India, in a really massive nutshell

I’m on a plane heading out of Bangkok towards Tokyo, having

a mini panic attack because I haven’t written a single thing about

India. So this means I have exactly 6 hours and 5 minutes to write

the whole thing down while I have chance, before I hit Japan and

free time becomes a distant memory.

I’ve always wanted to see my name on a welcome sign as I push

my trolley into arrivals, and sometimes I even optimistically check

them anyway, just in case I’m more special than I know. So when

I organised my pick up from New Delhi airport, I couldn’t help

feeling a bit of excitement at the prospect of seeing my name

‘on cardboard’.

As I pushed my bags through the sliding glass doors, I tried to

appear blasé as I scanned the crowd for my big moment, my

grand entrance into India. As it turned out, I was welcomed by

a fat bearded man holding a board bearing the name Natarie Betis.

Close enough.

I got to the hostel at about 11pm, after a memorable drive

through the streets of Delhi. I checked into a place called

Home Away From Home, which was perfect for it’s proximity

to the airport, which I needed to head straight back to in the

morning to meet dad and Dan off their flight from London.

It was absolutely awesome seeing dad again; we had a big hug

and I felt all happy and relaxed, like I didn’t have to stay alert all

the time now I had other people to watch my back. It was so

weird having proper company; I’m a totally different person when

I’m with other people rather than on my own . I go from being

efficient and capable and brave, to being dependant and

disorganised!

We headed to Wood Castle, our hotel for the next 3 nights.

We stepped outside the airport and dad had his first glimpse of

India! I really wanted to see it from his point of view, because

I feel like my perceptions have been numbed by the time I’ve

spent in other parts of Asia. I mean, India is still a big culture

shock, but it must have been ten fold for dad! Daniel and I were

pretty unfazed on the drive back, but I don’t think dad could relax

in the wacky races going on around us. The traffic in India is

hilarious; it’s a complete free for all. The cars and the buses and

the trucks and the tuk tuks and the cows all compete for space,

all of them making as much noise as possible in their race to the

front of the traffic jam. It really isn’t something you could ever

describe; it’s just complete mayhem, yet somehow, it works.

The epitome of organised chaos.

I think I speak for the three of us when I say those first 3 days

in New Delhi was a love hate experience! The first place we

aimed for was Connaught Place, which we assumed would be

the centre of the tourist action. We hoped to find westernised

restaurants, souvenir shops and a nice chilled out space to

introduce us to India. What we found was basically a construction

site. Delhi is hosting the 2010 Commonwealth Games, and the

city is having an overhaul, which has spread onto the already

filthy streets. We gave up on trying to manoeuvre around beggars,

scabby dogs, piles of rubbish and pot holes in the pavement, and

went back to the hotel for a re-think. We needed a plan!

None of us had actually bothered to do much research into New

Delhi tourist spots; I think we had assumed they would be obvious

once we arrived, but it wasn’t like that at all. Delhi isn’t a place

you can wander round, hoping to stumble upon a cute café or a

nice park. You need an exact plan before you head out for the

day, otherwise you spend all your time trying to escape the

chaos and the heat, and end up achieving nothing.

So over the next few days we began checking off the top tourist

spots of Delhi; India Gate, the most famous image of Delhi, where

we wandered round with the locals and ate ice-cream. Akshardham,

a humongous brand new Hindu Temple complex, which we have

no photos of as cameras were banned from even entering the

complex. Red Fort, which for a while had become the headquarters

of the Indian British Army.

I wish I had the time and the memory to go into as much detail

as all these places deserve; we crammed so much into each and

every day and it’s the littlest details that make reading these

things worthwhile. But what’s a girl to do, I’m already somewhere

over Vietnam.

Humayans Tomb was one of our favourite places, mainly because

of the total lack of crowds. We almost had the whole place to

ourselves, and spent an afternoon chilling out in the gorgeous

gardens and buildings, soaking up the sunshine!

We spent most of our evenings in Paharganj, which is the main

tourist drag, yet still relatively untouched by the kind of

westernisation that turned Khao San road into a so called

decompression chamber.

We shared the narrow roads with dozens of cows, rickshaws and

tuk tuks, and browsed the endless stalls selling all sorts of

wondrous things, from Pashmina shawls and intricate wooden

carvings of Ganesh and Vishnu, to rows of colourful spices and

beaded, hand embroidered bedding.

