Honk... if you like curry

My Oscar moment...

2010-12-19T22:02:00.000-08:00

So this is it. My last blog post. I promise I won’t do a Gwyneth and cry too much. So after 42 blog posts, 13 months, 10 days and 6 hours, my time as a VSO volunteer is over and I will return back to civilian status on the stroke of midnight.

I can’t believe it’s over. I’ve had the most incredible year that has actually felt like three year’s worth of experiences, fun, learning, adventure and madness that only India can give. So I’d like to use my last blog post to say thank you to everyone who has helped make it such an amazing experience in true Oscar style.

No Oscar winner can do their job without a best supporting actor/actress, so in this category I would firstly like to nominate my family. I’d like to thank my parents who have been their usual wonderful supportive selves. My father, who has been my very own Miss Moneypenny for the last year sorting out all my admin, my mother for sending me wonderful packages, Marmite supplies and newspaper clippings, my sister and brother in law for finally getting married, flying me home for the wedding of the year, wonderful phone chats, treats, ongoing support and all for visiting me.

Next up are my friends, both home and away. I can’t tell you how great it’s been to get snippets of news from home, pictures of little ones, packages of treats, updates on love lives and Skype chats over the course of the year. Thank you for keeping in touch and being there for me. To all the new friends I’ve made over the last year, especially fellow VSO volunteers, thank you for being part of the good times and making me laugh in the bad times. To everyone who I’ve reconnected with through my blog thank you for just saying hello and seeing what I’m up to.

For best actor in the leading role I would like to nominate George, the CEO of my NGO. The thing that makes your VSO placement is the placement itself. I have been extremely lucky to have volunteered at Score Foundation and hope I’ve managed to contribute as much as I’ve got out of the experience. George is a bit of a legend in my mind. Anyone who can run a half marathon in three hours, let alone be visually impaired deserves more than a medal. I’ve really enjoyed working with him over the last year and his drive, energy and determination to help those living life with blindness in India is a true inspiration.

For best visual effects well, the award has to go to India itself. I’ve been lucky enough to travel in thirteen different states over the last year. India really does live up to its tourism tagline and it’s truly incredible. From the majestic Himalayas to the madness that is the metropolis of Delhi itself, India at times is overwhelming in its colour, chaos and lack of consistency but will always be beautiful to me. For best sound editing, well if you’ve been here you will know there is no editing. Every time I hear a honking horn I’m going to think of India.

It may not be an Oscar category but for the best audience award I would like to nominate you, dear reader. Thank you for reading my blog, it started out as a bit of a diary for me so when I looked back I would remember everything, both good and bad. Never did I expect for so many people to read it and to get such lovely comments. Thanks to some rather clever Google tracking technology, I’ve discovered people are reading my blog everywhere from Australia to Zambia, so thank you whoever you are. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about my adventures as much as I’ve enjoyed having and writing about them.

So what’s next? Well tomorrow morning, I’m getting on a jet plane and heading to Sri Lanka. I will be spending Christmas and New Year with my gorgeous cousin at the beach. And then because January is such a cruel month, I’ve decided to fulfil one of my life long ambitions and learn to surf. I’m heading to Indonesia for a month (a girl’s got to mentally and physically prepare herself for a return to London town...). So, full civilian life awaits for February when I get back to Blighty and enjoy a good fry up, glass of wine, decent cup of Yorkshire tea, glass of tap water, roast beef, cheese, high heels, a hairdryer and catching up with everyone. There’s only one more thing to say, don’t forget to honk... if you like curry!

Highlights: Everything. It’s been one of the most; interesting, frustrating, liberating, repressive, challenging, educational, athletic, restful, creative, adventurous and exciting year of my life so far.

It’s been a blast and I’ve had a ball, now where is my bikini..?!

A weekend in the Himalayas with TED...

2010-12-14T08:22:00.000-08:00

So, who is this TED I hear you say? An attractive UN peacekeeper in need of heading to the hills? A charming South Asian correspondent researching his next headline? Well, sadly none of the above as TED is actually a website.

Well more than a website. One of the things I’ve most enjoyed about living in India, is having the time to read and learn lots about new stuff. TED has been one of my favourite finds, it’s a website that is devoted to ‘Ideas Worth Spreading’ and showcases riveting talks from remarkable people. Some of the talks are filmed at TEDx events which are held all over the world. Getting a ticket to one of these events is a bit like winning a golden ticket Charlie & The Chocolate Factory style. So, when I saw that tickets were up for grabs for TEDxKumaun, an event focused on development issues in India which was being held in the foothills of the Himalayas, I got pen to paper pronto.

I could think of no better way to spend one of my last weekends in India, in Uttarakhand, a beautiful region that I had visited before in June when I had my weekend in Jilling. To have the opportunity to learn more about development in India with the magical view of mighty peaks like Nanda Devi (7816m), was certainly not something that I will get to do back home in London. The event was over two days and involved 2x eight hour night trains and 2x three hour drive up very winding hills. One of the great things about living in India is that I’m now totally immune to long journeys. So it turned out to be 24 hours of travel for 28 hours at the event but it was so worth it.

The topics discussed ranged from growth, governance, health, education, corruption to food security. As my work has concentrated on disability, it was really interesting to find out more about other key development issues that I knew a bit about. One of my favourite slides had to be from a presentation called ‘The decentralisation of corruption through the corruption of decentralisation’ (try saying that after a few Kingfishers...) which showed the complexity of all the different government schemes to get funding to local communities. The chart was mind boggling and you could easily see how corruption could happen. Especially when I found out that in Uttarakhand out of 45,000 registered NGOs only 15,000 were legit, so that’s why fundraising can be tough in India...

As with all these events, it’s the people that really make it. The whole atmosphere was very informal and it was easy to chat to the speakers. Everyone was bundled up in layers as it was very chilly at 2,500 metres, to the point where we looked like we were at a snowmobile conference. I had some great chats with a range of people; some had travelled all the way as far as Bombay and Chennai to be there. Everyone had diverse backgrounds and it was great to meet other foreigners who were in India doing some really interesting work. One of my favourite chats had to be with Anne, a spritely septuagenarian who had lived in the area for a while. She used to work in advertising in Delhi in the ‘70s and it was really interesting to hear her stories about dealing with clients in such a different culture.

As with any Indian event, the food was fantastic. Grown in such beautiful surroundings the vegetables were extra tasty and it was nice to get a final fill of curry whilst sitting around a fire chatting away. The hotel I was staying in had amazing views but had to be one of the coldest places I had ever stayed. Despite donning three layers, a hat, a sleeping bag and two duvets, when I lay in bed I could still see my breath in the air. But mountain air always sends you off to sleep and it was worth some shivering for the early morning view of the rose tinged glow on the Himalayas that I woke up to.

We got back to Delhi at 4.30am this morning, in the rickshaw home cruising on the empty streets lit up by fires and swaddled figures trying to keep warm, the weekend seemed very surreal. It was a nice feeling to get home, shed a layer of fleece and jump into bed for a few hours kip before work. So, an average Indian weekend? An above average one, thanks to TED.

Highlights: being a loser and a winner – with the festive season in flow party season has arrived, last weekend it was off to the Australian Embassy for their 80s fancy dress quiz, we may have got the boobie prize in the quiz but we won first prize for our amazing Flashdance outfits – a proud moment, no pleasure without pain –in preparation for my travels it was off to the Dr for jabs, what I thought may only be one small injection turned out to be five (ouch!) but worth it for some tropical time, public transport – my new commute to work involves going on the metro which I have to say is very enjoyable in the ladies only carriage (a semi stare free environment) and some sort of training for getting on the tube again I guess, comfort food eating time – it’s so cold it’s time to keep warm through the power of eating, what’s not to love about this time of year..?

Incredible India – by plane, train, automobile and running shoes...

2010-11-25T04:51:00.000-08:00

No pain, no gain they say and I definitely have to agree with that, especially on Sunday when I was puffing my way through 21km of pain, AKA the Delhi Half Marathon. Over the last three weeks, my training schedule had become a bit more exotic, as I got the chance to run across India in the states of Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Rajasthan courtesy of my lovely family who came out to visit me and whisked me away on a very jolly holiday...

I think the one thing that all volunteers miss the most is family and friends. The longer you live in a developing country as a volunteer the harder it gets. I’ve certainly found the last few months tougher and reached what I like to call my ISP (India Saturation Point). I think it’s quite natural when you only have a few more months to go and civilisation awaits (decent coffee, high heels, a soft bed, wine, a good hug and cheese) you start to become more irritated with the rhythms of life that can be India on some days (honking, no rules when it comes to anything, groping, staring and harassment) so I was greatly looking forward to seeing my family, showing them around my home for over a year and getting a good hug or two.

Adventure seems to be in our DNA and we had an ambitious itinerary starting in South India ending back in Delhi. We must have travelled over 4,000 miles by various mode of transport over the three weeks, but I have to say it was one of the most relaxing holidays I have been on. It certainly was an upgrade in travel style from the usual volunteer mode (let’s just say one night we stayed somewhere there was a bed made of marshmallow, a bath and a roaring fire in my room... heaven!). In the South the highlights were Ooty a picturesque hill station (cold enough to wear jumpers and I got to run on a treadmill as the early morning mist rose off the tea plantations) and Hampi, stunning fourteenth century ruins situated in lush plantations which could have easily been the set of the next Indiana Jones film.

By two overnight trains and a plane we got back to North India and to Rajasthan which was truly magical. We firstly stayed in Udaipur in a picturesque hotel looking over the lake which was the film set of Octopussy and had lost none of its Bond charm. I had some very memorable runs in Rajasthan, the peak of my training was a 1hr 55min run which I was not looking forward to. But as I headed off at 6.30am from a remote village in Rajasthan (and from the comfort of a bed made of Angel Delight in a very nice boutique hotel) to run on sandy tracks around a lake as the sun rose, the pain seemed worth it. When you are lucky enough to run with the soundtrack of the tweets of the three Ps of the bird world (parakeets, peacocks and pigeons of course) and cause most of the male members of the local village to nearly fall of their motorbikes in shock of seeing a puffing blondie saying ‘namaste’ you can’t help but fall in love with India again.

We then headed into the desert and even did a camel trek. Rajasthan is truly enchanting. With palaces, fortresses and legends of princely maharajahs worthy of a fairy tale book, you see a side of India that is straight from a Merchant Ivory film. By the time we reached Jaipur and had reached out TSP (Temple Saturation Point) we were joined by my sister and brother-in-law who had just spent their honeymoon in Bhutan. It was lovely to get more hugs and catch up with them both. We ended the trip with a dawn visit to the Taj Mahal which was definitely worth the 5.30am wake up call.

As everyone headed to the airport early Sunday morning to return back to London, I was shivering like a whippet in a hail storm as we reached the marathon start line at 6.45am. Delhi has suddenly got cold, so I had an incentive to keep running. But as soon as the sun came out it was baking, 40 minutes into the marathon when the lithe elite runners were 6km from the end and passing me in the opposite direction I realised the heat was not going to help. My only aim was to run the whole thing, which I managed to do but it got tough after 12km. I don’t know how anyone does a full marathon, I have complete respect for anyone who is brave enough to give it a go. But after 2hrs 30mins I made it across the finish line, slightly delirious and relieved it was all over. We rewarded ourselves with a slap up afternoon tea at the posh Imperial Hotel and despite the fact I’m still walking like a robot and stairs feel like climbing Everest it was all worth it.

Highlights: it’s a family affair – a big thank you to my parents in particular, for coming out to visit me, treating me to an amazing holiday and it was so nice to all catch up together (thanks also for sharing your final bit of honeymoon with me sis!) and to have the chance to show everyone around India, surviving an earthquake – it was only 4.9 on the Richter scale but it rocked and rumbled in Rajasthan one night and has to be one of the weirdest ways to wake up at 4am, money, money, money – I am truly chuffed at the amount we all raised for the marathon of just over Rs10 lakhs (that Rs 1 million!) and that we beat last year’s total by 100%, I think I am now officially a true fundraiser, a slap up tea and a sighting of Bob – it’s not often you get to have a guilt free afternoon tea post completing a half marathon, nor is it that often when the conversation randomly turns to celebrities and Bob Geldof get’s a mention that 5 mins later Sir Bob walks into the hotel to be greeted by three volunteers laughing like hyenas, I blame all that sugar..!

How to be a domestic goddess VSO style...

2010-10-19T06:03:00.000-07:00

With just over a month until I have to move out of my flat and my placement comes to an end in December, I’ve started thinking about the everyday things in my life that are essential features of domestic living as a volunteer. Below are my three top tips for being a domestic goddess VSO style...

#1 Find your inner MacGyver
Living on a budget and in the developing world really makes you good at the ‘make do and mend’ philosophy of life. In India, you don’t need much to live on and I’ve definitely enjoyed the challenge of spending a year without lots of stuff and home comforts. My proudest, most practical and most used MacGyver creation has to be my ‘home entertainment unit’. My laptop is; my office, TV and telephone back home for Skype chats so it gets used a lot every day. With the dust and heat of Delhi the fan was starting to go into overdrive. So for a bargain Rs200 I got a laptop fan and thanks to a wonderful care package from my sister, recycled the box into my home entertainment unit. My favourite MacGyver trick around our flat is courtesy of my flatmate who has created an art installation out of our sofa worthy of the Turner prize. Having bought our furniture second hand, we knew we had to find a cheap and easy way to fix the crack in the middle, so it wasn’t like a game of Buckaroo every time you sat down. I think the installation of a brick to prop it up adds a modern art chic worthy of a Tracey Emin installation any day.

#2 Plastic is your friend
I don’t think I have ever owned or used so many plastic items in my life. We eat off plastic plates and everyone I know has a bucket and jug in their shower. The bucket is perfect for washing clothes, the jug is the only way to wash your hair as Indian showers sadly lack power and are as effective as an Evian facial spritzer. Everyone brings their own lunch into work in a tiffin and I’ve had several compliments on my Tupperware (double side clips don’t you know). And then there are plastic chairs. Seriously they are everywhere and I swear my backside is more toned on the account of not sitting on soft furnishings for the last year. Everyone has them in their house or in every NGO office. Here’s a little insider tip, having been stuck in a few three hour meetings the trick is to definitely get one with arm rests to enable you to levitate for a few seconds using your arms, in order to regain circulation for minimal numbing of buttocks.

#3 Cook up a storm with only a pan
One of the hardest challenges I knew VSO was going to bring, was not having an oven or Waitrose down the road. Food as you may know is very important to me, so the thought of not being able to bake some brownies, whip up a lasagne or create a quiche for a year was going to be tough. Standard VSO issue is only a two ring gas hob so your weapon of choice is only a frying pan or saucepan. My culinary skills have had to be adapted. Let’s just say I won’t be cooking stir fry, chilli, curry or omelettes for a while when I get home. But, I’ve rediscovered recipes from my childhood and student days. Can’t bake brownies? It’s time for Mars Bar crispie cakes. Dreaming of creamy linguine with scallops? Well tuna, sweetcorn and mayonnaise pasta is nearly the perfect substitute.

Highlights: tourist time – I’m using my last few weekends in Delhi to see all the sights I haven’t got to yet, this weekend I did Humayun’s Tomb a stunning world heritage site (accompanied with a large mango kulfi, India’s most delicious ice cream), beauty on a budget – I’m really going to miss the Rs200 (£2.77) pedicures in my local salon, getting a big hug from home – I have friends from London arriving on Friday so enjoying plotting a gourmet weekend in Delhi with them and most excitingly, my family arrive next week so I’m a really, really excited about spending some time with the Mellor Massive and getting a big hug off them all, breaking the 60 minute mark – I am now running for over an hour a go and no longer sound like an elephant with emphysema or look like I’ve had a beetroot facial. If you need a reason to donate to my NGO for the marathon which you can do so here, it’s about 34°c when I run at 6.30am so I’m truly sweating for the cause!

To boycott or not to boycott...

2010-10-12T07:02:00.000-07:00

So finally they are here. The Commonwealth Games (CWGs) have landed with all their opening ceremony pomp along with the scandals of snakes in stadiums, collapsed ceilings and bridges, paw prints on athletes beds and of course tales of corruption.

I’ve been amazed at the amount of coverage in overseas press and comparison with organising a big Indian wedding, chaos until the last minute and then it all comes together. Well, having lived here for the last 11 months I’ve witnessed more chaos than ceremony and I’m not quite convinced Delhi has reached its desired world class city status or that everything was going to be ready in time, but it is.

One of the reasons I was keen to take a VSO placement in India was to have the experience of living in a BRIC developing country that is on its way to developed status. The CWGs have been hailed as the event that would reinforce that India is on track for developed nation status, hand in hand with its 7.4% economic growth in 2009-10. Surely with all this growth, poverty must be reducing? Well, India ranked 67 out of 84 countries for having alarming scales of hunger in the 2010 Global Hunger Index, so guess not. Urban poverty is increasing at a disturbing rate, so living in Delhi you see poverty against the backdrop of contrast, slums next to shopping malls and migrant workers including female labourers building the so called world class facilities for the CWGs whilst their children play on the side of the road.

