Cashew nuts and cliff tops.

The next morning we got up at 06:30 to visit Kollam harbour. The smell of fish wafted up from the saline puddles as we splashed along the quay. Squadrons of men were mechanically unloading plastic baskets of fish, and carrying them down to women who sat on buckets, selling the catch. The energy was overwhelming, especially that early in the morning, so we recovered with some dosas. Once we’d munched our breakfast, we headed to a secluded cashew nut factory, hidden in the jungley suburbs. We watched as the workers shelled the nuts from the roasted cases (men by machine, women by hand), then peeled the skin off and graded the end product accordingly.

The hollow noise of knocking echoed around the walls like a xylophone, but everyone worked in silence. I didn’t know how to react. The workers have a steady job and a comparatively high income, but the work is manual and labour-intensive. We were told that they were happy to be there, and they smiled at us as we toured around, but I did feel a bit uncomfortable.

We took the bus back to the hotel, then caught two more buses to reach Varkala, a small town on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea. We had a late lunch then wandered along the beach, past cricket matches and souvenir shops. We enjoyed impossibly succulent fish for dinner, (which more than made up for the previous night’s repast), and went to bed, listening to the wind as it tore at the waves.

Ingrid and I were up early the next day to go to a yoga class. It was more spiritual and ritualistic than other classes I’ve attended; the teacher lit incense and splashed sweet-smelling water as we held our poses. It was really relaxing and I left the class feeling like there was a lot more space in my head. We met the others for breakfast at a restaurant perched on the cliff, then headed to the beach where the sun imperceptibly burnt us to a crisp. At about 15:00 we hit the shops, bargaining hard for some wall hangings (my inner-hippie has been unashamedly exposed) and then freshened up at the hotel.

We were lucky to be in town on the final day of a Hindu festival, celebrating Brahma. We encased ourselves in a sweaty crowd and watched as young men in mundus pounded their drums, and older men, convincingly dressed as women, twirled around in heavy costumes and thick makeup.

A procession of creepy floats (think fairground) followed the dancers, depicting scenes from Hindu mythology. The plastic figures jolted around robotically, twirling their arms and turning their heads. It was a little difficult to follow what was happening. We then walked up the road and caught up with the seven ceremonial elephants. It was heartbreaking to see their glazed eyes as they carried up to three people on their backs, laden with ceremonial pomp. The fear rolled off them like a dense fog, mixing with the incessant drums and the queasy songs blasting out of loudspeakers. Feeling humbled, we returned to the cliff for our last meal in Varkala.

Varkala is what I imagined Goa to be. It’s super relaxed, very hippie (though not to the scale of Pushkar), and utterly gorgeous. I’m very aware that I’m leaving Asia in a few days, and Varkala has been the perfect place to indulge my nostalgia and feel horrified at the thought of leaving. All good things…

Boating in the backwaters.

Not wanting to waste a day just flying, we decided to visit Old Goa on the way to the airport. We slunk around whitewashed churches and admired golden altars; the focal point of the heavy Portuguese influence of the town. The sweat drenched our clothes, and we regretted not being able to change before our flights. We had two short journeys, from Goa to Mumbai, then on to Kochi. We arrived at about 23:00, exhausted and a bit smelly.

The next morning we met our new guide, Sanjin, and three English girls who were joining us. We exchanged pleasantries, then hopped into some tuk-tuks to visit the oldest synagogue in the Commonwealth, which now has only seven devotees. After a little incident involving a flat tyre, we caught up with the others and looked at the unique Chinese tiles and the Belgian glass lamps of synagogue. We then got dropped off at the side of the road, and caught a local bus. Alexa and I sat at the front, to benefit from the panoramic view and the breeze coming through the open windows. An hour later we arrived at a harbour, boarded a boat which functioned much like a bus, and chugged along the Keralan backwaters, lined with luscious palm trees. Men hitched up their mundus as they lurched into the boat, and women smiled as we squished up to offer them seats. Soon we arrived at a beautiful homestay in Chennamkary (near Alappuzha), set on the river.