New Delhi was a nightmare, the traffic and the noise and the

pollution and the filth, but it was exciting none the less! I think

even dad had a soft spot by the end of our three days there;

especially the area around Paharganj where he watched Daniel

and I haggling our arses off and bantering with the locals, before

squeezing into a tuk tuk for the inevitable bum-clenching ride

home.

We left Delhi on an early morning train to Jaipur; the Pink City.

The train ride was pretty good, we got meals and drinks and

comfortable seats, and we began to relax about the upcoming

sleeper trains we would be taking; maybe they wouldn‘t be as

bad as we thought.

At Jaipur, we entrusted our bags to a left luggage room and

headed off to explore. The highlight of the day was a trip up

to Amber Fort, set way up on top of a mountain with incredible

views over Jaipur. 

We had trouble finding a tuk tuk driver to take

us to the bottom of the hill, where we would hire a jeep to the 
very top, but eventually we found a guy willing to do it. He 
ended up being the nicest person ever, he kept stopping and 
letting us take pictures of various things; elephants and camels 
and an amazing floating mansion type thing. He waited for us 
while we took the jeep up to the fort and back, which was super 
nice of him! 

We did lots of other things, which I forget, but I do remember

it being the friendliest town we went to on the whole trip. Full

of smiling faces and waving children, it was exactly the kind of

India I had hoped to find.

We got an evening train down to Agra (no free food or drinks

this time), where I got to see my name on a board once again.

We were staying at a home stay, run by Col. Lamba and his

wife. He had some interesting stories, and we were made to

feel super welcome.

We got up early in the morning with the hope of beating the

crowds to the Taj Mahal, which pretty much worked, although

I think I only managed to get a single people-less shot of it

before the hoards spilled out into the grounds. We were all

done by about 8.30am, so headed back to Lamba’s for breakfast. 

We had a few hours before our sleeper train, so made a trip to

Agra Fort, which Dan and dad seemed to like but I was a bit

underwhelmed by, after seeing Amber Fort the day before.

So, the sleeper train!

The Indian railway ticket system is massively complicated;

they have confirmed tickets, RAC tickets and waitlisted tickets.

Confirmed are confirmed, with an RAC you can board the train

but aren’t guaranteed a seat, with a waitlisted ticket you can’t

board the train unless other people on the same ticket are RAC’d

or confirmed. We had two RAC and a waitlisted, so basically

were turning up to the station blind. There is a massive print

out stuck to a board where you can check to see if your tickets

have been confirmed yet, which ours had (hurrah) but we

were spread out across the carriage (booo).

I had hoped that the train would be as nice as the sleepers in

Thailand, but I had forgot that this is India and everything is

filthy. The bedding was cleanish, apart from the 3 cockroaches

that fell out of my blanket when I was making my bed, but the

whole thing was just run down and battered. Daniel and dad

had been given beds in separate carriages, and I had a side

bed, which are basically the loser beds.

It wasn’t just any old side bed, either; it was the one next to

the door. And not just any old door; it was the one with the

broken hinge. That door banged against my bed ALL night,

and the noise from the wheels when the door swung open

was horrible. So no sleep for me, especially when I woke up

at about 3am with the curtain flung open and some sweaty

Indian guy leaning over me, fumbling with what I thought

was my rucksack, but ended up being a light switch. I was

not a happy bunny!

The train dropped us off an Umaria station at 5.30am.

I left my phone on the train by mistake, balls.

We were picked up and driven to a place called Skay’s Camp,

which I really wish I had written a full blog entry about at the

time as it totally deserves one, and I‘m not going to be able

to do it justice on a rushed midair writing sprint.

You can find Skay’s Camp in the village of Tala, a teeny

little place on the outskirts of Bandhavgarh National Park.

Bandhavgarh is renowned for it’s high density of tigers, which

brings people flocking to get a glimpse of a real life tiger in

the wild. It is run by Satyendra and Kay Tiwari, a photographer

and painter, respectively. They run the camp with Hariom,

Satyendra’s brother, his wife and their super cute daughters

Mun Mun and Mahi.