In a country where out of a population of 1.2 billion, 830 million Indians earn less that Rs20 (28p) a day, is it right that I attend, support and enjoy an event that has cost India $6 billion when I’m here to do my bit towards fighting global poverty?

I personally don’t agree with any country spending billions on a one off sporting event when there is no investment in sport at a grass roots level, in particular at schools. Let alone when that money could be used on basic education, infrastructure, healthcare or stop people going to bed hungry at night. There are more poor people in eight Indian states than in the 26 poorest African countries combined. Delhi has amongst the lowest occurrences of poverty in India, while at the other extreme, 81% of the state of Bihar’s population is poor. It’s ironic that many of the 100,000 labourers who worked for unfair wages to prepare Delhi for the CWGs were from Bihar.

There are two sides to every story and Delhites will benefit from the CWGs even if the rest of India won’t. The opening of the metro has definitely made my life easier. I can now spend Rs12 on a journey rather than Rs60 in a rickshaw. The city is a lot quieter as most people have escaped and the alleged thousands of tourists have not arrived so the traffic is marginally better. The whole place is on lockdown this Thursday for the closing ceremony so we all get a day off work. But there also have been disruption and disease. Schools have been shut, shops and markets are closed and there has been a mass outbreak of dengue as the construction sites have been a fertile breeding ground for mosquitoes. Last week I was with a fellow volunteer when she got admitted to hospital with dengue and sitting in the waiting room with a lot of other sick people I doubt anyone would have got enthusiastic about the CWGs.

So, for the first time in my life I’m officially boycotting something. I roar in the face of Shera the mascot, who according to the official CWGs website is, “a ‘large-hearted gentleman’ who loves making friends and enthusing people to ‘come out and play’”. Well sorry Shera, I love your country but this volunteer isn’t going to come out and play.

Highlights – being dazzled by bureaucracy – from banks to hospitals I’ve seen it all now and last week at a face/off with a bank teller whilst trying to explain to her what the principles of customer service are I got firmly told “well Madame, that’s just the way we do things in India”, the Axis of Evil Supper Club tour continues – Delhi just has the best restaurants, we tried a good Iraqi the other day but it was out trumped by an amazing Afghani (melt in the mouth meat including beef), next on the list to try is Iranian food and can’t wait, being a fundraiser – it has to be No. 1 for job satisfaction when the money finally comes in, my weeks started by going to pick up a fat cheque from a new donor and thanks to them my NGO can employ two new people to help with research and advocacy, keeping running – well I’m up to week 10 in my training, with five more to go I’m hoping I avoid any mosquito based diseases or injuries to make it to the start line.

Goats, golden temples & gourmet treats...

2010-09-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

So how was your weekend? Pretty average? I’m not too sure what an average weekend in Delhi or being a VSO volunteer actually consists of or, what I thought it would consist of when I was in London. If you had said to me, “your Friday night, which you will look forward to all week, is going to involve a BBQ goat” I don’t think I would have believed you...

But that’s where my weekend started and there was much excitement about the goat. So for all those who know me or have read a few blog entries you will know how important food is. Being a volunteer in India is great if you love curry, which I truly do, but I had perhaps not been prepared to eat a mainly vegetarian diet. Being veggie most of the week has not been too much of a problem but sometimes I get carnivorous cravings. When we first arrived in India we did some touristy things which involved a visit to Old Delhi and Karim’s restaurant. It’s a traditional Muslim restaurant which serves great food and mainly ‘non-veg’ dishes. Its piece de resistance is a BBQ goat (stuffed with biryani) that feeds twelve people quite happily. So as one of our fellow volunteers was leaving the fold we decided to go out for a meat feast to say goodbye.

And my, was the goat good. We feasted away and it was the perfect start to a weekend which revolved around more delicious food. So Saturday morning I was up early on a six hour train to Amritsar for a weekend away with a friend. Amritsar has been on my list of places to visit for a while. It has two main attractions the famous Sikh Golden Temple and the highly entertaining border ceremony where India and Pakistan have a very engaging face/off to much cheering and jingoism. We arrived just after lunch in time to get a quick plate of kulcha channa. This is a traditional Punjabi delicious dish of very flaky, spiced bread that is generously slathered in butter which you dip into chick pea curry. My, it was yummy. We then jumped in a taxi to go to the border ceremony an hour’s drive away. The road to the border was probably the smoothest I had ever been on in India. We worked out the reason for its lack of potholes was that it needed to be in tip-top condition to send in the tanks if things got a bit nasty with Pakistan. Green fields flanked the road and it was nice to see more green than rubbish/construction work for a change.

We arrived at the border to what looked to be the opening of a carnival. The route was thronged with popcorn sellers, groups of excited school children were milling with families and everyone was rushing to get a prime position in the stadium seating that lined the border gate. Due to our tourist status we got a good spot near the front. The atmosphere was incredible. It was like being at the final of X-Factor. Bollywood hits were blasted out, whilst school children ran up to the border gate with oversized Indian flags, then gangs of kids got up and danced school disco style as the compeer cheered on the crowd. Soldiers in their fancy hats (adorned with napkins and a lot of starch it seemed) had whistles to herd the crowd into some submission but were very jovial. What was particularly bizarre was that the same thing was being replicated on the other side of the gate in Pakistan in a slightly tamer form.

I felt sorry for the Pakistani side at first. There was less of a crowd, the women were separated from the men and sat high up in the stand. Their Bollywood tunes weren’t as tuneful. It was all a bit more sedate and there were fewer tourists too. Then the ceremonial pomp started. It involved a soldier from each side power walking up to the gate that had been opened, saluting and high kicking to much shouting. It was straight out of Monty Python but the crowd on both sides loved it and continued to cheer through the whole hour. The flags on both sides were lowered as the sunset and as we left it was like leaving the end of a rock concert. We got back to Amritsar tired and delighted to see our guesthouse had an excellent menu so we ordered cheese toasties and finger chips (that would be chips) and sat in bed watching particularly trashy American TV. With no access to TV and cheese being a luxury item it was my idea of a perfect Saturday night in.

The next day we got up early to visit the Golden Temple which was stunning. We wondered around watching young Sikh boys and old men have a dip and prayer in the waters surrounding the temple. I don’t think I’d ever seen more Indian men in their pants in my life. We sampled the free food cross legged in the dining room, the temple serves food to up to 80,000 meals a day and there was an impressive washing up chain gain. Then we of course tracked down a renowned kulcha channa road side stand for more eating. After a bit of shopping and a good piece of chocolate cake it was time to get back on the train and we headed home back to Delhi after a more than above average weekend.

Highlights - traffic lights – my pedestrian woes seem to be easing as thanks to the CWGs my six lane highway of death that I have to cross everyday now has traffic lights, jumping red lights are fairly normal in India but now I have an extra 0.007 seconds to cross the road, hello Mr Sunshine – the monsoon is finally over, blue skies and sunshine are here to stay so here’s to no more running in the rain. Work – with only a few months to go it’s really rewarding to see funding coming in and our marathon campaign pulling in lots of support.

“Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me...

2010-09-20T07:24:00.000-07:00

...to be a backing dancer in the next Five Star pop video as I think they are fab.” Well that’s the letter I meant to get around to writing to Sir Jimmy Saville back in 1985 when I was aged 7 years but never did. So I was more than delighted when back in July I wrote to someone called Jimmy and he fixed it for me to go to Hong Kong.

Why Hong Kong I hear you say? This time around was my plea to star in the next Jackie Chan film after my recent Bollywood debut? Sadly no, it’s actually more to do with life post VSO. So with only a few months to go my thoughts have naturally been on what’s next? I sadly cannot sustain my volunteer lifestyle and the honourable world of employment beckons once again. So my cunning plan is to go into CSR so I can still be part of the development world but use my corporate skills for the power of good. For all those not hot on their acronyms, CSR is Corporate Social Responsibility, nothing to do with CSI Miami as someone asked me the other day.

Whilst researching the world of sustainability and CSR in July, I noticed there was a big CSR Asia Summit being held in Hong Kong which looked really interesting. So using my new fundraising skills of ‘you don’t ask, you don’t get’ I applied for a scholarship to attend and won. All I had to do was cover my flight and accommodation costs. So as VSO is all about flexibility and adaptability, I flexed my credit card for the flight and got in touch with some wonderful friends who had another wonderful friend who lived in Hong Kong to request the use of his sofa for a few nights.

To say I was more than excited about going would be an understatement. A few weeks ago I think I had reached a natural stage in the VSO lifecycle where, with only a few months to go I had reached my saturation point of India. If I heard one more Bollywood ringtone or honking horn it was going to get nasty. So civil society beckoned, and my how life is civil in Hong Kong. Firstly it’s the easiest place to get around. You can go on public transport and not get groped. Everything is clean, from the money to the pavements, I felt like I had been transported to the future. I could wear a dress in daylight, high heels, use my credit card to buy a train ticket, not eat curry for lunch and most importantly drink wine. The sofa I was supposed to be surfing on turned into a luxury bedroom with my own bathroom where the bed was made of marshmallow. I don’t think I have slept that well in 10 months. That might also have something to do with the free drinks reception on the first night.

The conference was very interesting. I had really lucked out to get a place as it was sold out and there were 400 people attending. It was really well organised and I met a lot of lovely people so it was easy to network. I had my first cultural induction to the business world in Asia outside of India when I realised I need to bow slightly and present my business card with both hands. I learnt lots about sustainability (CSR is so last year darling) and particularly enjoyed the talks on how business can get involved with solving the Millennium Development Goals, providing support in disaster preparedness and sustainable value chains - did you know that P&G recycle old shampoo bottles into plastic tiles? Amazing.

The conference was for two days and I had a day either side to explore Hong Kong. My mission was to eat everything and anything but curry. By the first morning I had tracked down Pret A Manger and had my very own When Harry Met Sally diner moment over a latte and ham, cheese and tomato croissant. I had the most amazing dim sum, sushi, beef, prawns and lots of delicious glasses of wine. I explored the city on foot, ferry, tram, metro and bus. My gracious host took me out to dinner and to a night at the famous Happy Valle races so I got to experience life as a local. My favourite area had to be Hollywood Road which is the old antiques quarter, with incense full temples, quite local parks with coy carp filled ponds and some great local graffiti.

So at the end of my four days, it was with a slightly heavy heart and full belly that I boarded my Kingfisher flight back to Delhi. But, I was invigorated by the whole trip, I arrived back to the sparkly new International terminal just opened in time for the Commonwealth Games and all was well. The smell and heat of India hits you within seconds when you arrive, I was comforted by the sound of honking as I walked to my taxi and thought that curry for dinner would be a nice change...

Highlights – seeing another side of Asia – learning about life for NGOs in China, Indonesia and Malayasia it was great to understand more about the region beyond India, being part of the VSO mafia – sitting down for lunch on the first day next to a chap, asking him what he did to find out he worked for VSO in Beijing it’s a small world, networking – until 4am, hitting the dance floor in high heels with fellow CSR conference buddies the next day I could hardly walk but all for the cause, running in the rain – the monsoon lingers so marathon training carries on and it’s actually really lovely to feel cool for a change after pounding the park, listening to 100 percussionists – I attended a great event on Saturday to raise awareness of the Millennium Development Goals it was called ‘Stand up and make some noise’ and 100 percussionists from all over India played in the historic ruins of Purina Quila at sunset which was breathtaking.

An ode to rickshaws...

2010-09-02T06:58:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks I’ve been spending more time than usual riding around in the back of auto rickshaws. It’s been somewhat painful as it’s been all in the quest of trying to get my visa extended which it seems is the Holy Grail of Indian bureaucracy. On my journey my file has been lost and found due to a case of mistaken identity, causing me to gain and loose a Japanese husband on the way (careless I know). But I have completed my quest, after nine visits and between various trips to ministries with offerings of paperwork, endless queuing, photocopying and enjoying the spectacle of other foreigners go into meltdown (tears and tantrums never work in the face of an Indian bureaucrat especially before lunch time) I’ve had time to ponder...

With my time here heading into its last few months I’ve started to think about those things that have become every day and will no longer be a feature of my life back in London. Renewing your visa is definitely one of the not so glamorous sides of living in a developing country that I won’t miss neither is having to travel around in rickshaws. They are fairly safe and cheap (but still eat into your volunteer budget if you do more than one journey a day in Delhi) and surprisingly very green as they all run on compressed natural gas (CNG). But it still does not draw attention from the fact that each journey is somewhat traumatic, involves negotiations worthy of a UN peacekeeper and you are effectively riding around in a dodgem / hairdryer. And with hair like mine, I always seem to look like Bonnie Tyler having had a cat fight with a can of hairspray when I gracefully step out at my destination.

The trauma begins with trying to flag one down. Rickshaw drivers are not of the London cabbie school of customer service. They normally refuse to take you to places and drive off. Or they won’t have a clue where your destination is so you have to tell them the way. That can be pretty hard as Delhi is not the easiest city to get around as the whole place is covered in dust and rubble due to the Commonwealth Games (CWGs). You sometimes feel like you are a malfunctioning Sat Nav randomly trying to look for landmarks of familiar construction sites to find the way home.

Before you even get into a rickshaw serious negotiation needs to be made. The natural assumption is ‘blondie = rich’ therefore a ‘special’ price is given. So every day you have to barter hard which is painful if you are: a) running late b) its raining c) 6 rickshaw drivers have refused to take you so far d) just not in the mood for negotiating. Rickshaws have a meter but it rarely gets used. Until recently, as thanks to the alleged flood of tourists that will be turning up for the CWGs, rickshaw drivers have been forced to use their meters and a new rate card.

This meant happy days, hassle free travel for a while but the novelty ran off after Week 2 and most rickshaw wallah’s tend not to use it. They have conveniently slipped back to the old ‘meter broken’ excuse so it’s time to barter hard. And my, do rickshaw drivers have some valid reasons for charging a little bit extra. The usual one is ‘the traffic is bad’, well yes I can’t deny that living in a city of 16 million but it’s bad everyday and isn’t my problem. Or my favourite was last week when I got told the fare would be double ‘due to the rain’ when I responded saying ‘the rain is God’s fault not mine so charge him double’ I at least got a wry smile, head nod for get in and pay what you want. The monsoon has added a whole new twist on travel, if you are lucky enough to flag one down you then have to be prepared for being exposed to the elements, particularly large 4x4s who plough through puddles at high speed easily causing a tsunami onto your rickshaw and giving you a good soaking.

But they are not all bad, sometimes you get a great driver you can practice your poor Hindi on, they often like to sing slightly tuneless Bollywood hits throughout your journey providing some entertainment from the traffic, they know how to get rid of beggars and hawkers at traffic lights, can drive like demons when you are running late which makes it sort of feel like you’ve got AC and are definitely an unique part of India you can never forget...

Highlights: making it home on time – today is the first time in a few weeks I’ve just got back before the heavens opened, I’m writing this in the dark because the thunderstorm has caused another power cut but least I’m dry, breaking into my flat –the rain also does stealth damage it seems, as when I returned home in the wee hours merry from a night out and failed open the rusty lock on our front gate after 10mins of trying I suddenly turned a bit Yuri Geller and had bent my key in the lock. I knew that a 3am wakeup call was not going to be an option to my landlord so the only way was to get up and over the 8ft gate, luckily my mountaineering skills had been honed in Ladakh so it was a fairly painless ascent and descent, Sunday brunch bake off – it just gets to that point every few months where you’ve just had enough of curry and need a taste of home so we all piled over to another volunteers for a non-masala meal with delicacies such as tarte au citron and my contribution of Mars Bar crispie cakes seem to go down a treat, an egg upgrade – this may sound quite tragic but this week I taught myself how to make poached eggs (god bless the internet for teaching you everything) as eggs are my main source of protein in a mainly veg diet, a change from scrambled eggs and egg mayonnaise sandwiches after 10 months is so welcome, I now just need to master hollandaise - oh for eggs Benedict...!

Let's get physical...

2010-08-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

as Olivia Newton-John once said, or try to if you live in Delhi and are training for a half marathon...

For those who know me, don’t laugh and yes it is true, I am indeed training for a half marathon. The Delhi Half Marathon is a big fixture in our fundraising calendar so on 21st November I will be (attempting to) run 21km to help raise funds for my NGO, Score Foundation.