A delicious lunch was waiting for us, and later induced a food-coma on account of our inability to stop eating. After we’d recovered with some chai, we followed Thomas as he showed us his village. Combine harvesters were gathering rice as men sat watching and chatting. We passed an arboretum of fruit trees, and a litany of churches and Hindu temples. When it got dark we boarded a canoe, just as lightning lit up the sky like a strobe. Thunder rumbled over the song that the boatman was singing, and a few reluctant drops fell on our heads. We were back in time for dinner, and gorged ourselves silly once more, before winding down the night with travel preparations and stories of home.

The next morning we woke up to the sounds of cooing birds and the gentle chug of the houseboats as they patrolled the river. We caught tuk-tuks to the main boat station, then boarded a two story ferry which would take us to Kollam. The engine spluttered to life and we set off, at a sedate 12km/h, watching the emerald palms flutter as we passed. The dingy waters were sometimes so choked with vegetation that it didn’t look like the prow would be able to slice through.

After a couple of hours we came to a lock, which was manually operated by a small man in a mundu. The slightly bitter smell of salt water wound up our nostrils; a contrast to the fresh water that we’d been traversing all morning. We stopped for a quick banana leaf thali, before hurrying back on board as soon as the drivers had finished their meal, the horn honking at us impatiently. The waterway grew wider, expanding for fishermen’s nets, suspended on wooden frames. After eight hours the scenery got a bit repetitive, but it was nice to have some time to reflect and absorb as much of the experience as possible. We arrived in Kollam, caught tuk-tuks to the hotel, which was overly plush in an Austin Powers kind of way, and had a bizarre meal in a rainforest themed room, with a fake wooden bridge, and a cot in the corner. The food was an interesting Chinese-Indian fusion, and not in a good way. Nevertheless, we ate it and went to bed.

Kerala is one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in Asia, and is the first place in India that I could imagine living in. The calm serenity of the waters makes the bustling cities seem like a bad dream. People are noticeably friendlier down here, and are more likely to smile than stare. I miss the others who have already left, but I’m equally so happy that I’ve stayed on to experience more of India’s diversity. Every town could be a new country, and that’s what’s so exciting.

Please don’t Go-a!

We grabbed some lunch at the airport, then had a quick flight to Goa that took less than an hour. The green palm trees trapped the sultry air as we drove down tarmaced roads that occasionally broke out into a view of the sea. We arrived at our hotel, and Ingrid and I were presented with a palatial suite, replete with sitting room and giant balcony overlooking the pool. We wandered down Calangute beach, and felt a little uncomfortable about the men following us and taking photos (yes, we were fully clothed). We arrived in the grimy town, which offered wholesale cashew nuts and an ATM, then made our way back to the hotel to get ready for dinner.

Showered and scrubbed up, we caught some taxis to a restaurant on the beach, and indulged in some fresh seafood as the waves crushed against the shore. We had a few drinks, played some pool, then took the party back to the hotel. I left at 04:30, but the others showed no sign of slowing. I’ve never considered myself very hard-core.

By some miracle most of the group managed to surface the following day, so we dragged ourselves to Anjuna Beach; a short taxi drive north. After a couple of tactical vom-breaks (which weren’t fully utilised, but better to be safe than sorry, eh Rachel?!) we made it to the water. We commandeered some sunbeds and carefully roasted ourselves, occasionally partaking in the sea-rave that the locals were getting involved with. We returned to Calangute, showered, and went out for our last meal as a group which was a typically slow and inefficient affair. Only six of us from the original group are carrying on to Kochi. We said our goodbyes this morning and went our separate ways. I’ve never been good at parting words, and this was no exception. I can only hope that we meet up again; I’d say it’s highly probable.