There are a bunch of problems surrounding the running of

the park, and I’m sure we became part of the problem by

being there, but even so, I’m glad that I came away more

aware of the corruption occurring within something as important

as tiger conservation; you’d think everybody would be reading

from the same page, likeminded people with a passion and all

that, but it doesn’t appear to be that way. In India, nothing is

simple. Anyway, this was all learnt later, in conversations with

Kay and Satyendra, but I won’t pretend that I know what I’m

talking about, so I’ll shut up.

Satyen and Kay had kindly given us two bungalows to ourselves,

rather than having to cram three beds into one. So obviously I

got a whole bungalow to myself! It took me roughly 7 minutes to

spread my belongings out over every available surface, and then

it was time for breakfast! We had the day to chill out before our

evening safari later in the afternoon, so we sat around drinking

chai and chatting about the park and it’s goings on.

By about 11am, I felt like my lack of sleep on the train was

catching up with me so I went for a lie down. Within a couple

of hours, I could hardly move. Dad and Daniel headed out on

safari while I laid in bed feeling extremely sorry for myself. I

should make a point here, that this safari was the one thing I’d

been most excited about, and the fact that I missed it that

morning should seriously clarify how sick I was.

I can’t remember whether it was this day or the next day

when I spent several hours passed out on the bathroom floor,

where even when I was awake my legs didn’t have the strength

to carry me, so I had to half crawl, half drag myself between

the bed and the toilet. I was starting to seriously worry, the

only thing I could manage to eat was a couple of plain biscuits

and a bit of water, but, to be delightfully gross, I couldn’t even

keep the water in me for more than a couple of minutes.

Well, I missed the first 3 safaris, but I was determined

to go out on the third day as dad and Dan had had some

amazing sightings of B2, a male tiger, as well as a mother

with her cubs. So I got up at 5am and was helped to the

jeep; apparently my legs had forgotten how to work. I

basically dozed on and off for the whole 4 and a half hours,

and tried not to pass out in the heat. No tigers either.

So that little excursion made me deteriorate, and once again

I was back in bed by the time the evening safari rolled around.

This was most definitely the sickest I’d ever been in my ENTIRE

life. I started calculating how long it’d take to get me to a

hospital, but it didn’t give me much peace of mind!

I was looking quite skinny by this point though, every cloud

and all that!

So I missed the fifth safari, where dad and Dan once again

got sightings. My luck was seriously dwindling. It would have

been easy to get really pissed off at this point, I mean, I

had organised this entire chuffing thing, and I was the one

having to miss everything. But I was far too preoccupied

with making it to the toilet to care. Actually, I was glad it

was me that got sick; if it had to be anyone, I’d much

rather it be me than dad.

The next morning was supposed to be our final safari, and

I still hadn’t seen a tiger. Some plans had been going on

behind my back, and I was wheeled out of intensive care

and put to work in front of the laptop; cancelling our sleeper

trains and booking flights instead.

Dad and Dan had decided that, after the last sleeper train

experience, they’d much rather pay a bit extra and fly. We

all agrred that we didn’t much want to visit Calcutta

anyway, so we cut that from our itinerary and added an

extra day at the national park, and an extra day up in

Darjeeling. This would mean an extra night in New Delhi,

but we all concurred that this would be a million times

better than 2 pointless nights on trains, and a no doubt

stressful trip to Calcutta.

Hariom, who was also our driver, managed to swing us an

extra entry into the park, hurrah! So I had two more shots

at seeing a tiger, and I was finally feeling up for venturing

into the wild!

That morning safari was one of the most memorable

experiences of my life. Yes, I got to see a tiger, finally!

But it wasn’t even that which made it so amazing. I had

one of those ‘moments’, like the one I had on that bus

heading out of Kanchanaburi, where I just felt all alive

and invincible and awesome. Mun Mun and Mahi came

along with us, and Hariom took us right to the top of a

mountain to visit a reclining Vishnu, hidden behind lush

greenery in a complete contrast to the dry forest below

us.

As the jeep carefully wound its way back down the super

steep sandy tracks, I sat on the back seat of the jeep,

holding on for dear life, watching the newly risen sun

light up the whole of the forest below me. 

Tree tops and watering holes, the chattering of monkeys 
and bumpy roads, bird song and scattering deer, full of 
excitement, but also fear.

HAHA I just wrote a poem. You can have that one for free.

Anyway, I felt on top of the motherfrickin’ world! Feelings

like that stay with me a long time, and I truly believe that

it’s those moments that make life worth living. I feel pretty

damned lucky to have a fair few of them to hold on to.

