Medal Giving

Following the departure of Mark, the remaining four members of the team washed, cleaned and made ready for the imminent visit to an Iban long-house in Sarawak, the Malaysian portion of Borneo, approximately two days travel from our current residence in Brunei.



Each longhouse is provided with a phone from the government so that the head-man can be reached in case of emergency, or if there is a requirement to waste his time with paperwork and bureaucracy. The numbers we had for our long-house were now out of service, and any efforts made to get into contact with them had failed. So the decision was made to make a 6 hour trip to the Malaysian boarder, in order to meet someone who has a relative who lives in the longhouse and hopefully knows what is going on. Luckily it turns out that the numbers had changed and that everything was still good to go.



The following day we all set off on a journey which was to take us over two days to reach our final destination. After crossing the boarder with the help of a car from a friend of Stuarts, we spent the night at a hostel, before spending the whole of the next day on a bus, and finally riding in the back of a 4x4 pickup truck, with 1.5 gallons of formic acid between our legs. That evening we finally arrived, rather exhausted, to be greeted by the Iban headman.



Last year, when Stuart had visited the long-house, it consisted of about 300 people. When we arrived, it turns out that the long house was no longer – and had actually split into two. After enquiring why the answer of “Tsunami” was given; rather unusual given that we were 200km inland and there was nothing about it on the news! Something was amiss. But either way, there were now two, slightly smaller longhouses.

We decided to visit the longhouse of the ex-British tracker, a man called Anvil, who had worked with the British military during the two wars of the late 1950’s and early 1960’s called the “Emergency” and “Confrontation” – if only to ensure that the insurance was obtained, which stated that they would only pay out if no wars occurred! Now in his late 70’s, Anvil had been given a medal by the Malaysian government to go with the British medal he received at the time. We also had badges, a full officer’s report and pictures of the people he served with at the time, both then and now.

The Iban are an ex headhunting tribe, selected by the British military for their honour and ferocity in battle. Although I say “Ex” I really mean only just ex, as the last head-hunting happened back in 2002. At that time another tribe was placed in Iban land and started taunting their new neighbours calling them a wuss. Bad idea.

During the wars, the Iban are known for sneaking into the enemy camps, slicing the heads off half, or more, of the enemy before sneaking back out again. As you can imagine, waking up in the morning with over half of your mates head’s missing is a rather worrying thing, especially because you didn’t hear anything. This had a significant psychological effect on the young soldiers sent to fight against the British and Iban. Let’s just say that I was minding my P’s and Q’s, and paid significant attention to the cultural briefing provided by Stuart. Saying this, the Iban were some of the most welcoming and warm people I’ve seen for quite a while!

As our arrival was shortly before darkness, we had only time to meet the heads of one of the small long-houses, discuss our purpose and intended length of stay, before being offered Tuak and Durian. Tuak is a rice-wine which is fermented by the Iban from the rice grown in the Iban fields. As it is home-made the strength varies greatly, as does the quality, but one thing stays common; you have to down the first glass you are given, no questions asked. Luckily I’m not too shabby with drink, and so the Tuak was quite palatable. Durian on the other hand was a different story.



Smelling of old socks mixed with cheese, the fruit durian is often banned in many public places in more civilised areas of Asia. Although I didn’t really like the smell, I wasn’t put off it, and so tucked in quite gladly. The taste was quite nice, similar to that of a pear crossed with a slimy star-fruit. But there was something extra, a little fizz on the tongue, something I didn’t like… After about a minute it became apparent what that taste was, I was having an allergic reaction to it, and it was rather strong.

So, here I was, in the middle of the jungle, at least 3 hours drive by 4x4 away from the nearest village, having an allergic reaction of unknown potency to a fruit I’d never tried before, within 10 minutes of meeting a tribe of head-hunters. Things could be better.

After quietly informing the other guys, I gobbled down three anti-histamines and proceeded to go very quiet and try to relax in the corner. With my airway slowly closing up and a bad itch spreading over my body, I hoped it would end soon.

Luckily after only an eternity filling 45 minutes, the symptoms subsided, leaving me with an asthmatic sounding breathing and a swollen tongue which would slowly fade over the next few hours. That’s drama one over, fingers crossed we wouldn’t be having any more!

The next day was filled with a trip to a “Local” field, about 2 hour’s walk away. On route we were fed almost every fruit in the jungle, felled a different palm to be taught about taking the pith for use as tinder for fires, the leaves for weaving, the heart for eating and many other uses besides.