Goa wasn’t quite the hippie paradise that I was expecting. The towns were a little run-down and the beaches were patrolled by creeps, but the water was warm, the sand was soft, and overall it was a nice place to chill out. I’m not a beach person, but it’s a lot more fun when you’re with other people. I guess most things are.

Humid Mumbai.

We caught a private bus from Udaipur, that was part sleeper, part seats. At some point over the course of the journey, an Indian family joined us, and the little girl laughed as Daniel and I tried to learn song lyrics from the film we had watched the day before. We arrived in Ahmedabad five hours later, quickly dropped our bags, then crossed the road to the Gandhi ashram. We learnt about his life and principles, before returning to the hotel, for the faffiest meal we’ve had so far. It took about an hour and a half for everyone to get their food, by which point it was time to leave again. We caught taxis to the train station, then found our bunks for the night. It was the first sleeper train for a lot of people, and they were surprised by the level of comfort. It was a lot cleaner than my experiences in China, perhaps because people don’t smoke, spit, or eat sunflower seeds.

We arrived in Mumbai at 06:00, caught tuk-tuks to the hotel, then ventured out into the 80% humidity. The city has a very different vibe from what we’ve seen so far. There’s a lot less rubbish, a lot more office-workers, and an aura of calm control that gently contains the chaos. We walked around the city, past colonial buildings scarred by damp veins and crumbling facades. We then visited the Gateway of India, and looked out at the foggy port.

We awkwardly sidled into the Taj Mahal Palace hotel and breathed in the fresh lemongrass scent that was circulated by currents of air conditioning. We bolted at the price of afternoon tea, and instead had a drink at Leopold’s (though I’m yet to read Shantaram, so don’t spoil it for me). We had a wander through the market, then caught a taxi to Chowpatty Beach. We walked along the sand, under the gaze of concrete towers running along the bay. We decided against splashing about in the toxic water, and instead climbed up to the Hanging Gardens for a view across the water.

By this point, the sweat was running in rivulets down our necks, and stinging our eyes. We returned to the hotel to recover, before heading back into town for dinner.

The next morning we caught taxis to Dhobi Ghat, the world’s biggest laundry (which isn’t perhaps the best advertisement for their business – I’m sure a few socks go astray). Jeans, sheets and t-shirts hung in regimented lines, organised by colour, as men scrubbed squares of material in concrete baths.

We didn’t have long in Mumbai, but it was enough for me to know that I like it. I love the verdent jungle gardens that are slowly reclaiming colonial ruins, and the cosmopolitan diversity that is visible as east meets west. Even the humid climate was a welcome change from the searing heat of Udaipur. It defied my expectations of sprawling slums and clogging pollution (although I’m sure these phenomena are visible in other parts of the city). That’s why I try not to have expectations before I arrive somewhere; I invariably leave with a different impression from the one that I started with.

A thali to die for in Udaipur.

We took tiny Jeeps to Ajmer in the late afternoon, and arrived at the train station. There’d been a bit of a kerfuffle in that our seats hadn’t been reserved. Binu called in the recurring Puja Man and he worked his magic, doing a deal with the platform manager, and kicking some people out of a carriage so that we could all sit together. Apparently the people were getting off the train anyway. We passed the six hours by watching snippets of dusty cricket matches out of the window, waving to children running along the track, and listening to horror stories about some of the groups Binu has had to lead. We arrived in Udaipur at 22:30, exhausted from having seen the sun rise and set.

We met at 10:00 the next morning and walked into town, avoiding the choking motorbikes, lethargic cows and heavily-laden donkeys. We visited a gallery, where the artists hand-painted detailed scenes on smooth silk, with brushes made of camel eyelashes and squirrel tails. We then visited the City Palace, which was a maze of coloured glass, mottled marble, and patterned tiles, overlooking the lake. We had some lunch, did some shopping, and met Binu to watch a procession to celebrate the Mewar festival.