And then, to top the whole thing off, we got a tiger!

As well as Hariom, we’d have a ‘spotter’, who we’d pick

up from the park entry point. That morning we got Lala,

and he and Hariom together were like our very own A Team.

We knew we were going to get lucky with the two of them;

it was obvious that they were really respected amongst the

rest of the jeeps; if Hariom and Lala thought there were

tigers near, there were tigers near. Other drivers seemed

to take lead from what we were doing.

They track tigers by the warning signals of the monkeys.

It’s really amazing to watch them do it. They’ll listen for

the signal, and try to follow the noise, which in itself is a

difficult task when the tigers could be anywhere within the

park. When they think they’re close, they’ll pull the jeep

over and then it’s a waiting game. You feel all tense and

excited as you wait, and most of the time nothing comes

of it; these are wild animals after all. But then, a murmur

will go up and it’s game on; a scramble to get a glimpse as

the tiger crosses the track.

We were in the perfect position when the tiger finally made

his appearance; he strolled casually out of the forest directly

behind our jeep. He threw us a couple of dismissive glances,

and was completely unperturbed by our presence. 

In fact, he made me feel a bit ridiculous; here we all were,

sweltering in the Indian sunshine, desperate for even a split

second sighting, and when he finally shows his face he’s all

like, whatever, raising his stripy orange eyebrows all over

the place, probably rolling his eyes too if you got close

enough to check.

My god though, I saw a tiger in the wild! How many people

get to do something like that. They don’t look like zoo tigers.

Durr, I guess that’s cos they aren’t. They don’t give a crap

about people; they don’t depend on humans to provide food,

they don’t pace around a cage, they don’t share their

space with random animals from Africa or Australia, which

I always think must be a pretty weird experience for zoo tigers.

They must be like, bloody immigrants, coming into my zoo

with their weird language and their weird food.

Although, having said that, I guess these tigers do have to

put up with tourists zooming around in jeeps, pointing cameras

in their faces and oohing and aahing like they were put there

specifically for our pleasure. It’s a toughy. Part of me thinks

that a national park should belong to the tigers; no tourists

allowed. And part of me knows that the only reason any kind

of conservation can exist is through the money and awareness

tourism provides. And then there’s the other part of me, the

part I despise, which likes the fact that I’ve seen a tiger in the

wild, because it’s another tale to add to my worthless life story.

It’s times like these when I realise I need a purpose.

Travelling around and seeing things is all very fun and

exciting, but what am I actually achieving?

Well anyways, there’re lots of other stories I could tell about

our time in Bandhavgarh. People that me met and stories

that we heard. We had a real insight into the aspects of Indian

life you don’t hear about on the discovery channel. There was

a particular story about a baby girl who was drowned which I

have a hard time forgetting.

Satyendra appeared to be a prominent figure in the ins out

outs of the politics surrounding Tala, and we often found him

in heated discussions inside the breakfast area. I felt way out

of my depth trying to understand some of the things he and

Kay discussed over the dinner table, but it was interesting to

listen to them all the same. This was their life, and we were

going to walk right out of it as easily as we’d walked in; yet

the way they spoke about things, with passion and knowledge,

left a real mark on me. Even if I didn’t have a clue what was

going on, I sure wished for a purpose like theirs.

Our extra safari that evening passed by tiger-less, but in all

honestly I just loved driving around the park as the sun

was setting. 

We’d see humongous vultures sat along tree

branches, which reminded me of the jungle book (which,

as it happens, was set in Kahna National Park, a little way

south of Bandhavgarh), Samba deer, hundreds of monkeys,

tonnes of weird looking birds, and we’d forever be on the

lookout for the elusive leopard or sloth bear.

The scenery was ever changing; you’d think one part of the

park would look like any other, but it was bizarre how

contrasting different areas could be. The landscape would go

from being rocky and mountainous to flat and sandy, then

open and barren to being dense with trees. 

One particular area looked like the scary bit in a fairytale 
or a Disney movie; the bit where Snow White gets lost in 
the forest and the trees come alive, branches twisting and 
curling around ankles and wrists. We learnt that these 
vine-like masses were parasites; they literally grow off 
the trees and strangle them to death. They made the 
forest look creepy as hell.