Firstly, I wish I ‘glowed’ as elegantly as Olivia, the problem with running in India and the fact it’s 36°c by 7am, is that you end up looking like you’ve had a beetroot facial whilst being wrapped in clingfilm in a sauna. It’s not helped by the fact you need to still be covered up whilst you are exercising here. Tracky bums and a baggy t-shirt are fine, but shorts and a vest top are a no, unless you are male. I’m very jealous of a Sikh gentleman who power walks around my local park in (slightly too tight) shorts and I enviable stare at his bare legs. But I should not complain at least I can go jogging outside, many female volunteers in more rural areas have no options for exercising al fresco. The local gyms are male only so you can only exercise at home, so one resourceful friend has created her own workout regime A-Team style with bricks and plastic bags.

Running on the road is a complete no unless you are on a death wish, or are doing a Krypton Factor style regime that involves hurdling cows and dodging street dogs so you need to find a local park. Delhi is actually a lot greener than you would think so there are quite a few options near us. Our local park (a rectangle of grass in a residential area) has a good ‘track’ (a concrete path about 3ft wide) around; some grass where cricket is always played, a concrete badminton court, a playground which seems to be a crèche for local street children and construction workers , random malnourished topiary statutes of elephants and Lord Ganesh.

Without generalising too much, on average Indian’s don’t exercise that much. You very rarely see people jogging but power walking is a big thing. Power walkers tend to be middle aged, gather in gangs and combine walking and chatting together. It’s more of an exertive stroll and they tend to walk in threes which makes it particularly hard to overtake when you are trying to embrace your inner Paula Radcliffe.

A nation of non exercise lovers is not particularly helpful when you are trying to raise money for a marathon, particularly when it comes to recruiting people to run for us. We had a group of management consultants in the office the other day for a CSR ‘make a difference day’, I thought this was going to be rich pickings and I would easily sign a few runners up. As I stood up to pitch I looked around the room and noticed most of the men (young and old) were sporting rather rotund ‘ghee guts’. So my request of “who loves running?” and “who loves going to the gym?” was warmly greeted with silence. I think I’m going to have to rethink my strategy to get anyone to sign up and Just Do It...

Highlights: rain, rain, rain – you have to love the monsoon when you are cosy at home, munching on peanut butter toast and another storm rolls in but having now been caught in a full deluge trying to cross a knee length brown river (the road) to get to work the novelty is wearing off – gone are the days where your washing dried in an hour and the emo goth panda eye look is really not my style, new friends and Sunday brunches – smoked salmon, white wine spritzers and great conversation the perfect way to end the weekend, having time to read – due to my marathon regime I’m getting up earlier and have quality book time over a cup of tea before I go to work, work food approval – so finally I decided to make my own Indian food and bought some homemade aloo gobi into work for all to share, many said no to trying some as allegedly my vegetables were ‘too crunchy’ but I got the seal of approval from one of my colleagues whose delicious South Indian food I always get to eat so that’s good enough for me.

Boys, boys, boys...

2010-08-09T08:04:00.000-07:00

...as Sabrina once sang, she was looking for a good time but in India they are just looking and everywhere it seems.

So I might sound a little paranoid but being stared at and being surrounded by men has become an everyday part of living in India. Let’s start with the facts, it’s been estimated (well Wikipedia reckons) that at birth there are 1.21 boys for every girl so the statistics back me up.

My commute to work is the start of my daily stare off. I firstly go past a gang of mobile ice cream vendors. Their wheelie kiosks are being filled by the time I pass and many are chopping up large blocks of ice or having a wash in their y-fronts or lungis. It probably doesn’t help that most of my route to work follows a construction site for the new Metro and the Commonwealth Games. I firstly reach Construction Corner where there’s a regular posse of workmen having a good look and hanging around looking like they are auditioning for a Village People video. I then go down Grease Alley which is a strip of mechanics, so ignoring the stares I pretend I’m Sandy from Grease and they’re the T-Birds about to burst into song (but sadly I’m yet to hear a ‘wallah, wallah-uh’). Some women do stare, but it’s easy to ‘charm and disarm’ with a smile. The cycle rickshaw wallahs can take staring to a whole new level which involves driving up to within 5mm of you and shouting ‘Rickshaw madam’ whilst delightfully blocking your path and causing me to give a death stare back.

So why the staring? Am I provocatively dressed or just the hottest thing in town? Hot, yes , but in a slightly sweaty betty sense from the monsoon humidity. I dress in salwaar kameez, hide behind my shades but guess it may just be my pale skin and the fact a blondie is walking rather than being driven around in an air conditioned pod. Some days I’m fine with it. I like to think I’m Claudia Schiffer and I must be having a good hair day despite the 90% humidity. Other days, it can make you go into meltdown. Being stuck in traffic causes the maximum staring as trying to hide out in the back of rickshaw from prying eyes in the terrible traffic and endless jams is pretty hard. I did have a Travis Bickle, Taxi Driver, moment the other day. I was most proud when I translated ‘you starin’ at me’ by lamely shouting out ‘Kya?’ (“what” in Hindi) which caused much merriment to the five businessman crammed into the back of a Tata Nano.

It’s best not to get stressed about it. So a few weeks I decided to retreat from the streets and treat myself to a pedicure. The beauty parlour, the perfect sanctuary for females where boys are firmly banished and a girl can just relax. Well not in India it seems. The pedicure team were all male and for Rs200 a girl can’t really complain. I tried to enjoy the calf massage but it seemed to be wrong that so many men were applying lotions and potions and pampering away. It’s particularly wrong when you see women doing heavy construction work on the side of the road daily. But India never makes sense, with such a large amount of human capital there’s always jobs for the boys...

Highlights: good food + great company – having returned from my travels and got to taste exotic delicacies (e.g. not eat curry everyday) my palette is having to adapt back to the spicy side of life so it was a real treat to go on a gastro tour of Delhi last week when some other volunteers came to town, pizza, sushi, real coffee, fish and chips- just heaven, when it rains it pours – being woken up by a clap of thunder and full monsoon storm last weekend, grey moody skies and water up to your knees on the streets it was cold enough to even have a hot shower, getting my ‘road legs’ back – I’ve had to retrain myself in the art of crossing road e.g. causing traffic to stop to have a chance of getting anywhere, so I was particularly pleased when I had my very own Moses/parting of the Red Sea moment and got 4 lanes of traffic to stop due to the power of sticking out my left arm and defiantly marching across the road - you have to love a bit of pedestrian power, free drinks + great company – it doesn’t take much to please a volunteer but getting a golden ticket to a book launch at the five star Taj Mahal hotel on Friday night made my week, great wine (chilled Pinot Grigio) and even greater company, the perfect way to start the weekend...

The adventures of the Princess of Leh, at 6123m...

2010-07-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

So finally it was holiday time. I know many people think that by working abroad every day is holiday time, but believe me in between fighting global poverty and living in Delhi a girl needs a break...

So it was off to Leh which is in Ladakh and is an autonomous area of Jammu & Kashmir. It’s known as ‘Little Tibet’ and is nestled between the Himalayas and Karakorum at 3500m which takes your breath away – literally. My plan was to go there for 12 days to spend time with two friends, the first at a music festival and the second who was visiting on a group sustainable eco holiday and to do a bit of trekking. Of course this being India, it did not quite go according to plan.

The music festival was cancelled a few days before I left due to local protest and fear that a mass influx of revellers (4000) would corrupt the local youth. I was a little peeved, particularly as I was looking forward to spending time with my friends I was going with, but on arriving in Leh I understood why the festival had been called off. The flight was slightly exhilarating as it took two goes to land due to the wind and obstacles such as snowy peaks and monasteries clinging onto cliffs, all within close proximity of the runway. I took a taxi to the guest house that my festival friends had booked and was warmly greeted by Dawa who ran it.

The guesthouse was definitely local. I was the only a)girl b)foreigner staying and it was me and 8 helicopter engineers from Bangalore. I was treated like a princess, hence the nickname I gave myself for the rest of the week. I was given the penthouse ‘suite’ (on the roof with a private bathroom) and was woken every morning to hot lemon tea and a bucket of hot water for a shower. Heaven. The engineers failed to convince me to play cards with them every night but we did have a rather fun day trip on the Sunday. We went to the local Sikh temple (gurdwara) for a free lunch, visited Dawa’s village to have a cup of tea with his Mum and went to Spituk monastery. Visiting Dawa’s village was a great insight into Ladakhi life. Living is around sustainability and each house has a beautiful veg garden with a stream flowing through for irrigation. Sadly this traditional way of life is declining, hence why the musical festival got cancelled. Basking in the sun petting his cows I could see why it was important to preserve it.

So with no rocking out to be done, I decided it was time to hit the hill seriously. Stok Kangri (6123m) looms mightily across Leh and I decided I was going to climb it. So let’s put this in perspective, it’s quite high. Higher than Mont Blanc (4260m), higher than Mt Kilamanjaro (5895m) but not quite as high as Mt Everest (8848m). But I like a challenge, particularly mountain based, so off I headed on a 4 day trek. We had a great group, consisting of a Dutch couple and a French girl and guy. The first day we walked for 4 hours to the first camp (4200m). I thought this would be easy but by the time I reached the camp my head was pounding and I had the first signs of altitude sickness. I started to get a bit worried that if I was feeling like this now how would I be at over 6000m? Well there’s nothing like a good meal and night’s sleep to sort you out. Our expedition cook was excellent we even had pizza and a cake on our last night.

The next day it was a 2 hour walk to base camp (4900m), I took it slowly and spent the afternoon resting. After 6 days of bluebird skies and sunshine the clouds seemed to be ominously chasing us and by 5pm the camp was being lashed at by heavy rain and wind, not a good sign for our 1am start to the summit. Shivering in the tent (from cold and slight nerves) I tried to rest. At 12.30pm with no rain to be seen, a cup of tea was poked through the tent and it was up for porridge. So off we set. Through the patches of cloud the stars were amazing and we hit the snowline and glacier at 5000m. Other trekker’s head torches could be seen ahead in a caterpillar formation like gloworms but apart from that the mountain was pure silence and darkness.

By 5800m we had plodded uphill steadily and sadly my French tent mate got altitude sickness and decided she should go down with one of the guides. So as the dawn broke it was onwards with our crampons and ice axes being fully used. The final ascent to the ridge was at a 45 degree angle and involved falling in line slowly with fellow mountaineers. This consisted of another English group of guys on an organised tour and a platoon from the Indian army. The ridge started at 6000m and whilst everyone rested, we decided to break out of the chain gain and head for the summit. Breathing was getting harder by every centimetre we seemed to move. You could literally only walk 2 metres before needing to stop to get your breath back. But we finally made it to the top. Sadly the cloud hung around obscuring the view of K2 but as it temporarily shifted the catches of the view we had were stunning and worth all that effort. We descended exhausted, as it began to snow a few hundred metres before we reached base camp, I was very glad to be warmly greeted by a big cup of chai and congratulations for making it. A true adventure for the Princess of Leh.

Highlights: going on holiday and not feeling completely broken – this had to be the first holiday I had for many years where I was not completely exhausted from work and needed a week to wind down and feel sane, Tibetan food – momos (little parcels of stuffed heaven) and delicious noodle soups - yum, my discovery of Jungle Tea – that would be a Ladakhi hot toddy made with rum - double yum, beating the boys – I know I shouldn’t boast but I was extra chuffed that we beat the Indian army platoon and slightly smug group of English guys by half an hour to be the first on the summit that day, a visit to SECMOL a sustainable school that helps Year 10 students learn life skills and takes on the failing education system in the region – chatting to Ladakhi students about their life and ambitions that revolve around staying in the area and carrying on their traditions was truly inspirational.

Home sweet home...

2010-07-08T07:14:00.000-07:00

So I have returned home (Delhi) from visiting home (London) and realised how nice it is to have two homes and appreciate the experience of living in two very different places...

The main reason for my return home was for my sister’s wedding, which was amazing. I could gush endlessly about it for the next several paragraphs, but it might be pretty boring for you. Before I left for London I was rather stressed about the wedding and was having a slight bridesmaidzilla meltdown for two reasons.

The first stress was over my dress. My sister and I decided it may be easier if I got my bridesmaid dress made in Delhi. I managed to track down a designer who sketched out something suitable and all seemed to be going well. Alarm bells should have been ringing when she kept referring to it as “the gown”. I first got a glimpse of it a week before leaving. She’d been a little ‘over creative’ with the colour and it was dip dyed two shades of purple. Perfect for a hippy wedding in Goa not the best for Babbington House in Somerset. So the dress was remade. It wasn’t quite the right fit and I was not too sure about the voluminous netting at the bottom that allegedly gave it “shape and style”. The second viewing 48 hours before getting on the plane was a slight improvement but not quite right. Let’s just say if I ever need to go to a party where the fancy dress theme is ‘Priscilla Queen of the Desert’ or ‘Muriel’s Wedding’, my outfit will rock. Anyway, thanks to the genius of my sister’s speedy online shopping a suitably divine dress was found and the problem was sorted within 2 hours of landing at Heathrow.

The second stress was over some secret stealth plotting that had been underway since February. I decided to organise a surprise hen party for my sister but as I would only be home 5 days before the Big Day, it had to be the weekend before the wedding. Most brides are probably at meltdown stage by then so I was a little nervous it was cutting it a bit fine. But all was not lost as my sister’s amazing friends rallied around, sent emails about fake hen lunches, carried on the subterfuge and we managed to keep the secret going until the second she opened the front door to be greeted by all her friends for a proper send off to married life.

So let me return to the gushing, the wedding was wonderful it was even more wonderful to be home, see my family and catch up with as many people as I could. London was a balmy 30°c; I came back with a tan and had my fill of as much wine, meat and cheese as I could. It was so clean and calm compared to Delhi, I loved the luxury of pavements and rubbish bins, sleeping on a soft bed and the feeling of carpet between my toes. It was lovely to be greeted in the office so warmly by my colleagues on my return. It was great to show them the wedding photos and explain some of the traditions of a Great British wedding. On seeing the size of my mother’s wedding cake I was asked “how many kgs was the wedding cake?” Also, “had my sister chosen her husband and met him before the wedding day?” and “with the tradition of carrying the bride over the threshold, what would you do if you had a fat wife and lived on the top floor?” All very valid questions, particularly as I could compare the two different types of weddings having been to an Indian one a few weeks before.

So now I’m back home and it’s a nice feeling to know that my two homes both have amazing things about them that I can appreciate even more. And this week’s photos? Well it’s my dedication to my fellow volunteers who are missing and craving Western cuisine. Please enjoy the food porn, it was all worth the wait and tasted all the more divine for having a curry based diet for 8 months – enjoy!

Highlights: the wedding – ok this is the end of the gushing but I have to say we Brits know how to throw a good bash, what an amazing day and loved the fact we were up dancing until 3.30am, it’s hot, it’s steamy and very unpredictable – sadly I’m not describing an attractive young man sitting next to me in seat 39D on the flight home - it’s Delhi in the monsoon, never have I enjoyed grey skies and rain in my life so much. If you haven’t seen it already, enjoy my Bollywood ‘debut’ in a soap opera spoof, so far it’s had 4,793 hits on YouTube and apart from securing a role in a chewing gum ad, I don’t think I need to get an agent quite yet...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0xc_XK51YQ&feature=related

For the next 220 hours...

2010-06-24T00:06:00.000-07:00

... I will be back in Blighty for a flying visit for my sister’s wedding. Since I found out in February I would get the chance to go home, I have been forming a mental list of all the things (that may seem day to day for you but are seriously exciting for me!) that I am going to relish doing and here’s just a few...

Hugging and kissing all my lovely family and friends. I’m very excited about the wedding, not only is it a really special occasion I also get to spend time with lots of the people I miss the most, I finally get a brother in law and a recall on a job position I last had when I was five (this time no primrose taffeta involved) as a bridesmaid, so can’t wait to finally be there for my sister. I’m also going to be meeting three little people who last time I saw them were bumps in tummies so can’t wait to give a big cuddle to baby Eva, Rohan and Guy.

Eating the following; steak, fish and chips, smoked salmon, roast beef, sausages, bacon, prawns, pie, Scotch eggs, bagels, cheese, lasagne, cake (particularly my Mum’s wedding cake), scones, pasta with creamy sauce, olives, hummus, Cornish pasties, smoky bacon crisps, avocados, burgers, proper chips, gravy, Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, fresh bread, cheese on toast with a splash of Worcester sauce, toast with marmalade, Percy Pigs, proper chocolate, a fry up, ham, salami and more cheese...

Drinking; Champagne, wine, a pint of Guinness, Magners on ice, proper mojitos, a decent margarita, Yorkshire tea, Early Grey, cappuccino, latte and Ribena. Enjoying a bottle of wine in a pub with friends is going to be divine as well as not having to drink 6 litres of water a day to beat the heat.