Elegant women in colourful saris bore statues on their heads, and walked down to the lake. We then watched a cultural show. Young girls whirled around with their heads veils billowing behind them like jewelled sails. The bangles on their wrists clattered in time with the drum, glistening like tinsel as the spun in kaleidoscopic circles.

After the show we went for dinner, had some Binu storytime, then got some rum off a guy on a motorbike. We smashed my previous record of the number of losers you can get in a tuk-tuk (I’m up to twelve), and returned to the hotel. We merged with another tour group, and twenty of us squeezed into a twin room. The party didn’t stop until 03:00, by which point my common sense told me to go to bed.

We had a slow morning, lingering over breakfast on a rooftop, before finishing our shopping and returning to the hotel. At 13:00 we caught some tuk-tuks to a mall and bought cinema tickets. We settled into our seats, laden with Coke, popcorn and samosas, and followed the story of a man who didn’t like his wife because she was too fat, but romantically, over the course of a few months, condescended to love her. Feeling slightly bemused by the storyline, but unable to stop humming the songs, we went back to the Old Town and went on a boat around the lake, just as the sun was obfuscated by some clouds. We met Binu at an amazing thali place. It was like a sushi conveyor belt, but there was no sushi, and the conveyor belt was made of humans. A platoon of waiters filled our dishes continously, so that the mountain of food before us never got any smaller. Eventually, we had gorged ourselves to bursting, and were forced to stop.

Udaipur is a pleasant city. We were lucky to be here during the festival, and to experience the colours and atmosphere associated with it. The art produced here is beautiful, and the lakes are serene. I still feel a little distanced from ‘real India’, despite having watched an entire film in Hindi and having been part of the only white contingent in a restaurant. But maybe if I knew what I was being sheltered from, I’d be more grateful.

A puja in Pushkar.

We were thrust into two Mahindra Jeeps, which were to drive us to Tordi Saga; a village of three thousand five hundred inhabitants. We had managed to select the party bus, and pumped out the likes of Aqua, Akon, and Avril Lavigne as we hurtled down the motorway. The back door had a tendency to swing open every time we went over a bump; which developed from something quite amusing to something mildly terrifying. However, we made it to our destination safely, and visited a local man’s house for lunch. He served us a delicious dahl and some dense wheat bread, for which we thanked him profusely. We then had a wander around the village, and were henna-ed by a beautiful but shy local girl.

In the late afternoon we were picked up by more Jeeps, which drove us to some sand dunes. We were the only people there as the red sun drifted down to touch the horizon; we sipped hot chai as the darkness spread.

The next day we had a walk around the village. This wasn’t nearly as contrived as similar visits I’ve done; the locals called out to us, asking for their photos to be taken. We were definitely a novelty. After our walk we crawled back into the Jeeps and drove to Pushkar. We walked around the small town, dazed by the volume of shops vomiting out tie-dye, camel leather, and tea. It’s a hippie mecca, and we were struck by the number of older people, their grey grizzled dreadlocks belieing many a decade spent in a weedy Indian haze. We visited the temple dedicated to Brahma, the Hindu god of creation, then went down to the holy lake around which Pushkar is built. A Brahmin in yellow chinos and a stripey shirt conducted a puja for us; a series of prayers for ourselves and our families, banishing bad karma and welcoming good. We cast flower petals into the water, and were anointed with a mixture of rice and red powder. Feeling cleansed, we walked around the lake and had dinner, admiring the fireworks that were bringing in the Hindu New year.

We had a relaxed day after that, shopping for psychadelic hippie tat, eating wholesome hippie fare, and chilling by the hippie-free pool. As we headed into town we stumbled upon a procession, led by an enthusiastic man in orange.

I had an ayurvedic massage, which was enjoyable, but in a weird little parlour/office. I was told by Yogi Ji that I had a cool head, soft stomach, and hot feet, and that is good. He asked me if I was a farmer, because of my supposed good health, and was visibly surprised when I answered in the negative.