We saw that the Iban we were with were the real deal. Nothing had been put on for tourists (especially as we were the only whites they had contact with, ever) and these people really did think of the jungle as their supermarket. Even small children, who were depressingly dressed in shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops, wondered through the jungle picking up food like no tomorrow. One child, who must have been no older than 8 years, walked right into the river with a needle made from a local palm, rummaged around for about 5 minutes whilst we were gathering tinder, only to emerge with 5 small fishes attached to the needle. Amazing.





Whilst we were slipping all over the place with our big boots and jungle gear, the Iban were dancing amongst the rocks with either flip-flops or bare feet. It’s also true that mosquitoes must like the exotic flesh. I can just imagine the conversation now
“Fancy another Iban tonight dear?”
“No thanks, I hear there’s a good English wondering through today. Never had that before and my friend says it’s like Iban but softer and sweeter – sound good?”
“Lovely, I’ll get the friends round and we can all eat some English.”
English, Scottish and Welsh were certainly high on the mosquito menu, as usual.



Once arriving at our destination, we marvelled at a home-made shotgun, made from some pipes the loggers had left behind and bits of wood. Then food was thrust in our face in the form of a creature which was half rat, half porcupine. We all chipped into removing the spines, before it was roasted over and open fire, and the traditional fare of née bong, sticky rice and assorted jungle things fed to us all.



From there we tromped back through the jungle, which had large swathes removed by recent logging activity of the logging companies who had moved into the local area with the approval of the government, for an evening of celebration and merriment. For we were being told that tonight there would be a traditional Iban festival in our honour given the purpose of our visit…

In preparation for the festival a pig was captured and we all donned suitable headwear – a hat which had feathers placed in various holes, each of which containing symbolic meaning. For example the Hornbill, whose feather was in the centre, was the most important element of the headdress, which often was used to symbolise the beginning of something important (often in Iban culture this was a battle!)



After being given our head-dresses, we were led out of the longhouse and told to march in a specific order to the front door. Here we met the pig, who after being jammed into a bag, carried 400metres squirming, squealing and being dropped multiple times, was already having a bad day. Stuart was then given a spear and told to stab the pig in the throat. Given that the pig was still in a bag, with only a snout protruding from one corner, this was not an easy task, and I suspect he hit it closer to the shoulder on the initial strike. After some jiggling around the squeals began to turn into gargled sounds and key parts of the anatomy were breached.

With the pig still twitching, we hopped over it and began to tour the long-house, shaking the hand of everyone. Once the tour was complete we sat in a line and were jabbered at by an older man who was holding two chickens, but still had a cigarette in his mouth. It seems that the ceremony was important, but it wasn’t going to interrupt his usual smoking session!

The chickens obviously knew what was coming, so one pecked his fag and took a deep drag before spluttering it onto the floor. Amusing as this was, we all tried to keep a straight face, it’s important stuff, even if you do look like a wannabe peacock.



Now it was time to create the meals for the spirits, who must eat before we can continue our greetings. About 15 items were carefully split into piles on a plate – my lucky number was 5, so that meant five piles of everything. Some people only had two piles; other people were really lucky and had a tiresome 9 piles to make. Due to the required repetition, this took about 30 minutes to complete.

Unfortunately, Scott by this time was feeling VERY unwell, probably due to a bad case of dehydration from the earlier walk, but with the real reason remaining a mystery until this day, poor Scott was desperately trying to keep down any food he had eaten. I’m not sure what the Iban would have done if he had chundered over the meals of the spirits who protect the long-house, but I suspect they wouldn’t have been overly happy.

Chunder still well and truly in his belly, Scott managed to make it through the ceremony. Now was the time for us to present the medals, make the speeches and for everyone to eat and then make merry! Don't ask me where the headman got his suit from, that's just one of those things which shocks you when you go on your travels - how civilised everyone actually is, despite their location!



Following the medals and speeches, it was traditional for us to dance. First the head-man danced, so that we can see how it’s done. The dance was very slow, with a rhythmical beat you had to keep to. The main impression was to tell a story, often of a battle. One had to start off with an impression of a horn-bill (told you that bird was important!) before moving onto your story, which mostly looked like a slow swooping, combined with pecking like a chicken.



Both Stuart and I gave this a go, with Patrick feeling tired from the walk, and Scott zonked out on a bed the far side of the long-house feeling very ill. Stuart’s was very similar, ending in the traditional props of a parang and shield, but I decided to spice mine up with the use of two sticks and a “heaven six” stick movement from my martial art’s class as an ending. The idea was for free laughs from the impression of a horn-bill and fascination from the crazy white-man’s stick twirling. It seemed to be well received.