Wearing inappropriate clothing – yep, I may just flash some flesh whilst I’m home. I may just go outside with bare shoulders in a vest top (gasp!) I may combine that with a knee length skirt for the double bubble effect and show off my legs (double gasp!), controversial I know. I’ve also got a hot date with Daniel, my hairdresser, who may need to approach my dry and ravaged locks with an industrial pair of garden shears. It will be nice to get a decent cut as it tends to be Russian roulette when you go to the hairdresser in India, not knowing if you are going to come out looking like Edward Scissorhands has styled you for a Vivienne Westwood shoot...

The great thing about doing VSO is that it makes you appreciate so much in life that you have, from the really big things (family and friends) to the small things (a decent glass of wine) so I’m really excited to be back and only one more sleep to go...

Highlights: my Bollywood debut – at the weekend I helped a friend out who was making a spoof mini film, I got to wear a beautiful pink sari all day, was clueless to any of the dialogue and hopefully the one line I spoke in Hindi won’t make the cutting floor, on the day it reached 49°c knowing I would soon be somewhere at least 20°c cooler very soon, cheering England on with fellow volunteers and beer – a pre match WAGs style pedi was obviously a lucky omen made particularly sweeter as I won the bet with my boss about our victory so looking forward to receiving the wager of an office treat of samosas this afternoon.

"Food, glorious food...

2010-06-15T07:31:00.000-07:00

...hot sausage and mustard”, as Oliver once sang. If only a) it was possible to get a decent banger b) I actually had the appetite to eat in the heat. One of things I’ve had to adapt to over here is a change in diet which is extra challenging when it’s so hot...

Curry is wonderful. I’m not complaining about eating it every day, I could quite happily do so forever but variety is the spice of life, particularly when it comes to food, one of my great loves. The biggest change in my diet since living in India has being finding my inner Linda McCartney. Most people tend to be vegetarian and it’s very hard to buy reasonably priced good quality “non-veg” e.g. meat. So I have adapted, but endlessly fantasise about bacon sandwiches, sausage and mash and steak. It’s made doubly hard by the fact there are so many cows wandering around...

We have a standard VSO issue gas hob to cook on. I really miss baking things. Oh to be able to cook lasagne / pizza / cakes anything that does not involve a saucepan. If I need a fix, I treat myself to some food porn and go on the Waitrose website and drool at the monthly recipes, tragic I know. When the heat reaches 45°c+ there is a 10 minute rule for cooking. It’s so hot in the kitchen you have to get in and boil / fry in less than 10 minutes before you are looking like you’ve been locked in a sauna in ski wear, have lost all appetite and are blinded by the sweat in your eyes. My diet has become very egg based. Egg mayonnaise sandwiches and omelettes have become a speciality. I feel like Gwen from Gavin & Stacey as I once again reach for the eggs in the fridge.

It’s difficult to be inspired at our local supermarket the infamous ‘Star Bizarre’. One of the joys and sorrows of being a volunteer in a capital city is the fact you have access to everything and anything, but can’t afford it. Star Bizarre, is an extremely prophetic name. Imagine the number of products of a large Walmart crammed into a tiny Tesco Metro. It’s the worst supermarket planning in the world. The shelves are piled high, the aisles are crammed by more products on the floor causing you to walk down them sideways like a crab, they have those irritating tiny supermarket trolleys and there is normally several fairly ‘shapely’ middle class customers endlessly browsing / blocking the aisles and queue pushing.

The one benefit is that they have a ‘Beer & Breezer’ counter. The only alcohol they sell is beer (Kingfisher of course) and Bacardi Breezers which seem to be ladies choice of drink in this part of the world. You can’t buy beer at the same time as your food shopping which is a tad irritating but the benefit is you don’t get groped which is standard practice for any hole in the wall speakeasy style off licence ( the only other place you can buy booze). One day the ‘Beer & Breezer’ counter disappeared overnight. It was replaced by men’s underpants. On enquiring why they’d introduced a new line of briefs in the place of beer I was advised the government had taken away their licence. Two months later the beer returned and the pants got upgraded to the top floor which is also a toy shop. How Bizarre.

Highlights: my work week – I had a really interesting and satisfying week with productive meetings about online individual donor opportunities, support for sports and development for a blind cricket project and was part of a corporate ‘Make a Difference’ day, appreciating a good night’s sleep - having enjoyed a weekend of sleeping without my AC, getting used to it again has been difficult as on the sound scale it has gone up in irritation factor of a mosquito mating with a pneumatic drill, rain storms – it finally cooled down for a few days and it’s a joy to be able to be outside a bit more and do things like go running much to the amusement of the gangs of boys playing cricket in my local park...

Time to head for the hills...

2010-06-09T09:16:00.000-07:00

It was all getting a bit too much. The heat (47°c), the dust and Delhi’s population of 16 million was getting to me so there was only one thing to do, head for the Himalayas.

I had found the perfect retreat. Or rather, I had been told about the perfect retreat through a chance meeting at the Foreigner’s Registration Office. At the final stage of getting my Resident’s Permit, with a three hour wait to go, I got chatting to a rather charming German professor. After sharing many tips on Delhi, he informed me “if the heat get’s too much you must go to Jilling”. Jilling I discovered was a family run farm in Uttarakhand in the foothills of the Himalayas about eight hours from Delhi. The German professor had his own cottage on the site, had known the family for many years and it sounded like heaven.

So as a birthday treat, off I headed on Friday getting the train at 5.30am arriving at Lal Kuan at 11.30am. I was then picked up by a taxi for the two hour drive into the foothills. The view was spectacular and I felt like Lady Penelope as I sat in the back of the AC car winding up the hills. My poor buttocks are used to being battered about in the back of a rickshaw, so a car trip in soft furnishing was sheer luxury. The area is known as the Lake District of India and it was a delight to see so much green and blue replace the usual view of dust and rubbish. As we wound around the final corner of the road I was greeted by Steve, my host for the weekend.

I liked Steve within seconds. I first of all heard him before I saw him. The satisfying roar of the Bullet motorbike was backed up by the view of Steve complete with white beard and flying goggles. He looked like Captain Birdseye on shore leave, thoroughly enjoying some quality time on his bike. He was heading off for a ride and let me know someone would help me with my luggage for the final walk up to the house. The walk was spectacular it took an hour up winding stone paths, past cottages, horses, buffalos and friendly locals in an Alpine setting.

I arrived at the farm to be greeted by Steve’s daughter, wife and a delicious lunch. And so my weekend at Jilling started. I had my own cottage hidden amongst the trees further up the hill which was the German professor’s library. In between sitting outside reading on the terrace, watching birds, white monkeys and the spectacular scenery of snow capped peaks such as Nanda Devi (7816 metres) I had the most relaxing time. There were six farm dogs to play with, the adopted baby deer Benaru, who would accompany me on walks between taken for guided tours of the estate. The farm and woodland has been very carefully preserved and it was fascinating to learn about the ecology, effects of the population growth and global warming in the area on the flora and fauna and life at the farm.

One of the highlights had to be attending a local wedding over two days. The first day was a celebration for the bride called the Mehendi. It involved celebrating the bride’s big day with dancing, bracelet buying and henna painting. The women were dressed in vibrant orange, pink and red saris and the bride’s family wore traditional nose rings. It was fascinating and an interesting comparison to a traditional British hen do – no booze, strippers or dancing around handbags in site. The wedding on the second day was even more interesting. The groom arriving on a horse with a band and the ceremony involved handing over of lots of gifts. It did slightly remind me of Bullseye as the Hindu priest had a touch of Jim Bowen to him as he handed over briefcases full of everything from gold watches, knitted jumpers, cash and dried fruit.

The bride looked very solemn throughout and I was told that this was because it was a sad day for her as she was leaving her family. It was very interesting particularly to see how the families did not mix in the same way we do at European weddings. The groom’s family ate first then the bride’s ate. They sat separately across the courtyard and despite the fact everyone was singing and chatting throughout, the ceremony had a formal edge to it. I returned to Delhi on Monday night, feeling recharged and relieved it had rained so was slightly cooler. Stepping off the train at New Delhi station I was embraced by the sounds, smells and sights that only Delhi gives and reflected that it had been good to have my own adventure away from the daily adventure that life in India is.

Highlights: sleeping with a duvet – no noise of a fan or AC just the sounds of nature, eating delicious home cooked and wedding food, being able to be outside in the sunshine without getting third degree burns, being in the hills – it did not feel like I was in India for the whole weekend which was a bit of a treat as sometimes the dust, rubbish and heat can make you go a little crazy, my birthday – I had cake rubbed into my face in the traditional Indian way and enjoyed an evening of sangria and cigars which was very random but lots of fun, the Percy Pigs that I received for my birthday amongst other wonderful packages – the perfect train food and a nice change from samosas.

Time for some fancy dress fun...

2010-05-24T08:46:00.001-07:00

So what’s a girl to do when it’s 47°c outside in the day and 32°c at night – organise a fancy dress party! Inspired by our recent trip to Varanasi there was only one possible theme – backpackers...

As with most things in life, it’s all in the preparation. As most people from home know me I take fancy dress very seriously. So the weekend before the party it was off to Paharganj, the backpacker’s district in Delhi, for some serious shopping. Pharganj is the kind of place that all backpackers end up as soon as they arrive in India as it’s got everything you need to give you the full taste of the Indian ‘experience’. Dirty streets, cheap shops selling tie dye outfits, hippy beads and the Om symbol printed on absolutely everything. Within minutes I had found a suitably inspirational orange tie dye dress to go with my pink baggy trousers and accessories worthy of any Gap year student.

We’d given our guests some party guidelines and there were extra points for baggy traveller’s pants, dreadlocks, bongos and excessive boasting about where they’d been and the impact they’d made volunteering at that ashram for a day. In true volunteer style everyone made huge efforts. To begin with, everyone had taken on a new name to match their backpacker persona. I had gone for Skylar to reinforce my trustafarian roots and we were lucky enough to have the presence of Moses, Amethyst, Rainbow and Quinn to name a few of our esteemed guests.

The venue was our roof terrace which occasionally gets a bit of breeze. The night was seriously hot and we provided suitable lounge seating in the form of a day bed pimped up with lots of ethnic cushions. We served beer, gin and tonics and watermelon to keep everyone cool. The star attraction of the night was another volunteer, who excelled in embracing his inner backpacker. Having turned up in ‘civilian’ clothing much to my distress, he informed me that he had bought with him his fire poi with him. For those who were not present on the Ibiza/Goan/Thai full moon backpacker party scene c.1994 fire poi are quite literally balls of petrol soaked fire on a chain that are swung around to form, well, pretty patterns. It takes quite a lot of guts to do it, bring your own petrol to the party and perform in the enclosed space that is our roof terrace.

The poi was lit and the spinning began. Everyone stepped back as the heat and petrol fumes hit them. Then suddenly our poi performer set himself on fire. Luckily we managed to stop the flames creeping up the back of his shirt before any serious damage was done and he carried on his performance to rapturous applause. It’s great to see some of the VSO skills of flexibility and adaptability in both work and play..!

Highlights: having some crazy fun in the crazy heat - it’s too hot to even think at the moment but it was great that everyone made such an effort for our party, treat time – discovering the perfect pedicure for only Rs180 (£2.40), stealth AC – having an excuse to hit the shopping mall and hiding out at the cinema to absorb some frosty magic, adapting – rose water lassis and ice cream have become part of my daily diet, when in Rome...!

What's in a name..?

2010-05-13T06:29:00.000-07:00

Well, quite a lot when it comes to the title of my blog which encapsulates one of Delhi’s most frustrating features...

So why ‘Honk if you like curry’? Well the name came from an observation I made in the first few days of living here. You cannot begin to describe the sound/irritation factor of the constant honking that every vehicle in Delhi makes. Everybody drives using their horn, as if they are all honking in agreement for the love of their national dish. It’s been proven that 70% of noise pollution in Delhi comes from honking horns and there is even an official No Honking Day on 1st January. How considerate to choose the one day of the year everyone is going to have a hangover...

Maybe due to the heat, my irritation and tolerance levels are slowly sinking. My experience of being on the road usually involves walking down it or being stuck in a rickshaw exposed to the elements. My biggest frustration comes as a pedestrian. If a car approaches you (normally about 10 metres away) they will start honking as if to say “watch out, I’m bigger than you”. This could be seen as a polite gesture. But it normally involves several further honks which are not necessary. But then again, based on my experience of Delhi drivers I’m glad you get a warning sound. I don’t want to make a sweeping statement but no one seems to be able to drive properly in Delhi. No one can park, overtaking and undertaking with a few centimetres to spare, as well as driving the wrong way on a dual carriage way (I’ve seen it all) is quite common. Being on the road is like being in a Mario Kart game. The common vehicles you spot range from tractors, buses, large SUVs, tiny Tata hatchbacks, auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, motorbikes with up to 4 passengers, bicycles with up to 2 passengers, carts, cows and the occasional elephant. All driving is of course accompanied by a symphony of honks, which acts as a warning and voids any maverick driving manoeuvres.

I jokingly mentioned to my colleagues at lunch the other day about this frustration of mine and that it seemed as if no one had actually passed their test. I was then told I was right. As most people pay a bribe to get their test rather than sit it. Everyone then compared notes on how much they had paid for their licences. The least being Rs200 (£2.66) the most being Rs5,000 (£66.66) – what a bargain. One colleague had even failed his test by failing to give a bribe. That explains a lot I thought.

But like all things in India, the system works. I’m yet to see an accident, the skill and reaction of drivers to swerve with minimal damage is impressive. And the honking? Well at least you get a warning and it’s something I’m always going to associate with India. It’s going to be a long hot summer and only going to get noisier...

Highlights: mango season is in full swing – a visit to a ‘Mango Festival’ has broadened my mango knowledge apparently it’s all about the Alphonso, air conditioning the finest invention – I spent most of the weekend holed up at the American Centre enjoying a Hitchcock Festival and the frosty surroundings, getting ready for my sister’s wedding – it’s under 7 weeks until the big day, my bridesmaid dress is currently being made by a local designer and this week I chose the material and colour. Its hard being away from home in the run up to such a big occasion but seeing my dress come together is getting me more and more excited about my visit home for the Big Day.

177 days in...

2010-05-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

I can hardly believe that I’m coming up to the 6 month mark of my one year VSO placement. Time has gone by quickly as every day is saturated full of new things, both fascinating and frustrating. Reaching this milestone has made me reflected on my learnings so far...

Rights
6 months ago back in London, if you had asked me what my rights were it would have taken me some time to answer. In the bubble that was my life then, I would probably have said; to vote, to get equal pay as my male colleagues, a pay rise every year to reward my hard work, afford a few holidays a year, clothes and good times with friends. How my opinion has changed.

Everyone has different reasons for doing VSO but at the core of it is the challenge of having a new experience and directly learning about the developing world. Every day you learn something new about so many things, including yourself. Not only have I had a change in career, there’s also been a change in continent, country, culture and customs. I think everyone must feel like a slight fraud in their first few weeks in placement. As much as we have ‘advisor’ in our job titles, how can we advise if we don’t even know the context our advice is to be given? Learning about the country you are in takes time. It’s been incredibly easy to embrace some parts of the culture such as food (God bless the fact curry is our national dish). Adapting to traditional clothes has been easy too. Wearing a salwaar kameez to work is the coolest option and I like the fact my wardrobe no longer is varying shades of black and grey but an explosion of colours. But how on earth can you start to understand a country like India, with 1.2 billion people, 31 states, 1618 languages, 6400 castes and 6 religions, in a short period of time?

Well I think the answer is fairly simple. Just by living here and being open minded. My walk to work is my favourite time of the day as I get to see what’s going on around. This morning I started thinking about my rights. Walking down the road probably is the biggest frustration of my day. Being stared at, called out at and nearly run over is all part of the challenge. Do I have the right to be able to cross the road safely and not be stared at? Yes and no you could argue. If the government was spending the money to repair the road on ensuring the 40% of the population (4.8m) who live below the poverty line weren’t living on less than $1 (65p) a day and could afford 2 meals, then I would say I don’t have the right to demand tarmac and traffic lights…

And with the staring, it’s the first time in my life I’ve been a minority. Being female increases the Stare Factor, should I get annoyed about the fact I can’t wear shorts when I go jogging or a vest top to the market when it’s 45°c outside? Not really, when women have a struggle for survival that starts in the womb, with female infantacide still common. In a patriachal society being treated as a second class citizen in relation to their male family members, receiving food and education last only if there is enough is still common for many. India is a democracy and in no way should be viewed as an oppressive state, being here enables you to learn and experience both the positive and the negatives and see everything in context.

So what do I think my rights are now? I feel very lucky that I have had access to and have an education, that I had enough to eat when I grew up, clean water, free medical care, that I am not discrimanted based on my gender, I can live independently and that I have enough money to be happy.