In the evening we split into two groups. The others opted to take a camel ride, but I was too stingy to partake. We hopped into Jeeps and met them in the desert, at the campsite of a nomadic family. The sun set and the moon rose as we were entertained by a bizarre magic show which culminated in the apparition of three pigeons in a basket, and four mesmerising dancers that orbited the fire.

A man ate some flames and we ate our dinner, comprised of lentils, breads, vegetables and rice. The man that had conducted our pujas was also there, for some unknown reason. The fire burned low and we said our goodbyes.

Our final day in Pushkar started at 05:00. We tripped in the darkness, following Shanka up a mountain. The incline was steep, and for the second time I regretted leaving my trainers in Thailand. The milky dawn was just spreading as we reached the temple at the summit. We crumpled into a sweaty heap, and revived ourselves with chai as the sun began to peek over the mountains, the pink reflection glistening off the lake.

It was a moment of calm contentment. Until a family of monkeys started chattering and leaping around. We reluctantly descended, but it was worth it for breakfast.

Pushkar is one of those strange hippie bubbles that I’ve stumbled on from time to time while I’ve been away. It’s chilled out, safe, colourful, but it also feels a bit disingenuous, artificial, and designed solely to cater to western needs. This isn’t the whole story: Pushkar has been a site of religious pilgrimage for hundreds of years, and the fact that the city is meat and alcohol free is a testament to that. I would have felt safe in Pushkar if I’d been by myself, but I was a bit intimidated by the clans of travellers, who seemed reluctant to engage with anyone who wasn’t wearing tie-dye (disclaimer: I own some tie-dye), or didn’t have dreads. I can imagine people staying in Pushkar for a long time. Maybe it’s just for the muesli.

The Jewels of Jaipur.

We had another early morning, boarding a local bus at about 07:30. We passed green fields and leafy trees that wouldn’t have been out of place in England. I quizzed Binu about Indian politics, the education system and his own travel, and the hours soon passed. We stopped on the way, and I experienced my first sweet, milky chai. It was delicious; definitely not the same as versions I’ve had at home. We arrived in Jaipur and checked into a lovely hotel. We had a little wander around, saw the Moon Gate, watched a herd of pigs writhing around in some rubbish, then joined Binu. He led us through the streets, explaining the significance of different marble shrines and religious statues. We grabbed another chai (I can already see this turning into an addiction) then took some tuk-tuks to a rooftop bar, where we watched the ruby sun set over the city.

The next day I woke up with the sunlight, and listened to the caws of the peacocks that live on the roof of a neighbouring apartment. After breakfast we visited the Amber Fort; a massive palatial complex set atop a mountain, overlooking the Rajistani countryside. The dusky stone walls and colourful frescos made it easy to imagine what life might have been like, but it was the ornate mirrored patterns of the hall for special assemblies that was truly breathtaking.

Once we’d had our fill of the stunning architecture, we visited the Water Palace and the Palace of the Winds. The latter was designed for royal ladies, so that they could watch processions behind the windows meshed with stone.

We wandered around for a while, then found a hotel with a pool, where we chilled out for the afternoon, before grabbing some dinner. Our meal was embellished with a bizarre (and unasked for) puppet show, that at times was rather lewd. After an uncomfortable few minutes we managed to escape, and return to the safety of the hotel.

Jaipur is a colourful combination of beautiful old buildings sporting the residual pink colour for which the city is famous, and a bustling population of busy people and sedate livestock, that trawl through dusty alleys and pits of rubbish. The honks of horns mix with the squeals of peacocks in a cacophony that doesn’t induce panic or stress. People calmly make their way through the chaos, which makes me think that perhaps it isn’t chaos at all.

Delhi-ted to Mahal you.