We left early the next morning in a car with a lovely lady

called Suzy, who was meeting some people from the airport

and had arranged for us to tag along. Four hours later we

got to the airport, passed through without a hitch, and were

ushered onto the crappiest looking aeroplane I’ve ever seen.

Nothing makes me more nervous than those little planes with

ridiculous looking propellers stuck to the front. They look like

the type of plane a 6 year old might fathom out of milk bottles

and wooden ice-lolly sticks.

There’s something reassuring about being on a big ass plane

full of westerners off on their holidays. I mean, if that thing goes

down, you’re taking A LOT of people down with you. Don’t get

me wrong, it’d be awful for that many people to die and all, but

you at least want to make the headlines on the BBC, right? If I’m

gonna die in a plane crash, and I’m pretty sure I might, I’d much

rather it be a nationwide tragedy than a mediocre blip in the

history of aviation mishaps.

We made it to Delhi by lunchtime. Our hotel was decent, and

was perfectly located next to Paharganj, yet out of the mayhem.

We went out for some delicious food, plenty of beer and a

mad-dash souvenir shopping spree. The next day we caught

another flight to Bagdogra airport in West Bengal, where we had

another pick up waiting. We settled down for another four hour

journey, only this time, we were going up.

The drive up to Darjeeling was terrifying; we climbed and

climbed, the narrow road clinging precariously to the side

of the mountain. We’d come face to face with other vehicles

at hairpin turns, each doing a delicate dance around the other

to avoid being nudged off the edge into the seemingly endless

oblivion below. We drove until all we could see were the clouds

below us, and still we kept on climbing.

There were scatterings of villages along the side of the road.

The houses were literally built on the mountainside; thin wooden

stilts propping them up. A couple of times we saw crumbled

buildings hundreds of feet down below us, and I couldn’t help

but wonder whether anyone was inside when the stilts finally

gave way.

There were signs and flags and painted murals the whole way

up; ‘Give us Gorkhaland’, they said, and ‘We will fight for

Gorkhaland’. There had been protests in the 80s, and again

more recently, in favour of creating a separate state; Gorkhaland.

So far they’ve been unsuccessful, but even without knowing the

political ins and outs of the situation, I couldn’t help but think

they had a point.

Technically, we were still in India, but it felt completely different

to every other part of the country we’d seen. The people here

were a mixture of Bengali, Nepali and Tibetan. It was like

stepping into another world, one with a culture and history that

was more, dare I say it, likeable. Gone were the aggressive

stares, the ignorance and rudeness. There were no more sleazy

Indian boys taking pictures of the western girls, no piles of filth

in the street. It was vibrant in a way that I’d hoped the rest of

India would be, minus all the bad stuff. I liked Darjeeling

immediately.

We were staying at a Tibetan hotel called Snowlion Homestay.

It was completely adorable; the dining room on the top floor

was like my exact dream room; mismatched rugs and clutter

and wall hangings and photographs everywhere.

We had a super enjoyable few days high up in the clouds; 6,700

feet up to be exact. There were tonnes of cute market stalls and

little cafés serving the freshest Darjeeling tea, which we’d duck 
into for an early afternoon warm. 

Did I mention that it was COLD up in the mountains. We 
went from 38 degrees down to 10. It was a welcome relief 
actually, and it gave the whole place a weird cosy vibe. 
Woolly hats, scarves and cups of tea. Lots of cups of tea.

We were in Darjeeling, after all!

One morning we woke at 4.30am to try and watch the sunrise

at a renowned spot called Tiger Hill. When it’s clear, you get an

amazing view of Kanchenjunga, the third highest peak in the

world. And occasionally you can even see Everest. But alas,

it wasn’t clear. All we saw was cloud! But still, my spirits couldn’t

be dampened. We found a bakery that had the most delicious

chocolate cookies I’d ever tasted, and they quickly became an

addiction.

We visited a tea garden, where we were allowed to watch the

inner workings of the process. It was really interesting watching

the women at work; picking out the good leaves from the bad

leaves. They all looked the same to me.

We walked around a whole bunch and generally chilled out, 
making time for plenty of tea breaks and sit-downs 
overlooking the breathtaking views that followed you around 
the town. Sometimes you’d forget you were on top of a mountain, 
but all it took was a glance over the edge of a railing, or out of a 
window, and there it was. 