Relationships
The moment you get on the plane to your placement you experience a strange release / panic. Everything is new around you, including your identity. There’s no point of reference for you, no friends or family to fit into. If I decided I wanted to be called Tallulah for the next 12 months, only eat red food and take up basket weaving no one would have questioned me. You are at ground zero with your relationships and need to start from scratch on top of dealing with a new group of people/country/flat/job/lifestyle.

VSO training prepares you very well for dealing with the relationships around you. It’s so important to create and develop them. We lucked out with our group when we all arrived for our in country training. The eighteen of us all got on well and had minimal sense of humour failures despite living on top of each other and sharing rooms for a month. Our gang in Delhi are a great eclectic bunch and one of the many benefits of doing an urban placement means you already have an extensive social life to plug into.

Being away from home firstly makes you reflect how lucky you are to have such great family and friends. You miss the simplest things from meeting up with a friend for a glass of wine or calling someone up for a post work chat. Your new family really is at work. Relationships here are perhaps the most important and you need to develop them as fast as possible. That can be the most challenging as working life is so different. Everything is a lot more reactive, the pace so much slower, with priority and responsibility viewed in a different way to home. For a TOMTD (Task Orientated Multi Tasking Demon) like me – it’s been a big change! My favourite part of my work day is lunch, where we religiously all sit down and eat together. Apart from getting to try everyone’s delicious home cooked food the topic of conversation varies so much every day. Religion, politics, cricket, books, films, solar energy and Princess Diana are just some of the topics we’ve done in the last few days. It’s a great time to learn more about everyone and life in India.

So what do the next 6 months hold? Denial firstly that I’m half way through, then enjoying every second as I have done so far, eating a lot more curry, seeing more of India and continuing to learn more...

Highlights – there’s too many to list, so this week’s pictures are a selection of my favourites from the last 6 months - enjoy!

The heat is on...

2010-04-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

Feeling hot, hot, hot. Heat wave. Hot in the city. These are just the few of the songs that seem to be on an eternal loop in my head as I enjoy my new commute to work...

So yes, predictably it’s hot at the moment. It reached 44°c here last week which is abnormal for this time of year. Global warming? Who can say, but it’s only going to get hotter. So I was somewhat relieved when I found out my new commute to work was only going to be 25 minutes long. Some may say its a bit mad dogs & Englishmen to be out walking in this weather, but I think it’s helping me keep acclimatised and my panting normally subsides fairly quickly after I’ve reached the office thanks to our very swish air conditioning.

I tend to start my commute somewhat irritated. This is due to lack of sleep. I seem to be having a love/hate relationship with my air conditioning unit at present. Don’t get me wrong I can’t live without it, but it seems to need a lot of attention. I love it for its ability to churn out waves of magical frosty air within seconds but it’s quite vocal about it. The sound varies between a small Cessna taking off to Concorde landing. Ear plugs are sadly not doing the trick yet, so I tend to have a ratio of two nights of no sleep to one of heavy sleep brought about by exhaustion. So by the time I hit the proverbial pavement I tend to require minimal eye contact, sound and interruption to keep me focused on the day ahead.

In India that of course is never possible. I firstly amble through Kailash Colony Market, AKA cycle rickshaw depot. Weaving my way through, I am constantly accosted by rickshaw wallahs most distressed at my pedestrian status. Their usual way to get my attention is loudly slapping their seats, ringing their bells with a “Hullo Madam”, driving straight towards me or slowing down as I cross the road so I’m forced to either choose them or have my buttocks clipped by a passing motorist. Once I’ve managed to avoid at least 30 of them I then hit the ring road. This ring road is getting the royal treatment for the Commonwealth Games. So, it’s another building site. The middle of the road is currently housing the ribs of the Metro extension and is covered in scaffolding and construction workers. As the traffic tries to squeeze through, teams of construction workers pour through.

Health and safety is only limited to hats in India. Most of them are dressed in what can only be described as ‘pulling shirts’ (nylon & skin tight). They look as if they decided to go to a fancy dress party as one of the Village People but gave up from the neck down. At least due to the repression factor none of them shout out things like “show us your white bits”, it’s more just the usual Stare Factor. To be honest I’m sure they are not staring at me but are in a catatonic state of sheer exhaustion. I was pleased to read in the paper last week that after a successful strike they’d managed to get time and a half for the final three hours of their 27 hour shifts...

Apart from the construction work and traffic the real challenge is crossing the road. There are no traffic lights so it really is a case of timing and courage. I haven’t quite got up the balls to try what I like to call the TST (Tiananman Square Technique). This involves walking out into the traffic with your arm held out and I’m sure using mind control techniques worthy of Paul McKenna to make vehicles and cows stop. I normally wait 10 minutes and sneak behind some school children, power walking with determination.

Highlights: I never thought I would say it but power cuts – with no AC we’ve rediscovered the joy of our balcony at night that’s marginally cooler than being indoors and a beer outside is always the best option to beat the heat, mango season – it’s started and long may it reign, my new breakfast special is muesli, yoghurt and fresh mango, discovering the American Embassy does free Friday night films with seriously good AC – god bless Obama.

Retail therapy time...

2010-04-14T07:56:00.000-07:00

The good thing about living in a capital city is that whatever you need to buy, you can get it. The bad thing about living in a capital city as a VSO volunteer is that whatever you want to buy you can’t really afford. This weekend I indulged and headed off for a bit of retail therapy Delhi style…

Saturday was another blistering hot day, reaching a sizzling 43°c by lunchtime. I decided to hit Select Citywalk the swanky shopping mall because a) it’s got amazing air conditioning b) I managed to snap my sunglasses during some vomiting incident in Varanasi so was in dire need c) I really needed to start looking for a bridesmaid dress for my sister’s wedding in July. The first thing I needed to do was to decide what to wear to go shopping. You definitely know you are acclimatised when you decide to wear jeans. It sounds like madness but it’s actually a bit of a treat to go out in Western clothes, temporarily shed my volunteer skin and do what I like to call the ‘London Thing’. So off I headed (only mildly perspiring in the denim).

Entering into the mall there are strict security checks. I say strict, but you walk through a wooden scanner (which I swear is not even plugged in) and have your bag half heartedly poked at by a bored security guard. Inside its all magical sparkly lights, pristinely clean with serene piped piano music, deliciously frosty with random bits of modern art. So just like any other shopping mall in the world. It’s a little slice of Dubai in Delhi. There’s a smorgasbord of Western shops, including bizarrely an M&S. The mall was packed full of other Europeans and tottering gangs of groomed girls who were high on stilettos and serious about shopping. I decided to look for dresses first. It seemed my options were limited. Unless I fancied turning up to the wedding as a day-glo, pole dancing, blinged up Bollywood strumpet leaving not much to the imagination below my décollage and above my thighs, my options seemed limited. I gave up and decided to concentrate on the sunglasses.

I’ve finally worked out that there is a formula when it comes to customer service in India. Basically for every one salesperson required there are always three. Within seconds of hitting the cheapest sunglasses shop I could find, I had been surrounded like Jordan on a stag do. Having tried on a million pairs and bonded with Manoj who seemed the keenest to get his commission, I asked for his opinion. Manoj seemed unable to commit and just kept saying “‘Madam looks stylish”. I suspected he would have said that if I had come in dressed as a nun.

I finally made a decision, was pleased I had not spent too drastically and thought I would soak up some of the cooling AC before heading home. Wandering around without a mission was probably my downfall and made me vulnerable to attack from a preying Cosmetic Dolly. The Lancôme shop had decided to decamp to the centre of the mall to give facials and in true Pavlovian volunteer style when I heard the word “free” instantly agreed. Firstly I had to go through a skin check and felt quietly confident I would pass with flying colours, as Indian women are obsessed with getting paler skin to the point they buy whitening products (how ironic considering in Europe we are obsessed with getting darker skin). I was specifically asked about my “skin worries”. I realised I had none and instantly started to worry. Having identified my age the Cosmetic Dolly ticked the anti-ageing box. When I protested she then said surely anti-ageing was a worry due to my “pigmentation marks”. Somewhat confused I asked her to clarify what “pigmentation marks” were, from her concerned face and dotting motion I realised she meant my freckles. I corrected her but she continued to refer to them as “pigmentation marks” and firmly inked it in the form despite my declaration that this was a sign of being an English Rose. She was having none of it.

I then slipped into a not so private booth – the three tiers of the mall had full visibility of my “pigmentation marks” being exfoliated. I shut my eyes and realised that the piped piano music was now rather aptly playing ‘Bridge over Troubled Water’ and tried to relax. With my “pigmentation marks” still intact and my wallet marginally lighter I decided it was time to slip out back to the afternoon heat and dust that is Delhi as only mad dogs and Englishman do. It was sweaty outside but at least it was reality...

Highlights: air conditioning – the world’s best invention, I can now finally sleep at night, our new office – it’s so swish and has AC, finding out our monthly allowance has been increased by Rs1,000 (£13.33) – must restrain from using this for further retail therapy, being back in the land of living – it’s so nice to be eating again and the joy of having my first beer in a longtime – when it’s 43° outside Kingfisher is always your friend.

The Varanasi weight loss plan...

2010-04-09T03:15:00.000-07:00

We’ve just returned from a very jolly Easter weekend in Varanasi. The holy city (also known as Benares) is on the banks of the Ganges and Hindus believe it is auspicious if you die there, as you avoid the cycle of rebirth. So yes, effectively it’s the city of death and disease, as many people pre-warned us we would get sick if we went. But never one to turn down an adventure, it took us three simple steps to discover you never come back from Varanasi your (whole) self...

Step #1 Travel on the Ghost Train. The Indian Railway System, an adventure in itself. Despite booking early, we appeared to be Waitlisted on the superior Shiv Ganga Express, so 24 hours before leaving we rebooked to guarantee leaving town at all. The problem was the train we booked was a new service nobody knew about when we arrived at New Delhi station. It did not appear on the boards, nobody at the counters knew about it and the chances of finding any type of railway employee is slim to anorexic if they are not behind 8” plexiglass with throngs of men shouting at them. It was by chance someone vaguely pointed us in the direction of Platform 9, we charged down the stairs, to see our train slowly chugging out of the station...

So like three Edwardian ladies departing on a grand tour aboard the midnight sleeper to Florence, we started yelping and waiving luggage expecting someone to help us, and then running after it. It was more Die Hard than A Room with A View as we leapt onboard, clinging on with our dear lives. But we made it, burning a few calories on the way. Sadly our train did not live up to its new status. There was no food available and by 10pm our bedding had not arrived so we were hungry and shivered in the AC. No one slept well as, we had an attempted bag snatch on one of our bunks, the train appeared not to fit the tracks so violently lurched the moment sleep visited and we were paranoid we would wake up in Bihar, Naxalite (Maoist rebels) territory, a seriously badass region which is best not visited at night. Anyway, we arrived in one piece shaken but not stirred to await the delights of Varanasi.

Step #2 Visit Varanasi when it’s the hottest place in India. It was hot. Really hot. Delhi had been hitting 40° before we left but we arrived to 43° by 10am. The temperature was probably not helped by the fact we’d decided to stay budget so not get an AC room and I’d managed to choose the guesthouse closest to the burning ghat. The burning ghat sounds slightly romantic with an Olympicesque eternal flame. It’s actually a big bonfire. Where they burn bodies. It’s going 24hrs and every time you walk past you need to avoid being hit by the heat and a funeral parade with the body wrapped up and being carried on high through the narrow streets.

The place is very beautiful, the Ganges snakes through and a rooftop view reminds you of a Canaletto painting, with passenger laden boats rowing their way along. It’s also very dirty, in a charming Medieval squalor way. The streets are very narrow, with roving livestock from cows, goats, buffalos, motorbikes, trustafarian travellers (plus the odd dead body hoisted through) as well as Hindu pilgrims. We stayed out of the sun as much as we could, its hard work not to burn a few calories in the heat walking up and down to the ghats as the old city seems to be built on stairs. We went on a dawn and dusk boat ride which was beautiful, watched the sunset puja (offering) and life on the river. We also went shopping for the famed Benares Silk. It was shopping heaven as we nested for 4 hours at one shop and drooled over reams of silk, oohing and ahhing over cups of chai and even got to try on a few saris. Of course we also ate lots of Western food to suit the backpacker crowd and some street delights such as lassi, which perhaps was our downfall when it came to Step #3 in the weight loss plan...

Step #3 Get the cursed Benares Bug. So far, I’ve been extremely lucky not to get the infamous Delhi Belly, but it had to strike once and of course before boarding a 16hr train home. Once again we appeared to be Waitlisted, but this time we ended up getting downgraded to 3rd class. The train wasn’t so bad and it was my decision to choose the upper third bunk for privacy in my moments of gut wrenching agony. I now know what it’s like to live on a submarine. I also had not calculated my need to spend most of the train journey in the 3rd class squat loo. So between alpine hikes up to my bed, abseiling down and then toning my power thighs to Fatima Whitbread style proportions embracing said squat loo, I returned fairly toned.

It’s taken 4 days of antibiotics, one injection in my right buttock to stop the vomiting and I’m now through the worse. Never fear, with regards to weight loss I’m no Cheryl Cole (think a toned early 80s Cheryl Baker, I could proudly display my pins if a Velcro skirt was required) and looking forward to eating again, being back in the land of the living – I guess it’s all part of the India Experience...

Highlights: I really don’t want to think about food, but thank you for the humongous postal Easter chocolate donations from home that arrived in the last few days – they are slightly melty but greatly appreciated and will be devoured, getting our AC fitted – I can’t tell you how good it feels, being bought a get well soon present of a bottle of Ribena – blackcurrant Vitamin C goodness heal my body now please, being in my bathroom – ‘nuff said..!

Shifting time...

2010-03-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

This week we are moving offices and it’s got me feeling all nostalgic about our current office located in Hauz Khas.

Firstly I think I’m going to miss my commute. My 50 minute walk to and fro is a daily adventure. It starts off with saying good morning to all the neighbourhood dogs by the park. It then involves using my survival skills to dodge rickshaws, eager men and obstacles on the pavements that include rubbish, burning rubbish, cows eating rubbish, sleeping dogs and large holes. Some parts I won’t miss, for example, crossing what I’ve affectionately nicknamed ‘Sewage Stream’ everyday. It has got a bit worse in the hot weather, as well as the simmering stench of methane, it has turned into a breeding ground for flies. So as well as having to hold my breath, I look vaguely possessed as I use my arms to swat away swarms of beasties that favour European flesh.

I’m also going to miss the area where the office is based in. Hauz Khas has a laid back arty feel and reminds me a bit of Greenwich. Our office is near the National Institute of Fashion & Technology, so I love seeing what all the Trendy Wendys are wearing and their curious looks as I rock past in a traditional salwaar kameez instead of skinny jeans. I’m going to miss the snoozing security guard that I always pass on my lunch time strolls, past the mini temple, along pristine shady pavements to the market. I love the smell of all the fruit stands, the fancy chemist where I spend time perusing the Himalaya range of beauty products (organic and affordable, on a VSO budget it’s a winning combination) and the newspaper stand where I get my fortnightly copy of TimeOut Delhi.

Most of all I’m going to miss our office. It really is unique and has a certain amount of charm to it. Located in a basement, it regularly floods during monsoon (I will be sadly missing out on the ‘electric waterfall’ come the rainy season, where we have a regular water feature next to the fuse box) and has damp patches that have a contemporary modern art feel to them. It’s a hub of activity and technology. If 24 had been shot in 1982, the set for Jack Bauer’s HQ would have been identical to our office. Most of my colleagues have screen reading software on their computers and phones, so there is constant background sound of mellow robotic chatter going on. Mixed with this is our Talking Book production department, so you will regularly hear clipped snippets of Huckleberry Finn from an Angela Rippon sound alike.

But I really can’t complain, our new office will have AC and it’s next to an infamous paratha wallah (thin, stuffed, fried mini naan bread) and my favourite Tibetan restaurant that serves momos (steamed dumplings) that are to die for. So that’s lunchtimes sorted then.

Highlights: The power of direct marketing - returning from our work trip in the North East to receive the first donation for Rs50,000 from our Annual Report DM campaign (it was a team effort but I think this means I’m officially a fundraiser now), having a very fun London weekend with the London Massive – dressing up in heels, clubbing until the wee hours on Friday night, ending the night with ice cream at India Gate at 2.30am and then hitting the air conditioned shopping mall on Saturday for some retail therapy – heaven, discovering the local outdoor Olympic size swimming pool - one swim costs the same as a month of yoga with Yoga Guru-Ji, but when it’s still 38° outside at 5.30pm you’ve got to speculate to accumulate...

On the road with George...

2010-03-24T09:35:00.000-07:00

Six months ago if you had mentioned the words, “work trip”, I would have rolled my eyes, sighed and strapped myself in for endless nights of PowerPoint slide creation, early starts and late arrivals on the Eurostar and a world of pain. How life changes...