Shoshana and I caught the same flight from Yangon to Bangkok – it was the kind of flight where you land as soon as you take off. I took the free shuttle bus across to the other airport, where I had a wait of eight hours. I discovered that my prepaid cash card was being used fraudulently, so cancelling that kept me occupied for a little while. Eventually I boarded my second plane, and found myself in a tiny middle seat, but I scrunched up in a ball and managed to sleep more than I thought would be possible. I didn’t even feel the ascent or descent, and at midnight I landed in Delhi. I changed some dollars to rupees, then found an unforgiving plastic seat and managed to sleep a little more. After two hours I gave up on the seat, and laid on the cool, cleanish marble, which was surprisingly comfortable. At 07:00 it started to get light, so I felt comfortable taking a taxi. I arrived at the hotel, checked in, and was introduced to my roomie, lovely thirty-eight year-old Ingrid from Slovakia, just as I emerged (betowelled) from a much needed shower. We arranged to see the sights of Delhi together in a cab. First we saw the iconic India Gate, standing triumphantly against the sky in a beautifully manicured park. We then visited Humayun’s Tomb – a fascinating complex of Islamic architecture, comprised of impossibly intricate stone-carvings, and satisfyingly symmetrical turrets and gardens.

Our final stop before lunch was the Qutb Complex; home of a gargantuan minar and a series of smaller mosques. The earthy reds and golds, and the details of the masonry were mesmerising.

We had a late lunch at a weird restaurant, tucked above a textile merchant, then drove past some more temples and returned to the hotel.

At 17:00 it was time to meet the group. We had a detailed discussion, touching upon transport, accommodation and diarrhoea, before heading out for dinner to a restaurant that Bindu, our guide, recommended. Ingrid and I were still stuffed from lunch, but the curries and naans looked delicious. Everyone was pretty tired, so we had an early night.

At 05:15 the next morning we left the hotel and drove to the station. After weaving through a maze of taxis and tuk-tuks we boarded a very clean, comfortable train. The sun rose through the mist as we sped down the tracks. We passed a number of slums; defecating men watched us as they squatted, and pigs rooted around for anything edible in plastic mounds. After a couple of hours we arrived in Agra. We were driven to the hotel, dropped off our bags, then went to the Agra Fort. The detail was stunning, and our guide carefully explained the symbolism of the patterns, representing Hindu, Islamic, Buddhist and Christian culture.

We then went for lunch (splitting into a ‘curry’ faction and a ‘Pizza Hut’ faction – I opted for the former), before regrouping to visit the most iconic landmark of India.

I almost cried when I saw the Taj Mahal. It is absolutely perfect; its symmetry is breath taking, it’s story is heart-breaking, and my exorbitant expectations were met and exceeded. We spent a couple of hours taking too many photos, and staring in wonder and awe. It was hard to believe that it was real. Infuriatingly, I had The Darkness in my head for the entire visit (“You’re at the Taj Mahal, and I’m outside Big Ben…”), but that didn’t detract from the splendour or the atmosphere. Still tingling with exhilaration, we dragged ourselves away. We went for dinner then crashed into sleep.

So far, India has been spectacular. I was expecting chaos, unsanitary conditions, and harrassment, and what I’ve experienced has been beauty, history, and astonishment. Travelling with a group is bewilderingly easy – I don’t have to think about anything, and I’m grateful for the security it affords me. It’s early days, but I’m so happy to be here. I can’t wait to see what else this amazing country has to offer.

How not to apply for a visa.

My last day in Bangkok was spent almost entirely in a cafe near the train station, where I eeked out a meal and a drink for about five hours. I chatted to a Peruvian man named Carlos, and managed to Skype one of my friends, who is notoriously difficult to get hold of (thanks for getting up so early!). It was great to catch up, and realise that despite eight months of near-silence (for which I accept 50% responsibility), nothing has changed.