[No videos of me dancing - sorry!]

After our initial round and the dances of some of the other members of the long-house, I decided it was time to give it another go. It’s time to have some fun and play charades! I got up for the dance and tried to act out hunting a pig, including searching for it, tracking it down, fighting it, dragging it back, cooking it over the fire, and finally eating and going to sleep.

With this fresh in his mind, Stuart added a similar story-dance, but his ended in running away from the prey. Both seemed well received and hopefully provided amusement to our hosts, mostly at our expense!

The next two days were filled with observing weaving, eating the same meals over and over again and assisting around the camp. On one day I helped build a chicken hutch.



During the construction of the hutch, it became necessary to move it into the final position. At the time the head-man (remember that he is aged about 70-80 years) and one of the young men were lifting the hutch, which wasn’t light in its construction. I quickly offered my help in place of the head-man, which he was happy to oblige. After seeing him easily handle the hutch, I was rather surprised to find it very heavy, so with him not rushing on the positioning instructions I strained, desperately trying to ensure that I didn’t let him realise that he’s probably twice my strength! These people are amazing – although far smaller than an average western man, they should start strength competitions – they would kick our ass!

With our visit drawing to a close, it was time to head back to Brunei, of course with a 5 hour wait in the middle of nowhere to try and find a bus…



As we had all traded pretty much everything we owned, including knives, flint-steels, hats, gloves and back-packs (for some of the guys at least) there was only one hat left. We were then left with a wonderful choice. Sit under the shade, and get eaten by mozzies, or stand out in the sun, with the one remaining hat, and roast alive. I prefered the sun option and as the hat was mine, spent most of the time lookng like Stuart in this picture, holding a sign with the name of the city we needed to get to!

Until next time – have a great Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Jungle training, part two....

Following a day to set up, over the next 6 days it was time to start learning the skills which would make life a little more comfortable...

We all bounded out of our hammocks after a surprisingly good nights sleep, to spend the next five minutes desperately hopping on the wet, sandy ground whilst trying to get our ant-infested boots on. It turns out that the conga line of ants running up the tree three of us tied our hammocks to, was now running down our hammock lines.

After a brief fire to get a brew on, conversation turned to the day's activities. It was decided that we would spend the next few days gathering food, before exploring and finally making a bush shelter on the final night.

The first food to gather was to be 'née bong' palm-heart. This is the central part of a large, spiny palm, often yielding as little as three coke-cans in size of asparagus flavoured flesh per tree. This gave rise to the name "Millionaires salad", of which it is the major constituent. It's also the answer to the question I posed on my previous posting.



To acquire the née bong is a relatively easy undertaking, especially given the yield of almost pure carbohydrates. One simply locates a née bong tree, an easy task despite over 800 species of tree per 5km square in the jungle (putting that into perspective, the UK has about 50 species overall), given the quantity and size of spikes all over the tree including every layer under the outer layer. We then chopped the palm down, selecting the top meter of the trunk, discarding leaves and all else. Now came the tricky part, whereby the outer layer was torn off and the section was chopped down until a distinct change in colour was noted. Once identified, the palm heart was removed for immediate consumption, tasting like chunky asparagus, or to be thrown onto the fire with a layer of outer husk to yield a more delicate flavour, akin to an asparagus and potato bake.

That was survival food one sorted. Now for some meat.

Large animals are surprisingly rare in the jungle. Thinking back to the New Forest back in the UK, there are many large mammals, whereas in the jungle many mammals are at best rare, if not endangered. Whilst good from a safety point for animals such as the bear and clouded leopard, this means reliable protein must be taken from an alternative source, in our case frogs.

With insects everywhere, frogs were abundant. So too were snakes, which feed on the frogs, but let's ignore that for now. We fashioned two types of spear to fell our dastardly foe, one made from a metal tip, purchased a few days before from a fishing shop, one from bamboo. Both were equally effective, but the durability of the metal tip was significant after the first struggle with a frog.

I was to draw first blood, but not on the intended target, a small (60cm) snake was also hunting that night, so I decided that adding it to the pot may be wise, not least in case it was venomous! With so many species of snake in Borneo, no-one knew what this one was, and many baby snakes are just as deadly as their adult counterparts.



So, with a small snake coiled around my spear, slowly dripping snake juice, I was feeling manly, almost Rambo-esque. Right up until I had to stumble in the dark, alone, to catch up with everyone else, fresh with the thought that mummy snake may be around. She would probably be rather irate, to say the least. Wait for me!