I’ve just spent the last 5 days with my boss, George, on a work trip like no other. I’ve been lucky enough to visit one of the most beautiful and remotest parts of India and learn more about disability, the rural situation and insurgency which is a part of everyday life for many who live in the North East of India.

Firstly let me explain why we were headed off to Assam and Meghalaya, which is nestled between Bangladesh, Bhutan, China and Myanmar. I am volunteering for an organisation that is a knowledge resource for people with visual impairment. We fulfil a roll that in the developed world most governments and health authorities would do. We empower, inform and inspire the blind and visually impaired through various channels of our Project Eyeway www.eyeway.org which include a radio programme, website, helpdesk, SMS service, talking books library, workshops and cricket camps.

Until you live in India you can’t really understand the frustrating lack of information that is available to do the most basic of things. I myself have experienced it trying to even register as a foreigner. So you can imagine what it must be like if you are, or become blind in a society where blindness can be through malnutrition, is seen as punishment from the gods therefore a sin on your behalf, you are considered worthless and are stuck at home with little or no opportunity for independence. This situation is even worse in rural areas and in the North East. It is a particularly deprived area, with poor infrastructure, home to over 200 tribes, many dialects and infrequent insurgencies. So we were off to complete a research project to find out what life with blindness is like there, find organisations we could partner with to provide a bespoke Eyeway programme.

We started off in Assam. We spent two days in Guwahati the capital. We touched down at the airport, skimming past a group of boys playing cricket near the runway and it seemed as if we had landed in the Caribbean. Lush jungle hills, palm trees and the huge Brahmaputra River dotted with islands which could have been the sea. The place was so relaxed, people were even wearing shorts, including the girls – I’ve never seen so much leg on display in India. There we met our contact who we nicknamed ‘The Don of Disability’. Having managed the research project, he has more connections than a telephone exchange, which was reinforced by the fact we rode around in his pimped up white jeep the whole time.

We had a successful partner meeting and then moved onto Shillong in Meghalya. The 3 hour drive involves winding up a very narrow jungle pass, which is a truckers bypass and based on our taxi drivers skills, also a local Formula 1 track. It was amazing how quickly the landscaped changed. Palm trees were replaced with bamboo, the air became cooler, and we passed a Mediterranean like lake and arrived to Shillong’s colonial charm. It felt like being in South America, with timber clad chalet like buildings with tin roofs, wide open streets with pavements (believe me a serious luxury in India) and amazingly no rubbish. Sleeping without a fan at night was a novelty, it was so ‘cold’ compared to Delhi, George and I went shawl shopping . At this partner meeting we found out more about the rural situation, listening to blind students who had grown up in the Khasi tribe. One girl explained how as there was no information on blindness, her mother did not know what to do and treated her with traditional medicine of an alcohol, black pepper and spice mix. Luckily she had access to information about a blind school through a visitor to her village, she attended and is now working for a local NGO.

After an 11 hour journey we returned to Delhi last night to be greeted by 36° heat and I think it was the first time I had ever returned from a work trip invigorated and looking forward to writing up the meeting notes.

Highlights: it’s still only spring but it’s got up to 38° in the last few days – it’s hard work sleeping but your washing dries in seconds, enjoying a cold beer from the fridge – when you are constantly drinking water it’s so good after a day at the office and a dusty walk home, a package arriving from another wonderful friend full of chocolate and a copy of Grazia – a girl needs her fashion and WAGs gossip to keep in touch with life at home, work – by seeing another part of India, spending time with my boss and meeting so many interesting people I really feel like I’m understanding the world of NGOs, disability and India so much more - VSO really is a privilege.

Sun, sea, sand and sixty hours on a train…

2010-03-17T08:27:00.000-07:00

Last week I escaped Delhi for the VSO Annual conference. Location wise it could not have been much better, this year we hit the jackpot as we were off to Puri by the Bay of Bengal in Orissa, for some well deserved sun, sea and sand (alongside fighting global poverty of course).

Nothing in life is of course perfect, so in order to get there we had to endure a 31 hour train journey on the ironically named ‘Puri Express’. Leaving from Delhi at 06.30 on the Saturday we were due to be sipping fresh lime sodas with the sand between our toes by 13.00 on the Sunday. Or so we thought. I’d travel before in India on the train on short journeys and was always impressed with how efficient it was. So I approached my first overnight trip with naive excitement.

My excitement started to wane on boarding the train. We ended up getting the bum berths which basically were in the corridor. The one advantage was that you had a privacy curtain but this was frequently nudged into by corridor traffic, elbows and prying eyes at any opportunity. We settled down for the long haul and with a steady stream of omelette sandwiches and watery dhal coming our way there was not too much to complain about. The view outside was slightly tarnished by the fact our window was fogged up with enough condensation and dirt that the view had a sepia touch to it. But after a while it added a certain amount of charm as the East Indian countryside whizzed past which tended to be an endless scene of paddy fields, rural towns, piles of rubbish and a combination of humans and animals relieving themselves near the tracks. Not much different to Delhi really.

By 30 hours in we seemed to be fairly on time. With only an hour to go, the cramp in our limbs seemed to ease from being cooped up in the carriage, with hope the end was nigh. Then we reached the slow boat to China moment. It took 3.5 hours to travel the final hour, at one point it was tempting to get out and push. But it was worth it in the end.

We had a blissful few days before the conference embracing our inner tourist. Ice creams at every opportunity, a boat trip on Chilika Lake to watch dolphins, a visit to the World Heritage site of Konark temple, walks on the beach and endless games of Frisbee in the hotel pool – heaven. It was so great to catch up with all the other volunteers that are now scattered across India. Everyone had the chance to share their highs and lows so far, which is something you need to do to keep sane. It was great to know that I wasn’t the only one having those days at work where all you really feel like all you have achieved is a chat with a colleague over chai and your contribution to helping fight global poverty is pretty minimal, but every little helps as they say and it’s all part of the experience...

Highlights: catching up with rest of the Volunteer Crew - now missing everyone lots but plenty of trips to be planned across India for our next catch up, the Stare Factor – nearly causing a minor RTA yesterday as an Indian motorist did a whiplash inducing double take at me, causing a cyclist to do a comedy veer (I’m not sure it was my blondish locks or the fact I was being highly risqué by wearing a short sleeved kurta to beat the heat, there’s something about my pallid glow in the dark arms it seems..!), seafood (I overdosed on prawns, retoxed on fish and gorged on crab it was so good to eat some non veg protein), the highlight of the conference had to be meeting a partner organisation from the state of Chhattisgarh and learning about disability in their state, levels of corruption and their limited rights (so many people have a story that never gets heard and we really don’t know how lucky we are).

What a jolly Holi day...

2010-03-03T08:18:00.000-08:00

On Monday we celebrated Holi, the Festival of Colours, which has to be one of India’s messiest celebrations.

The pictures really say it all. It involves throwing a) lots of coloured powdered paint b) lots of water and getting very, very messy. It’s like Art Attack on acid. Our original plan was to go to Varanasi for the weekend, but chatting to colleagues one day over lunch they told me this would be the worst place to go. In true bank holiday style apparently everyone, well mainly young males, tend to have a few too many drinks of ‘special’ lassi and go a bit bonkers. This mainly involves applying coloured paint to ladies private parts and severe cases of ABG (Actual Bum Gropage).

How bad can it be I thought? So I had a look on Google, the words ‘carnage’, ‘clothes ripped off’ and ‘surrounded by packs of men’ tended to crop up. I had visions of sprinting through the empty streets of Varanasi, that would be akin to Pamplona in the bull running season, in a frenzied state like the Incredible Hulk, green skin and torn clothes complete. Not a good look, so decided it was best to stay at home, particularly as we have the perfect water bomb throwing position courtesy of our terrace.

Preparations started early with buying suitable supplies. Water pistols, water bombs and the famous ‘Cock Gold’ semi organic powdered paint for maximum rainbow effect. We started the day by applying a protective layer, which involved slathering on a bottle of coconut oil to avoid permanent hair and skin staining. Smelling like Malibu and greased up to the nines, we set up a highly efficient water bombs production line, made our own special lassis with brandy, then the mayhem began. I’d like to think we maximised our position with the water bombs but lame girly throws limited our ability. We probably got one cyclist and someone’s toe wet, but we had fun. The main event actually turned out to be getting totally soaked by an eight year old girl.

Whilst sipping our drinks on the terrace after a mass colour throwing session, we suddenly realised we were being attacked from above and little hands were making light work of us as we got a serious pelting with water bombs. We went up onto the roof to find our landlord and his niece playing with our neighbours. Armed with buckets of water we tried hard to fight back. We failed and again got royally soaked, little girls are not made of sugar and spice it seems, just a mean aim and the right height to get you soaked at crotch level.

So what of the after effects? The next day the streets were still covered with a psychedelic splotch of colours, the occasional dog or cow still had the odd purple patch. Despite three showers, some serious exfoliating, it seems the coconut oil did not provide the protective layer we had hoped for. I am sporting a rather delightful pink eyebrow and have some beautiful purple highlights to my hair that give me a slight wannabe Goth look that are still yet to disappear. Good times.

Highlights: Indian festivals really do rock, so simple but effective a day off work to throw paint the ultimate stress buster (the Tories won’t get my vote unless Holi get’s imported, a bank holiday in February - brilliant), afternoon tea at The Imperial Hotel (again those dangerous words ‘eat all you can’, let’s just say there was Tupperware involved, we’re not ashamed just resourceful), a 2.6kg package arriving at work full of new books to devour (thank you to my lovely Literary Goddess friend, you are an angel), getting ready to go to Puri for the annual VSO conference (it’s 34 hours on the train to get there, it’s all about the journey they say...) and I hate to rub it in for those in colder climes but it went up 5° in 3 days last week, it’s now 31° by lunch time (I’m enjoying it before it reaches daily double Mitchum applications!)

A session with Yoga Guru-Ji...

2010-02-24T06:07:00.000-08:00

We’ve signed up to the local yoga classes held in the temple opposite our house. Three times a week we trot off for a session that always proves to be highly entertaining thanks to our teacher, Yoga Guru-Ji.

His name says it all. It conjures up the image of a mystical Gandalf like figure that levitates into the room in the perfect lotus position. You could not get further from the truth. He tends to arrive 10 minutes late, sporting a bushy moustache, 5 o’clock shadow and a bomber jacket over his kurta. In the meantime, one of our fellow classmates tends to take over. She’s sort of the Dot Cotton of our class, as they tend to be women in their 50s and insists on doing warm up exercises that involve rolling your eyes “clock” and then “anti-clock”.

The class is held in the courtyard of the temple which is beautiful, but extremely noisy. The prayer bell is rung throughout so Yoga Guru-Ji needs to shout fairly loudly. His technique tends to be a mixture of yoga and 80s jazzercise. His training must have involved a Rosemary Conley video at some point. We firstly start with a warm up of ‘sports marching’ that involves marching on the spot with coordinating hands to knees. Then when we do exercises on the floor. He insists they are done “spiritedly” which involves him either manoeuvring your arm into the right position using his vice like grip or flinging your body from side to side.

He likes to tell us which part of the body each posture improves. Apart from the third eye he’s always keen to tell us about the healing properties to our rectum, whilst burping loudly. We also do laughing yoga which I seem to be very proficient at, especially when he keeps telling me "Nikki-Ji cheating" when I fail to dislocate my body into the cobra pose.

He must have been a great fan of 80s films, as my favourite exercise involves some classic Karate Kid moves. We perform the Mr Miyagi ‘healing hands rub’ at the end of every session. After rubbing your hands together to warm your palms you then, um, rub yourself all over. I have no idea what the local prayer goers think, it must be very amusing for them to watch us. It’s all highly enjoyable, particularly as apart from getting a little bit bendier, it only cost us Rs200 (£2.66) a month and the whole class is done in mainly Hindi. You will be pleased to know that my language skills are improving so much, that I can tell you the word for rectum is exactly the same in Hindi as English...

Highlights: Reaping the benefits of the endless queuing for my resident’s permit and only paying Rs5 to get into Tughlaqabad Fort for our jolly day out picnic (we volunteers know how to put on a good spread), discovering ‘eat as much as you can sushi and drink as much Tiger beer’ special at a local posh restaurant for only Rs599 (a real treat on our budget, when 10 of us descended the waiting staff realised within 5 minutes we were there for the long haul and it was best to bring over buckets of beer... ), it’s February and it’s 26 degrees outside (‘nuff said!).

Glass half full or...

2010-02-18T08:47:00.000-08:00

… glass half empty? Nowhere is perfect and having been here for three months, I thought it’s a good time to look at some of the daily things that make India both incredible and infuriating.

It’s not easy being green…

Well actually, in India, it is most of the time. You can instantly be an Eco Goddess by not really doing too much. Firstly, you only heat the water you need. You switch on your geyser 20 minutes before you have a shower, go back to bed, hit the snooze button to awake to warm water. Power showers haven’t quite made it over here yet, so washing your hair is done with a couple of jugs of water like a retro Timotei ad, but it does the job whilst you save water.

You don’t need to worry about recycling as everything that gets thrown away gets recycled by hand. We pay the going rate of Rs50 (about 66p) a month for someone to collect our rubbish from our front door. They take it to the local tip, sort through it and sell on the recycable items for a bit of profit. We hadn’t realised how much of a high commodity beer bottles really were at Rs2 each until we had a box of empties from a party. We left them outside in the afternoon for the morning collection and in an hour they had mysteriously disappeared… so even drinking beer is good for the environment and someone else’s pocket, love it.

But all this easy eco living only tends to be in the confines of your house. When you get outside, rubbish is everywhere. Even in the nicest areas of town you will find piles of the stuff. It’s not really helped by the fact everyone seems to be obsessed with sweeping. Dust is everywhere and if you don’t sweep your flat every day a delightful black layer appears on every surface. On the street everyone meticulously sweeps outside their house or shop but fails to do anything with the swept matter. You will find a strategically placed pile of rubbish outside most houses, the breeze then picks it up and deposits near by so just spreading the love around…

By the time you get home at night your hair is dusty, your skin is dry and you cleanse off a thick black layer of grime. You are then in need of another shower to get clean, hmmm, so perhaps not so green..

Domestic help required…

In order to deal with the dust inside your house, everyone tends to have a domestic help. Sweeping everyday is pretty time consuming and if it means a job for someone else I’m all for the cause. Our cleaner, bless him, tries his hardest and I’m sure we are not the easiest of people to deal with. He’s supposed to come at 8am everyday but tends to work on a rolling 2 hour start time which is a tad frustrating. In a world where as a female you have to be covered up at all times, it’s not the most convenient if he arrives late and you are in the shower. You sadly can’t pop out and open the door in a towel. I’ve had to jump out the shower fully shampood then put my pyjamas back on to greet him. With my morning scowl, dripping pyjamas and foaming hair I don’t who was the more startled when I opened the door.

We’ve managed to get him to come within a 30 minute window now, but when he does arrive I then turn slightly OCD and follow him around like a possessed banshee. He has a unique style of cleaning. He tends to favour using toilet bleach and dirty cloths for most chores. We’ve trained him off the Domestos for floors and kitchen surfaces. My particular bug bear is his style of washing up which involves a running tap and lots of noise. I would not mind if it was effective but the end result doesn’t pass my hygeine test. I’ve happily demonstrated several times to him, like Nanette Newman in a Fairy Liquid ad, the harmony and sparkling results of a washing up bowl, hot water and a scrubbing brush. But he favours his style. Every morning it’s a battle of wills by the kitchen sink. I tend to inspect every plate as it goes into the rack then return it to the pile, it’s like some bizarre circus plate spinning game where nobody seems to win…

Highlights: spending the last two days with my colleagues at Techshare a technology and disability event (laughing a lot and meeting lots of fans of our radio programme was really great), finally getting my resident’s permit (it took 4 hours, minimal queuing, whilst being entertained by a very charming retired German professor, you have to love the system), sunny times on the balcony or anywhere (it’s getting to a lovely temperature in the day, sipping chai outside the office is a nice afternoon activity and way to pass the time when there is a power cut), being caught in a thunderstorm and getting a subsidised lift home (stranded on the side of the road, no brolly, trying to keep my laptop dry a kindly auto driver only charged me half the usual rip off price to share a rickshaw home), discovering ladies night at the local bar where there are free mojitos and beer for the fairer sex (the quality of the alcohol is yet to be determined, by the third drink I was quite enjoying the stinging sensation with every sip...)

Police, pyjamas & plumbing…

2010-02-03T08:32:00.000-08:00

Just another average weekend in Delhi? Quite possibly, here’s how my weekend shaped up…

I was determined to have a relaxing one, sleeping and making the most of the glorious weather that has now arrived. In a few days it has gone from ‘Ice Age in Siberia’ to ‘Springtime in Provence’ (substitute the smell of lavender for the occasional waft of rubbish and you have the picture). It’s a relaxing 24°c in the day and it should remain this perfect temperature for the next month or so before it starts climbing a degree a day to get to ‘Meltdown in Morocco’ weather.

