals, & not clean". This seems a little hard on 166 million people so while C had a nap I decided to go for a march, get some exercise & see what happens.

Walked a mile down the 4 lane road via the 2 malls to find the nearest beer shop & walked back. Didn't die. Saw the following;

• The Taj from the top floor of mall #1 glistening in the polluted twilight. Jaw-dropping even from here, hyperbole warning for tomorrow.
  
• 2 well dressed 40 something ladies being shown how to use an escalator by their children in mall #2. We matched grins as they stepped onboard.
  
• My first albino horse, complete with pink eyes & lips
  
• A fight outside the street corner police lockup, someone's been up to no good
  
• More guns than I've seen in years, all the security guards at the malls have shotties as do several youths hanging out in the carparks
  
• A donkey foal stuck on one side of the central barrier while it's mother was on the far side munching on a garbage pile. The barrier is 4ft high & 2ft wide & the foal was obviously distressed & unable to jump over. I could see they'd been separated at a junction a couple of hundred meters up the road & I was worried it'd get run over. I watched for a while as the locals watched me & as always the traffic surprised. Huge tourist buses, trucks, autorickshaws & speeding motorbikes all somehow flowed around the distressed animal. Aaaahhhh
  

 

Birdwatching in Bundi

3rd August - Here’s a surreal & rather magical experience. We’re 30ft up a dead tree at sunset birdwatching outside Bundi.
It’s a little cruisier than that actually, we’re on a shaded platform, in comfy cane chairs, cold beer in one hand, binocs / telephoto in the other.
We’re the sole guests at a tented resort 10kms outside the town, which means there are at about 5 times as many staff as punters.

Clouds of dragonflies waft about us, there’s a parrot chirruping on a branch about 6ft away & before us is a lake about 2km long almost entirely covered in lotus leaves. There are a couple of ancient burial shrines on tiny man made islands in the lake & all around us are paddy fields being slowly filled by an ancient pump. A parrot just landed almost on top of a startled squirrel & monkeys are being shooed away from the restaurant.
A tiny falcon just darted through in front of us & disturbed a tree full of pigeons & sent a posse of parrots off at the double.
We’re sort of ‘behind’ the bowl of hills that cradles Bundi’s old town & the ramparts of the abandoned fort are peer over the ridge at us along the lake. There’s a rather large telecom tower up there also which I s’pose I should mention…
C snaps away with the Olympus, 1001 ways with a parrot on a stick. I borrow the camera & take the same shots all over again. Some drop-dead gorgeous shots emerge after much culling.
Being the only guests means there are several people dedicated to anticipating our every thought, often before we’d had them. When we climbed up to the treehouse this afternoon I’d only just decided to go look for a 2nd chair when I saw one, & a table being rushed along the path from reception. This evening C wandered up & within seconds there were chaps fluffing the cushions, putting linen head rests on & smoothing a table cloth down for us to rest our camera on. Frankly disconcerting but it’s bad form to complain don’t you know…

Udaipur day 1 pt2 – Life’s a Pineapple

Carol lay in bed nursing her headache. I decide to wander around, be nice to everybody, & see what happens. One aim was to pick up an Ethernet cable so I could plug in my lappie at the hotel as there's no wifi. After 20mins of having to say "Namaste!, Australian!, Sydney!, Cricket!, Ricky Ponting!, Adam Gilchrist!, 1^st time India!, 49!, married!, no children!" to everybody my niceness policy was backfiring badly. C reckons we should get T shirts made up with all those responses printed front & back so we can just point at our chests when asked…

I retreated to an apparently deserted bookshop/net café. A 50 something American woman was out back on a PC & said she'd been here alone for half an hour or so. "Help yourself honey! Eat all the chocolate & take all the books you want". I decided against & checked the street outside. A strikingly handsome Indian chap sauntered over, might have been his shop or he might have been minding the whole row of shops, that was never established. No cables here but he immediately offered to run me over to where he bought his computers on his motorbike.

Dev had perfect Uni-educated English & as we careered through the traffic we chatted about the MBA he wants to do & the current spate of bashings of Indian students in Australian cities. He'd wanted to go to Adelaide or Sydney but his father has now forbidden this & he's probably off to the US instead. Not for the first time I apologised on behalf of a nation.

I got a cable made up & as we journeyed back to his area he started the familiar spiel about how he works with a painting cooperative where all the profits get divided between the artists & the shopowner. Would I like to visit the 'school' & learn about the painting & maybe have a look in the shop, no expectation to buy. I did all the above & got away without a purchase. Beautiful though the work was I didn't want or need it & used getting back to my sick wife as an excuse to extricate myself.

I mention all this because it sounds initially very much like our Delhi kidnapping but the difference here was that I genuinely like this guy & I was engaged in an exchange. He'll get me the cable I need & I'll look at his paintings, I'll act my role of innocent abroad & he'll be pleasant to be with, maybe he'll sell something. A subtle dance.

I was reminded of my friend Kenny O'Clair from some Boeing town in the US. I met Kenny in Burundi in 1988 & he was on a woefully under researched wander around Africa. He had long blond hair, big teeth, no chin & bottle bottom glasses with a rose tint (I kid you not); he was straight from Scooby Doo central casting. He'd get in to awful scrapes in the weirdest of places & always get away with it because he genuinely didn't know what was going on. He just kept on smiling & shaking hands. One night over dinner he came out with "Hey! Everything's better than everything else!" which pretty much summed up his approach.

His other phrase was "life's a pineapple", but he never explained what that meant.