I found my berth on the train, but the beds weren’t set up, so I sat on the roomy leather seat and got chatting to the Canadian couple in the next seats along (who live in the same city as my mum and brother), and an English couple opposite. Hours passed, some people (myself not included) bought the expensive though well-portioned train-food, and then a little man in a pink silk jacket began to make his way down the train, setting up beds. This sounds pretty mundane, but the speed at which he performed this task was astonishing, and slightly alarming. He adjusted the seats, laid out the mattresses, put on the sheets, pulled on the pillowcases and hung up the curtains for two beds in one minute and thirty-three seconds. We were hugely impressed. The result was comfy and private, and I would have had a great night’s sleep if the fluorescent light above my head had been switched off.

We arrive in Chiang Mai at 8:00, I found my hostel, and then walked around the small town. I visited some of the ubiquitous wats: the bustling Wat Phra Singh, the half-destroyed Wat Chedi Luang, the dark teak Wat Phan Tao. As with all popular wats, any promise of calmness and serenity was quashed by the footfall of hundreds of tourists. By the afternoon I felt like I needed a bit of space, so I enrolled in some yoga classes. It’s been months since I’ve practiced, so I felt immobile, stiff, and unbalanced, but despite this, I enjoyed the class, which was lead by an instructor who distractingly resembled Sacha Baron Cohen. After the class I went for lunch with a girl I met there called Shane, then wasted the late afternoon with a rest.

In the evening I met back up with Shane and two of her German friends, and we visited the Sunday Market. It started out fine, various wares were on sale, some of which were marginally different to what I’d seen before. As time went on, however, more and more people attempted to crush between the stalls. The result was sticky and uncomfortable, so we gave up and visited a jazz club, where a funky group entertained us with plucky slap bass and whistling guitar riffs.

Today was another significant admin day. I hired a bike, then cycled to the Indian Consulate, a few kilometres from the centre of the city. This took longer than anticipated, as I hadn’t factored in the awkward network of one-way streets, hindering my attempts to access my destination, but eventually I made it. Upon my arrival, the man working there informed me that I needed proof of flights in and out of the country, and confirmation of my booking at the hostel I’d put as a reference. I hadn’t been aware of this, as it hadn’t been specified online, but fortunately, I had two whole hours to find WiFi, book a tour, book flights, book a hostel, find a way to print confirmation of all of the above and cycle back to the consulate. I had to apply for my India visa today, because I only have nine days left on my Thai tourist entry. The India visa takes a week to come through, so I’m cutting it quite fine.

I switched into efficiency mode, ignoring the gnawing sensation of anxiety in my stomach, and found a cafe with a benevolent manager (in possession of a printer), just a few minutes down the road from the consulate. I skimmed STA, impulsively chose a tour, then set to buying flights, from Yangon to Bangkok, then Bangkok to Delhi (because that was cheaper than going directly from Myanmar), then bought a third flight from Kochi to Calgary (which is going to be very long and highly enjoyable). I then booked the hostel I’d written on my application, printed everything, and paid for my tea and the inconvenience I’d caused. I pedalled back to the consulate, arriving with about half an hour to spare, and breathed a sigh of relief as my paperwork was handed in. Niggling doubts about the authenticity of some of the details on the form are plaguing me, but there’s nothing I can do now apart from keep everything crossed.

After my faffy morning, I decided to cycle to Wiem Kum Kam; some temple ruins in the southeast. I had many of the wats to myself, and was able to salvage a sense of calm from my previously pressurised state. After a while the sun got too hot, so I cycled back to town for lunch.

I went to my second sweaty yoga class, then had dinner and met up with Shane. We went to the same jazz bar as yesterday, and the band tonight was awesome, especially the silky-voiced drummer. He had a smooth tone that you would never expect to resonate from a tiny Thai man.

It’s been a mixed few days. I like Chiang Mai, but my experience so far has been extremes of pressure and peacefulness. I’m hoping things will settle into something more constant over the next few days. Hopefully closer to the peaceful end of the spectrum.