Saturday morning was all about the lie in. Until I was bought back to consciousness by our doorbell. I decided that ignoring it was the best tactic if I was going to get my prescribed 12 hours of sleep. Our doorbell often rings and is opened to a phantom no one or the guy who collects our rubbish concerned that after the previous day’s profitable mountain of empty beer bottles, there’s nothing on the doorstep for him. It rang again, so mildly irritated I opened the door to be greeted by two moustachioed gentleman. Through my fug of sleep, I recognised one as my landlord and the other sported a more official moustache. It was the policeman from the foreigner’s registration unit come to check up on me.

So we conducted my interview in my pyjamas with me looking like an honorary member of the Hair Bear Bunch. I’m sure he’s seen worse. Hopefully he’ll view my nightwear as an attempt to wear a more traditional salwaar kameez and dully give me my temporary resident’s card.

Now fully awake, it was off out to do some shopping in the neighbourhood. Pottering about at the weekends there’s always something going on out on the street. If it’s not a wedding at the temple, cricket being played on any available open space, then you notice a few interesting services available (see poster on the right). I decided I needed some exploring and quiet time in the afternoon and headed off to the Lotus Temple, 20 minutes walk from the flat.

The pictures really say it all, as it was a trully amazing place. Situated between a park and a building site that is the constant development of the new Metro, it is an oasis of calm in the desert that is Delhi. Having removed my flipflops I queued up with the other visitors and padded in barefooted. Inside was just as stunning as the outside. Made entirely from cooling marble, I sat on a bench in a pool of sunshine and enjoyed the silence. It has to be the most peaceful spot in Delhi and I enjoyed the fact that for once I got to be the starer not the staree as I watched people file in for some quiet time and contemplation.

Sunday was just as relaxing, spending time reading the paper on our roof terrace whilst soaking up the sun. Catching up on world news, Bollywood gossip and my favourite, the matrimonials section. Whatever you are into there is a bride or groom for you out there. Akin to property ads replace ‘gch’ with ‘tall, handsome, smart ‘ for any groom and for prospective brides they all seem to be all ‘fair, beautiful, slim’.

Then in the afternoon to our great excitement our washing machine arrived. We’ve been holding out and finally the second hand top loader automatic 1994 TVS washing machine of our dreams is ours. To get it working we needed to do some basic plumbing. Armed with my trusty travel tool kit (that would be a pink special edition Hello Kitty Swiss Army Knife) I turned the nail file into a screw driver and after much sighing and tap fiddling between us , my flatmate and I put a load of washing on. So all in all, just an average weekend…

Highlights: Having my Indian bank account set up by a colleague in a matter of days (I’m still in shock at the efficiency and lack of queuing involved on my behalf), being maybe one step closer to getting registered and my temporary residents card (or at least I’ve prolonged a visit and queuathon at the foreigner’s registration office for another few weeks), no longer looking like a goat herder/hiking instructor (finally being able to not have to apply five layers and choose from a range of non-fleece based items from my wardrobe is a joy) , discovering you can get home delivery from the local beer shop, gone are the days of a complimentary grope with you bottle of beer…

Jai-ho to Jaipur...

2010-01-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

I’ve been in Delhi for 10 weeks and as much as I love the place, it can sometimes feel like an attack on all your senses, so it was time to have a break and head off to Rajasthan for some r’n’r…

Jaipur is only 5 hours away, it is a beautiful old city renowed for it’s pink buildings and a rather good Literature Festival held there every January. The perfect place to escape Delhi and its 22 million inhabitants. We left Delhi in the fog and thumbing through my trusty Lonley Planet, I prepared myself for the “chaotic and congested city” that awaited.

Being a volunteer is a bit like being involved in a big game of Snakes and Ladders. Some days you roll the dice, you are on the ladder and on your way up. Work is productive, the constant noise and smells don’t bother you, curry for lunch and supper is a treat and every minute of that day you know why you are here. Then there are snake days where you feel you are slipping back down to the start. The return to civilan tourist life was definitely a snake day. We arrived in Jaipur to a crowd of auto drivers hustling for our bums in their rickshaws. We were just another bunch of blondies fresh off the bus.

The rickshaw drivers of Jaipur are a special breed. They’ve pimped their rickshaws out to make their smaller green and yellow cousins in Delhi look like poor country folk. Like little black beetles, (slightly larger and more padded for the supersized American tourist backside), they swoop across the street ready to entrap and overcharge you. “Hello luvvly jubbly” tends to be their usual opening line followed by “cheap as chapati price for you madame”. They seem to have learnt their English off re-runs of Only Fools and Horses. But as a resourceful volunteer, if you are having a snake day you are able to do a little snake charming. Dropping the H-Bomb as I like to call it, (AKA feebly using some badly constructed Hindi), can normally ease you out of most situations. But not in Jaipur. As you are kerb crawled by a rickshaw driver telling them to go away or haggling down the price in Hindi leads to much raucous laughing and limited budging on the fare.

But it’s all worth it. I can’t tell you the joy of being in the so called “chaos and congestion” of Jaipur. It was like Driving Miss Daisy compared to the The Fast & the Furious that is Delhi on a daily basis. To be able to walk down a wide open street in a straight line, hear a honking horn only every other second, sit above the roof tops enjoying sundowners whilst watching kites darting, blow our budget and drink a glass of Rs 225 wine was heaven. The best bit of all was the fact my polar fleece look was discarded within 5 minutes of arrival. The sun was out all weekend, sitting outside at the Literature Festival listening to William Dalrymple, hearing how the founder of Lonely Planet made his first trip to India in a £65 Mini in the 60s and other travel writers tales was a relaxing contrast to psychedelic Delhi. This international development gig is a tough one, but someone’s got to do it…

Highlights: Too many again after such a pleasure filled weekend, finally having a hot power shower and washing away the dirt of Delhi was divine, successful failing to be a vegetarian once again and eating delicious lamb (at a party last night someone told me of a certain ‘Meat Dealer’ who will deliver steak to your door in the darkness of night, this led to much debate on whether it would be entrapment but may be worth the risk for some beef), seeing so many amazing authors and lively debate for free (William Dalrymple deserves an OBE for Cultural Services to Volunteers), celebrating Republic & Australia Day with fellow ex-pats with sausage sandwiches, a quiz, some boogie action (fuelled by Jen’s Special Gin Cocktails, I’m starting to think it would be wise to invest in Blue Moon Gin, India’s finest and cheapest, during my time here…)

The Commonwealth Games workout…

2010-01-20T08:19:00.000-08:00

This week it’s been slight athletic…

In October, Delhi is hosting the Commonwealth Games and the city is in mass meltdown/preparation. The roads and pavements are currently being neatened and ripped up to squeeze in facilities that are slightly less third world. This means for the average Delhite, trying to get around the city is an absolute nightmare. With my new fitness regime of walking to work in place, I’ve started to realise you don’t need to be a world class athlete to have your own Commonewealth Games workout…

The first event I embrace are the hurdles. Pavements are a complete luxury in Delhi. I don’t know whether the pavement union went on strike several years ago or they are just so last century, but if you attempt to walk anywhere you have to be prepared for some serious off roading. There are a number of things to leap over if you are lucky enough to find a pavement. Sleeping dogs, building materials, piles of rubbish and pavement fires by slum dwellings all make for a various height of hurdle perfect for toning calves and ankles.

It’s then on to the 100m sprint. Your likely route to work is going to cover crossing some type of flyover/ring road but I’m quite lucky as I only have a 10 lane mega crossroads to traverse. Crossing the road is an event in itself. You have to be prepared to regress to your school days and think of that game British Bulldog. It involved running at a wall of children to avoid beng ‘it’, but this time it’s an assortment of motorbikes, cyclists, rickshaws, horses and carts and cars. There are traffic lights and pedestrian crossings but they tend to get ignored by any two wheeled vehicles. Having being stranded for 10 minutes spectating the scene like a Wimbledon final, the traffic police noticed my shyness to cross the road. By Day 2 of my fitness plan I had my own police escort across the zebra crossing. I now just tag behind a local following in a relay/lemming fashion.

Surely there’s a more scenic route you ask? Well I found what seemed to be a more ‘rustic’ path down the side of a dual carriageway until I realised this was actually Ammonia Alley. Men kept pulling up, jumping off their motorbikes to, um, relieve themselves in the bushes. At first I was slightly alarmed but then realised I could do some excellent ayurvedic yoga breathing through my mouth to avoid the smell and weaving between leaping relievers is a great way to tone those thighs.

What of the spectators? Well you’re never lonely on your walk. Apart from fellow commuters or families living on the side of the road, they tend to be mainly male who like to cheer you on and say hello. It’s best to avoid eye contact and concentrate on your athletic exurcision. So far there has only been one incident of ABG (Attempted Bum Groping) which I avoided by an excellent leap into a pile of rubbish burning at least another 100 calories I think.

Highlights: Apart from attempting to get fitter and burn off my ghee reserves, it’s nice to be out and about and see the world from street level in the morning like a local, rather than zipping past in a rickshaw, discovering 200 rupee a litre gin that doesn’t make you go blind (but regretting having too many gins then playing tennis the next morning, least it was on the only day of sunshine we’ve had in 3 weeks), discovering a shop that sells bacon (yet to be tried, but it’s so lovely to see it sitting in the fridge and know there are bacon sandwiches when it all get’s too much) experiencing my first Bollywood film in Hindi realising I really need to improve my Hindi to get any jokes in India, planning a weekend away and a temporary escape from the madness of Delhi (Jaipur’s Literature Festival awaits and time to be a tourist this weekend).

A temporary case of the January Blues...

2010-01-12T07:48:00.000-08:00

Fear not for my mental health, you can never really feel down in India with so much to see, taste and smell, but I’m physically blue at the moment with goose pimples and chills – its bloomin’ freezing here!

I know its -6° and snowing back in Blighty but you have the 3Cs to keep you warm – curtains, carpet and central heating. Curry only works for so long (believe me it’s been tempting to apply extra hot tikka paste on my toes at night to warm them up). We seem to be suffering with the same Arctic Wind but topped up with the usual icy breeze off the Himalayas and freezing fog making it even colder. Combined with marble floors, mosquito mesh not quite providing double glazing, Delhi is definitely in the midst of a Big Chill.

The only place to be warm is in bed. So my flatmate and I are currently living like residents of an old people’s home. Food is cooked and eaten in blanket shawls and then it is back into bed for conversation under the covers with bedroom doors ajar enough to stop the draft and to converse. The worse thing is getting up in the morning to have a shower. India is extremely eco friendly as to heat any hot water you need to switch a geyser on. So you have to leap out of bed, flick the switch and jump back under the covers to defrost whilst the water heats up.

You’ve drawn the short straw in our flat if you are on Tilaram duty. Tilaram is our household help who arrives at 8am. The geyser in the kitchen needs to be switched on for the washing up, which involves crossing several marble floors in slipper socks to reach the kitchen. It’s sort of like early morning skating. I think Tilaram suffers the most, as neither of us get out of bed until the doorbell rings. He’s constantly greeted by a bed headed blondie in pyjamas looking slightly dazed. He’s a shy 17 year old who is slowly getting used to our Hinglish and pyjama clad cleaning instructions that we are starting to win over by making cups of chai with at least five sugars in.

Work is no better on the warm front. You need to be prepared to wear your coat all day and this week we’ve also suffered power cuts. Typing in the dark has been good assimilation to how the rest of my office lives as half of them are blind, but it does make you feel even chillier and your meeting notes are rubbish. The worst thing is you can’t dress properly for smart work occasions. I love the fact unlike back in London, where my diary was full of back to back meetings it’s all a bit last minute. Having been told two hours before kick off we were off to the Ministry of Social Justice & Empowerment Accessible Website launch in town, I was regretting my not so svelte layered look.

My look du jour currently consisted of on top: a vest, two long sleeved cotton layers, a cashmere jumper, finished with two layers of polar fleece, down below I was sporting a delightful leggings ‘n’ trousers combo finished with some fetching well travelled trekking shoes. I look like an outward bound instructor gone AWOL after a doughnut eating competition. We had seats near the front and having to shimmy down a row of beautiful sari clad ladies who were shivering with dignity I felt so ashamed. When we all headed to the garden for high tea I felt slightly smug but aware all eyes were on me when I went back for extra cake to keep warm...

Highlights: Well I never thought I would be complaining about the cold, but it’s a fantastic excuse to eat more (but slightly regret cooking up the only sweet comfort food I could do on a gas stove which is chocolate refrigerator cake – frozen blocks of choccy lard have limited heating properties it seems). Seeing how everyone else is coping with the Big Chill – the weather has bought out the truly entertaining (even dogs in India get their own coats, Elvis the Pug our favourite local Rude Dog rules in the fashion stakes) and truly humbling (people huddling around fires day and night makes your realise having the luxury of food, a blanket and roof of your head is a lot more than many...), going for lunchtime walks with colleagues to keep warm (when the sun does decide to put his hat on, it’s an office expedition to the market and opportunity to get to know everyone a bit better), actually looking forward to the temperature rising (I know I’ll regret this when it’s 45° outside but we’ve got a roof terrace to do some serious lounging on!)

When Bonnie Tyler lyrics predict your week...

2010-01-04T07:39:00.000-08:00

All hail to the high priestess of 80s soft rock... this week it’s all gone a bit Bonnie...

Turn around bright eyes... I was determined this week to become legal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m one of the lucky few who have a 1 year visa but since the Mumbai bombings, everyone needs to register despite having a visa. This isn’t a simple process as I found out...

Day 1 and it’s off to the Ministry of Home Affairs to get a letter. Unfortunately, I was unaware that there are two Ministry of Home Affairs. One where the minister lives next to the President’s Palace and one in a shabbier part of town where foreigners need to register. Naturally, I went to the wrong one and was politely told to turn around unless I was here to visit the minister on official business. On arriving at the right place the queuing marathon then began. I don’t know why we think queuing is an English speciality. I have to completely admire the efficiency of the Indian queuing system having spent two days of my life turning from amateur to semi-pro. Firstly, you needed to queue to get an entry slip into the building. A numbered ticket was given and we huddled in a waiting room with at least 80 countries represented from the UN. Within an hour we gained our slip and security let us through to stage two. Mass form filling ensued and we again waited for our number to be called to be interviewed by a clerk. Several hours passed, after a quick chat with someone vaguely official looking I was told to come back at 5pm to get my letter.

This letter is your passport to more queuing on Day 2 and is more precious than your passport. Whatever happens, you cannot open this letter and fierce warnings remind you in the waiting room. I returned at 5pm pleased to see that my letter would be handed out in what seemed an orderly fashion by country grouping. Then madness ensued. Random clerks returned with piles of paperwork shouting out surnames. This meant the entire room (around 150 people) rushed to each clerk as if they’d announced that the duty free was about to shut on a ferry. Two hours later, letter in hand I left prepared for the next day’s queuing...

Day 2 and thanks to insider tips from other volunteers, I arrived at 7.30am two hours before opening time in freezing fog. It seemed that the Afghan community were well aware of the situation too. So I turned up to be greeted by 60 male Afghan refugees forming a queue. I was the only a) blonde b) girl in the village. It’s amazing how the warmth of 60 pairs of eyes staring, one iPod to shut everything out and much jiggling about can fight off the cold. Luckily by 8.30am I got talking to a very interesting Afghan journalist. She was visiting her husband who was studying in Delhi and trying to extend her visa by a few days. It was fascinating to talk to someone who lives in Afghanistan. Our understanding is clouded by what we see and hear of the war, to actually talk to someone living there and about life in Herat was very humbling. The fact I was equally queuing up with Afghanis and we all had the same goal to stop queuing and get our paperwork sorted out put things in perspective.

By 10.30am I had made it in the building, to queue again. Despite being near the front, I soon realised that those ahead were professional visa handlers. They are paid to queue every day and process multiple visas for privileged Westerners like me so this meant more waiting. I finally got to the first clerk with the aim in mind I was going to leave with all my paperwork sorted and get my temporary resident’s card. My letter was opened and again I was told to turn around, I needed a visit from the police first to confirm my address details before I could get my paperwork complete. Frustrated, icy cold, tired from my early start and mass queuing I bundled myself back in an auto rickshaw home and warmed myself up with trusty VSO Central Heating (that would be a warm bucket of hot water for your feet!).

Total Eclipse of the... it would be a slight exaggeration to say total eclipse as it was tantamount to 1/16, but NYE’s was spent admiring a partial eclipse of a Blue Moon. I joined several other volunteers for roof top drinks and to keep warm it was hot toddys, dancing in the New Year and some spectacular air drums to Phil Collins... a magic way to see in the new decade.

