...India (Journeys)

 On a train in the Rajasthani desert

At midnight, two hours into our train journey we were informed that the train had been diverted and was now hurtling 8 hours away from our destination. We quickly consulted our map and realised we could go to Varanasi instead. This added another 12 hours onto our journey but we both knew what the other was thinking. Twelve whole extra hours to enjoy the Indian train food experience.

It started as soon as we peeled ourselves from our grimey bunks. "Chai, chai, chai". There is no better way to wake up than with a cup of sugary chai served in a terracotta cup to be smashed out the window once empty. But what to have for breakfast? I was holding out for the 'bread-omlette' wallah (seller) but the samosa wallah beat him to it and we were soon eating hot potato samosas smothered in florescent pink ketchup.    

Finn tucking into another unhealthy breakfast

Next along was the coffee wallah, followed by the monkey-nut walllah and then the cucumber-chilli wallah. The procession continued with bananas, biscuits, slices of coconut, barbecued corn-on-the-cob, tomato soup (with croutons!), ice cream... Until lunchtime when the biryani wallah came along and we filled ourselves up on the greasy rice and sachets of hot Indian pickle. On another train journey we were surprised to find a man distributing business cards for a restaurant. Some clever so-and-so has had the brilliant idea of offering a food delivery service where you call up, order some tasty morsels which are delivered to you on your train at a designated station. Wonderful!

A vegetable biryani

Buses are not exempt from the procession of gourmet wallahs. Before a night bus into the Himalayas, we filled up on vegetable momo, plump Tibetan dumplings served with a hot chilli sauce (the best I've had were fried cheese and potato ones. Unbelievable). In a 4 hour traffic jam over a high mountain pass, chaat (snack) wallahs showed ingenuity by weaving between the vehicles offering fried corn and bhel puri (puffed rice with onion and a sweet sauce). Why doesn't this happen at home?!

Chaat wallahs on a Himalayan pass

Buses always stop at dhabas too, a cheap restaurant serving rice, dhal, curry and, of course, chai. Just what you need when an 8 hour journey in the mountains turns into a two day test of endurance. After travelling on buses for 8 months, a well positioned dhaba restores the faith of a lost soul who is beginning to tire of the seemingly endless road ahead and who begins to dream of a decent pillow and proper cup of tea. Well, almost.

A welcoming dhaba at the top of the pass

And yet it would appear this journey does have an end. This part anyway. After much soul searching we are heading back to Europe. An urge to do some work is driving us back west and quite frankly, we miss Europe. We plan to work on organic farms and hope to learn how to make among other things, honey, olive oil and the best goddam bolognese sauce you ever tasted. My next entry will be coming from the land of food and wine (ah wine! Sweet, sweet wine!). I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read my ramblings, let alone comment on them and email me! I will continue to tell anyone who will listen about what we ate but hopefully also a bit about what we made. I hope you will continue to join us as we start the last phase of our trip. That cup of tea will have to wait until Christmas. Itaaaaaly here we come!



...India (Five Cures for Homesickness)

Sun setting on the ex-British hill station town Shimla

Seven and a half months on the road begins to take its toll. So thank god for India which has the amazing ability to make one (well, me) homesick and at the same time offer 'cures' for said homesickness. Surprisingly, India is great for comfort food. When our tropical-ized bones rattled in the very British climate (i.e cold and damp) of the mountains, our bodies called for chicken curry and they were answered satisfactorily. Very satisfactorily. To the point where once again, I daydreamed about the actual number of our feathered friends I've consumed on this trip. Though they may no longer consider me a 'friend' I suppose. Where was I?

Rainy Shimla

In the ex-British hill station of Shimla, we sat on a bench eating local honey ice cream. If a food could capture an English summer's day (a rare non-rainy one that is) then this was it. It tasted of meadows, sun light breaking through trees and...hay fever. Really, it reminded me of my hay fever treatment which is akin to snorting a meadow. Still, as we sat in the damp cloud, like so many 'Britishers' before us we dreamt of 'home'.  Which was all golden and happy with an acoustic guitar soundtrack. Basically a mobile phone advert.

Another taste of home has come in the form of the utterly divine gulab jamun, a small ball of sponge cake drenched in butter and syrup. It is like treacle pudding and is at its absolute loveliness when served piping hot (sometimes I force myself to feel homesick so that I have an excuse to eat one). 

A sweet maker

While not quite a taste of home, there is one snack that I am considering exporting to Britain as it incorporates standard ingredients of British food - bread, potato and batter. To make bread pakora, take one slice of crappy white bread, cut into two triangles and fill with boiled potato. Dip into a spicy batter. Deep fry. Serve with ketchup. I had to try it, though perhaps having it for breakfast before a 13 hour bus journey wasn't one of my finest ideas.

Another unhealthy breakfast

And finally, cheese! In Rishikesh, we'd planned to do some meditation* (me with the aim of staying awake for the whole session). On an 'off day' we managed to score some cheddar cheese (one of the better legacies of the British empire). While enjoying a sandwich in our room, I looked over to the open door to see a figure. At first I assumed it was a stray dog but then I realised it was a huge bruiser of a monkey. Dear reader, I confess I shrieked! Finn assumed an ant had crawled onto my sandwich but then he too saw the beast, stood up, shrieked and fell back on the bed. I searched for something to throw and my gaze fell on the tin plate with my sandwich on. My sandwich! Could I sacrifice my cheese sandwich? No! Don't be ridiculous! By this time, undeterred by our shrieking, the monkey was eying up the room. AND MY SANDWICH! Thankfully, Finn had (unlike myself) pulled himself together and leapt up again, this time to bravely shut the door. Saved! I spent the next 5 minutes laughing and crying hysterically. I then finished my sandwich. The monkey returned later to wee on our balcony. I don't know what that means.

* In my third mediation session, I was overwhelmed by a vision so strong, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. A burger, to be precise, a Big Mac (I haven't eaten a Big Mac in about 20 years), came floating towards me out of the darkness. Aware that imagining a juicy beef burger in the middle of a meditation class in a Hindu ashram might not be appropriate, I tried to shake it off. But I couldn't! I could even taste the damn thing. And again, I am moved to write the sentence: I don't know what that means. Actually, what am I on about? It means I want a burger.