 

By the fourth morning we were ready to get our heads back out

of the clouds, which was just as well because we had a train to

catch. The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, otherwise known as the

Toy Train. I seem to have developed a bit of liking for train rides.

I might as well swallow my pride and admit it, I freakin’ love them. 

I’m not a train spotter now nor noffink, I just like the clackety

clacking and the open windows and the whole damned shebang.

Seriously, if you’ve never travelled by train in Asia, you’re missing

out. I’ve probably written that exact thing before, but I mean it.

When you drive around in a car what you’re essentially doing is

looking at the world through a massive TV screen; you’re just a

voyeur, watching things pass by. When you’re sat on a wooden

seat in a rickety old train, windows flung wide open, you become

part of the scenery, part of life. You’re actually there; in it. You

can smell it and touch it, you can pick leaves out of your hair

and rub smoke out of your eyes and flick bugs off your lap.

It’s a nice feeling.

The journey itself lasted around seven hours, with a total drop

of almost 7000 feet. That’s a lot of footage to take on a little

narrow-gauge railway, and I guess that’s why the railway is

now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Honestly, if I were into

the engineering that must have gone into the building of the

thing (which I’m not, there’s a definite difference between

liking train rides and liking train tracks, ok), then I’m sure

I’d have been hella impressed.

Heck, I was impressed anyways. Frightened, too. Those tracks

looked like the ones I used to sell in Toys R Us, and I wouldn’t

trust Thomas the Tank Engine to navigate his way through the

Himalayas. I guess that’s why they call it the Toy Train.

The views though, they were worth it. We passed through a few

loops, where the train would do a big circle and turn right the

way back on itself, and also some reverses, where we’d do a

massive zig zag horizontally along the mountain side. Check

me out with my train jargon.

We got off at Siliguri, where we crammed our 3 rucksacks, 3

smaller bags, and the 3 of us into one regular sized tuk tuk.

Now THAT’S an engineering feat to be proud of. We spent a

night at Hotel Vinyak, and realised there was really nothing

in this town of any interest. I was a bit miserable to be back

in regular dirty hot India.

The next morning we caught a flight back to Delhi, and from

there we went our separate ways. We had to say goodbye in

luggage claim as I had to get a transfer to the international

terminal, while Daniel and dad were getting a connecting flight

to Mumbai. That sucked the big one, we had hoped to be able

to sit down and have a drink before we parted ways. I almost

cried at the thought of being on my own again. It was a weird

feeling when they left. Yet even though I felt sad, I snapped

straight back into being capable and efficient, and after a 6 hour

wait in departures I was en-route to Bangkok.

India was definitely an experience, and I think I’d have to think

twice before encouraging anyone to visit. I’d have no doubts

about recommending Skay’s Camp in Bandhavgarh, or Darjeeling.

Nor Jaipur and the Taj Mahal for that matter. And in fact, now I

think about it, I’d feel fairly happy recommending New Delhi too.

So I wander what I’d have reservations about?

I think the problem is, you really have to have your wits about

you. I’ve just realised I completely missed out the occasions

where we were scammed, or ripped off, or treated like walking

dollar signs. So you have to go there prepared for that. I truly

expected to fall in love with the people and the culture, but I

didn’t. I was sick of being stared down on the street and on the

metro and in restaurants, sick of tricks and schemes and

dodging flying phlegm and discarded cigarettes.

I felt like the country had massive potential to be beautiful,

but was so deeply corrupt that people were drowning in their

own filthy lives. But I’m confusing even myself, because I loved

India. I loved the food, and I loved the cows and the rickshaws

causing chaos on the streets. I loved the colours of the spices

and the fabric. I loved the traditional clothing. I loved the cities

and I loved the countryside. I loved the contrast, and the way

that everything fitted together like it was always intended to be

that way. It was utter mayhem, but I loved it!

Soooo, that was India! I’ve spent the last 2 nights at a really

nice hotel called Imm Fusion on Sukhumvit 50. As soon as I

arrived I had a mega nap, then headed out to meet Lynette,

Shirley and a couple of their friends at the sports bar on the

corner of their soi. It turned into a super late Redbull and vodka

fuelled night at their apartment, their Canadian friend Brett came

round and I finally got back to my hotel in the early hours of

yesterday morning. Yesterday = hangover. So, that’s about it I

reckon, Japan here I come!