Highlights: Despite the queuing my visa registration experience gave me a chance to chat to some amazing people and remind myself of one of the many reasons why I’m here, attempting to cook Indian food on our gas stove (the chapattis were chewy, the dosas were doughy but practice makes perfect...), spending a Sunday exploring our ‘hood (loving our neighbourhood and can’t wait for it to warm up so we can sit on the roof terrace for some serious people watching), yoga classes with Guru-Ji (that seriously is the name of our yoga teacher, 3 times a week outside in the courtyard of our local temple, I’m expecting to find my inner yogi by February or its cash back!)

As Dorothy once said...

2009-12-29T06:44:00.000-08:00

... there’s no place like home. You can always trust a girl who has great taste in sparkly shoes and a canine best friend, so wise words from that Kansas girl which I fully agree with.

Joy of joys we finally signed the lease and moved into our flat on Christmas Eve. The trauma of flat hunting finally came to an end. I never thought I would spend my Christmas Eve a) in Delhi b) finally unpacking after what has seemed 3 months of packing up my life to move here. I also never thought I would spend Christmas Eve hanging out with Bobby... now that’s another story.

So yes, our Delhi Des Res search is over. In order to get a pukka pad, we’ve cheated slightly in the sheer frustration of trying to find anywhere safe or decent so we are topping up our VSO allowance to pay the rent. It’s all character building, we are still doing hand washing (it’s a full workout trying to do a pair of jeans by hand believe me), when it gets to 45°c outside I think I’m going to appreciate the option of some air conditioning... so still keeping it real! Our flat is in a great part of town and we’ve nicknamed it the ‘Temple House’ as we are opposite two Hindu temples. The call to prayer and bells are rung twice a day which is very soothing.

The majority of flats come empty so once we had signed the lease we needed to move fast on the furniture front. That’s when we met Bobby. Ikea has not yet invaded India, so on a volunteer allowance it’s back to the old school fun of buying second hand furniture. Luckily there is a big online expat community, so when someone ‘shifts’ (the Hinglish term for moving house) back home there are plenty of house sales. Bobby was selling the contents of his house so off we trotted to his place as soon as the ink was dry on the lease. Bobby has been living between California and Delhi for the last 30 years and is kind of a Hindi Phil Spector (with the big hair, minus the murder rap). His accent is truly mesmerising and was keen to ply us with wine before perusing his furniture. He sorted us out with beds, two sofas and some tables for a not too shabby price and even arranged delivery the next day.

Our furniture arrived on Christmas Eve with Bobby in tow, to pick up the rest of his cash and a dinner invite. I think he got the impression we were two (ahem) young girls in need of a father figure. We politely played along, until we discovered he had a washing machine for sale. It’s truly cheating not to hand wash your clothes during your VSO placement. But, considering you need to shower 2-3 times a day to keep the sweat at bay from April, hand washing loses its novelty petty quickly. All that time you could be helping the fight against global poverty but instead you are scrubbing your smalls. I bet Bono doesn’t dunk his drawers in a bucket. We were putty in his hands. I think we will be going over there with a bottle of wine next week to secure the automatic top loader. It’s all for the cause...

Highlights: So many this week... attending a skills building workshop for blind teenage boys and watching my boss motivate and interact with everyone, home sweet home (a full night’s sleep sans ear plugs I never knew India could be this quiet), cooking my first meal in 7 weeks (Christmas breakfast was the best ever scrambled egg and smoked salmon... woops there goes the budget again), spending Christmas Day with 12 other volunteers and a brave friend visiting from the UK who embraced the VSO madness (the spread was unbelievable, even sprouts taste good in India and I’ve never seen such competitive charades), getting the best ever Christmas parcel from my darling sister (my she shops good – a cashmere jumper, truffles, hand cream and the complete Gavin & Stacey DVD boxset - feel free to send similar donations!), discovering the temple opposite the house does yoga three nights a week and it only costs Rs 200 per month (that would be £2.66) but best of all actually being able to get home from work at 6pm every night to make yoga class... heaven.

Living in India, it's as easy as...

2009-12-15T06:56:00.001-08:00

ABC... (almost)

A is for Accommodation – our quest goes on. Or should I say our Mission Impossible. Finding a flat in Delhi should definitely become a task on The Apprentice. We are now in Week 3 and have seen around 30+ places. The VSO mantra of flexibility and adaptability has been chanted repeatedly. We’ve been as flexible as the Chinese Olympic gymnastic squad, yet still the property gods deny us permanent accommodation. There is a slim to anorexic chance we may sign a lease tomorrow – based on previous experiences I’m not optimistic. On the positive side we have now moved to Temporary Accommodation #2 – and it’s a definite upgrade. The luxury of double beds, clean sheets and a TV is keeping our Positivity Rainbow shining!

B is for Brokers – to become a property broker in India you don’t need a qualification. You mainly need a mobile phone, motorbike/tinted windows on your car, hair gel and selection of faux diamond earrings. In desperation, we have been pimping our need for a flat across town. I have so many broker numbers in my phone that I could set up a broker’s union. The pinnacle of our search arrived earlier in the week when we turned up to view a property to be greeted by 4 guys on motorbikes. Word was out that 2 blondies were on the look out and in turn, we were the hot property.

By Day 2 they had upgraded to a Black Toyota Corolla with tinted windows, to drive us around in. By the end of the day we had been invited to a wedding, nightclubbing and our marriage status had been dully assessed. By Day 3 we thought they were dodgy so we went out with another broker. We avoided the Wide Boys for most of the day (pretty hard when you are the only white girls in the village...) then our luck was out and a Broker Face Off ensued. We both turned up at the same property, at the same time. Hiding behind the tinted windows of Broker #2 car, they approached us and we had to get out to advise them our relationship was over. All was resolved amicably between the brokers, I think the Wide Boys were more distressed there would be no opportunity for joining us in the Jacuzzi they had promised to find us in our dream property...!

C is for Cheese – one of the highlights of this week has been dairy based. Don’t get me wrong I love the curry. I will happily eat it every day but at times you just want a taste of home; red wine, decent chocolate and cheese. So there was great excitement between the volunteers when we heard one of the VSO staff’s partner was flying over from London with a suitcase of cheese. Just in time for a Christmas party on Saturday night. I cannot describe the atmosphere at the party. Eye contact and conversation was limited until the full spread was laid out. Buffet etiquette went out the window, we attacked the cheese like a wild pack of hyenas on heat. It was so good.

Highlights: Eating at least one ice cream based dish a day to keep our spirits up during house hunting (bring on the heat so I can justify eating two I say), being able to say in Hindi ‘chai without sugar’ to avoid my teeth rotting by January, Christmas Day menu planning (there’s rumours of buying a BBQ goat if we can’t get turkey – there goes the vegetarian vow...) finding a bottle of gin for only 100 rupees that doesn’t make you go blind (we’ve only had one bottle, not sure the effect of a few yet...)

Rubbish, rallying and real estate...

2009-12-07T22:14:00.000-08:00

This week has been all about the 3Rs...

1. Rubbish – to celebrate International Volunteer Day on Saturday we all went off to (one of) the smelliest parts of the Yamuna River to help clean it up. Keen as a button we trooped off the coach in our matching ‘I’m a volunteer’ t-shirts to be greeted by one very big stench. The morning mist that was rolling off the river actually turned out to be pure methane gas. The river literally bubbles away like a witch’s brew. More gas get’s released as you start picking embedded rubbish out of the bank. Donning thin blue plastic gloves we got digging and then got papped. The national press were down in full force snapping away and I think as the token Europeans (and blondes!) we were hot property. Much to my ego’s joy, Lucy (a fellow volunteer) and I, made Page 5 of The Sunday Express - a half page pic under the title ‘The Muck Stops Here’... I don’t know if the heading is a compliment or if my modelling career is now only limited to rubber gloves and cleaning products but a fun day was had by all!

2. Rallying – onto another important day, on Wednesday to mark International Disability Day we went down to an organised peaceful rally by India Gate. India Gate is an impressive landmark, an imitation Arc du Triomphe. Against the backdrop around 2,000 supporters turned up. The majority were from the deaf community, it was fascinating to watch such a lively group so well represented and to watch my roommate Jen signing so fluently. We could not understand why there was limited representation from other areas of the disabled community. As disability is such a taboo and seen as shameful we realised mobility was a huge issue and many people would be unable to leave the house to do basic things let alone afford transport to the event.

3. Real Estate – the trials and tribulations carries on with our endless search for our dream pad. We are up to flat viewing #21 which is very painful. Delhi is notorious for being very difficult to find decent accommodation. We lost a lovely flat earlier in the week and just trying to see it as fate, so fingers crossed that the Property Gods decide to smile down on us in the next few days, I’m very keen to start work and get some routine in my life now. I think one of the reasons you do VSO is to escape the mundane routine of life at home, but it’s made me realised having a home is so important – so cross fingers and toes and hopefully by next week we will be moving in somewhere!

Highlights: keeping a sense of humour at all times particularly when house hunting ( I think if I need to have a second career as a film location scout for dodgy flats I already have enough locations on my books), finally getting rid of my cold (the change in temperature from day to night by about 20 degrees does not help fight the bugs), afternoon tea with fellow volunteers (particularly home baked scones), enjoying meat and fish (breaking my vegetarian vow at the VSO party on Saturday night was worth it – the craving for steak has started...) starting to sleep through the noise (only needing ear plugs for 50% of the night is giving me hope for a full night’s sleep soon), messing about by the river (it was great to be finally doing what I am here to do and be up on a Saturday morning volunteering, doing a bit for the planet and my media profile of course!).

Delhi Des Res desired...

2009-11-30T04:05:00.000-08:00

Flat hunting is the most painful thing in the world, wherever you are in the world. We have spent the entire weekend searching high and low and so far we have seen 12 very unDes Res and 1 that we would happily call our own but is sadly out of our budget as humble volunteers...

Our quest to find our very own Taj Mahal started on Saturday morning. It was a balmy 27 degrees and we liked the look from the outside of Property No. 1. Until we went inside. Then we discovered half of the flat actually was outside. Access to the kitchen and bathrooms involved walking along a caged balcony. We were not sure whether the cage was to stop us leaping out or anything leaping in so thought it was time for us to move onto the next place...

We were at first, pleased to see that the Foxton school of estate agency had not yet reached India. Until we discovered how we were going to get to the next place. No air conditioned Mini and pointing out of the local WiFi coffee shop for us. It was down to us ladies to get on the back (side saddle of course to avoid showing our modesty if we had been in saris) of the estate agent’s moped. By Day 2 I had happily upgraded to jumping on the back of a motorbike (side saddle still of course)and we weaved our way through 5 lanes of traffic/autorickshaws/bicycle rickshaws/cows/pedestrians to find our dream pad, which proved to be quite entertaining once we’d survived several journeys.

The transport trauma was easily forgotten by the time we got to Day 2, when we met Broker No. 3. He seemed to specialise in finding properties for low budget action films. His portfolio consisted of what can only be described as ideal for HQs of terrorist cells. Our favourite place for a very special price of 11,000 Rupees a month (that’s £152 – and 5000 Rupees under budget – Phil & Kirsty would have been proud...) was in a delightful situation down several dark backstreets close to the local tip high on the penthouse floor. After you managed to climb the ‘historic’ (crumbling) stairs you entered into the main reception room where you could find the spacious bathroom (the squat toilet appeared to be missing a door) and 2 cosy (one window between them) bedrooms that had about 8 mattresses on each of the floor... we hastily exited down the stairs as fast as we could to our waiting mopeds...

Despite the fact we decided to visit a local temple in the morning to ask the gods for luck it seems we need to embrace the slow path to enlightenment in our quest to find our own Taj Mahal and one visit to the temple does not deliver results...!

Highlights: this week has been a true mixed bag from riding a camel, having a duvet and watching TV in bed at a country club outside of Delhi all for the sake of VSO strategy development (it’s a tough life being a volunteer!), trying a McMaharajah burger (when in Rome...) and being grateful I packed that cashmere cardi as winter has truly arrived and keeping warm was the last thought on my mind when I left London...!

Mei volunteer hoo... honest

2009-11-22T02:23:00.000-08:00

I’m breaking all the rules. If VSO worked to a penalty system I think this could be a yellow card. I’m currently ensconced in the lobby of the 5* Shangri-La hotel, having just been pampered in the spa. I haven’t broken yet, honest. I’m here thanks to a group of my lovely friends who treated me to the World’s Best Massage. I feel a tad guilty but feel the massage was a cathartic and symbolic way to purge the stress of my London life away and marks the start of a new era (ahem). I will of course be supporting the cause and accidently be slipping some luxury loo roll into my bag to alleviate my 285 rupees a day budget, a girl’s got to be resourceful in these times...

So another week has flown by. I feel I’ve had a year’s worth of excitement in 7 days. Our daily routine of Hindi lessons in the morning is followed by a 2 hour lunch, the afternoons are then spent learning more about VSOs work in India. It’s like being back at freshers week with a lot more giggling, particularly in Hindi class. We all sound like zombies attempting to construct sentences which are proving to be quite difficult when verbs go at the end and there are exceptions to every verb.

On Thursday I went to my office for the first time to meet everyone. I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted more warmly by such a lovely bunch of folk. Within an hour a fresh birthday list had been printed up with my name on and was hanging in the kitchen. We all had lunch together and I met my CEO for the first time. He’s even more charismatic in the flesh with a great sense of humour, so I’m really looking forward to starting in a few weeks time.
So between Hindi lessons and office visits we’ve started flat hunting. The first challenge is to decide where to live. It’s pretty hard when you have no clue on good areas, have an 8,000 rupee budget a month (£111) and you need to be fairly close to work. Delhi is huge and travelling around is a nightmare, the pollution is very bad and I cannot even imagine how it’s going to be when it reaches 48 degrees. Last night we attempted to find the ‘Hoxton of Delhi’. Off we headed to Shapur Jat in our autorickshaw having failed to barter despite use of my only sentence in Hindi ‘Mei volunteer hoo’ (I’m a volunteer). All the lanes were dark and by weaving through narrow backstreets of what seemed to be a medieval town we found the centre (we think) which was a market that was throbbing with life. Having failed to find the beer shop in 5 minutes of wandering we realised perhaps it was a bit too up and coming for us.

Yesterday was tourist day and we headed off for a tour of Old Delhi. We commandeered a group of bicycle rickshaws which was highly entertaining. Particularly, when Lucy in our group had a go and was infamous by the end of the day, fellow rickshaw wallahs were shouting out her name whenever she passed. Old Delhi was a refreshing change of manic to New Delhi. We visited the spice market, a beautiful 10th century Sikh temple, waived at the Red Fort and had the best paranthas (deep friend doughie bread that is to die for). I certainly don’t think I’m going to be coming back any thinner.

Highlights: going to work, having dinner in at a fellow volunteers place and meeting their lovely rescue dog, overtaking a camel and an elephant slowly plodding down the road at 11pm in an auto rickshaw, purchasing a new facial hair fancy dress item outside the Red Fort, reading a whole book in a week, getting progressively worse at Hindi.

This is how we roll in India...

2009-11-14T11:43:00.000-08:00

A little insight to the crazy traffic in Delhi...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klteYv1Uv9A

48hrs in Delhi...

2009-11-14T11:30:00.000-08:00

You can always tell you are somewhere new by the sounds or smells. Having been in Delhi for only 48hrs, you definitely know you are somewhere new. The sounds are everywhere. You can’t escape. Lying in bed on the first night even with ear plugs in, our room fan sounded like a Chinook about to take off. Then in the morning you are woken by symphony of dogs barking, children singing, accompanied by the traffic and the eternal sound of horns beeping. The traffic is beyond mental. Every time you try to cross the road it seems you could be taking your last steps and religion seems like a good option. An auto rickshaw is a safer option even though you are the equivalent of a beach ball in a large sea of traffic in the middle of a busy shipping lane. Everyone beeps just to say ‘hello I’m here’ rather than ‘watch out’, it’s rather friendly once you get used to it.

Onto food... curry, everyday at least twice a day but luckily not for breakfast. I’m on Day 3 of curry and was starting to think it was getting a little tedious on the palette. But just when you think you can’t have any more you try something new then just eat more and more. Today’s find was spinach cooked with pakora cheese. Yummy. I seem to be embracing vegetarianism quite well having just purchased a veggie Dals, Curries and Pualaos cook book for 45p. By the time I move into my flat I may be curried out by then and the book may just be for show.

So highlights so far; meeting lots of people with a great sense of humour, having a hot shower 55% of the time, only getting one mozzie bite last night despite going to bed dressed as a ninja and cocooning myself in a mozzie net, jogging in Lodi Park at dusk, my first Hindi lesson and the food...