Hunting continued for about 90 minutes, using the reflection of the frog’s eyes to locate them. Often we were being thrown by large spiders, which also create the same reflection! At the end of the hunt, our haul was substantial, with my snake and two frogs adding to a tally of about 15 frogs. Dinnertime!



Each evening we would gather to collect water and wash in the lower pool, right next to a large colony of bats. Oh, and feed the local leeches, of which there were at least one per trip.



On return, still drenched from washing our clothes, we would eat, talk and undertake small projects such as carving items for traps the next day. Then it would be time to strip down to our boxers, check each other for leeches, removing with a lighter if necessary, and jump into the hammock. Once in our hammock, you had to position yourself carefully over the sleeping bag, as the mosquitoes can bite through the hammock and your clothes, as one guy found out the hard way. By now you are covered in sweat and have to powder your feet which have been in damp boots all day before drifting off with the sounds of the jungle ringing in your ears.

The next day it was the turn of more water-dwelling creatures to hit the menu. With a large bit of netting and some traps improvised from bottles and leftovers, traps were set in our local washing pool to catch shrimp and fish. No longer than 5 seconds after trying to peg out the net, it was teeming with shrimp. So bad was the infestation that often shrimp would jump into the pot you were washing up, whilst you were washing it up!



Two hours later, the traps were ready for collection, with the wriggling contents to be boiled in bamboo containers over the open fire. They were more than sweet enough to not need any butter or garlic, and vastly superior to the frogs. Yum.



The next morning, I was up significantly earlier than all else and began the task of getting water on the boil for breakfast. Whilst searching the camp for some additional water, I neglected the fire, which promptly set fire to the thatched roof, badly singing one of the tarps. Hardly my proudest moment. Although I contest that to design an elevated fire, which needs to support five people, putting a thatched roof at a low height above the fire is a rather flawed. After a quick repair to prevent the daily downpour from drenching our firewood, it was time to go fishing.

Using the central part of a large fern as a rod, and line and hooks from our sets, we were off to fish in the main pool, spear in hand. Here fishing proved less than fantastic, but one creature was attracted by our activities. A turtle. With bait used as a lure, Mr Turtle (or Mrs Turtle, one cannot really tell with turtles) was lured into spear range, before being brutally despatched. Turtles are hard to kill, very hard, even after lots of vital part hacking, they still have a tendency to try and limp off.



With more née bong and shrimp collection, our evening spread was impressive.



The remaining days followed similar formats, with downpours quickly swelling the river, preventing fishing.

On the penultimate day we decided to go exploring, following an established path. Everything in the jungle becomes overgrown very quickly, paths are no exception. However, they are substantially better than nothing, which results in lots of hacking, a blunt parang and yet more sweat.

After two hours of walking through the jungle we came upon a well established camp for the boarder patrol, which are tasked with preventing smuggling. Apart from the M16's on their beds, they didn't look very scary wondering around in shorts and a t-shirt in the hard-baked sand cleared by years of use. Mistaking us for a British military patrol, probably due to the excessive use of olive green, they smartened up and looked all busy, before relaxing once we told them our true purpose.



After a brief chat relating to why we would ever *want* to visit the jungle for pleasure, they took us on a guided tour to a local waterfall and we all posed for a photo shoot. It turns out we were the first visitors, probably ever!

Daylight hours running short, we returned to our camp by following "blazes", cuts on prominent trees, to lead the way. This route took us via a local swamp, ending up in a nice meal of army rations, before settling down for the night.

The final day's task was to build a rather involved monkey trap and make a shelter I was to "sleep" in. Everyone said I would get eaten alive by mozzies, but oh well!



With the trap constructed, focus turned to the shelter and all chipped in to help me build it before darkness. Although the shelter was pretty much completed, during some final adaptations too much weight was placed on one of the primary supports, which promptly snapped, shedding the roof and damaging the bed. After an attempt was made to fix it in the dark, the decision was made to abandon construction. Perhaps I will get the chance to feed some mosquitoes in South America instead!

The time had come to pack up and move on to the next stage of our journey - the x- headhunting tribe of the Iban, once used as jungle trackers by the British military….

Until then!

Jungletastic

Jungles. They are horrible things when you think about it really. Imagine exercising in a sauna whilst every few minutes someone opens the door to throw in random creatures, most of which bite or sting, all of which look like nothing on earth. Now imagine what one looks like after six days of that.

We loved it.



Jungles are everything I should hate, so being a little bit deluded; I decided that they must be included in my trip. Being very deluded, I decided that doing a survival course in one of them was a far better way to get to know them, and for all the creatures to get to know me too.

Loving the cold and hating insects, whist retaining a healthy fear for anything which can kill me, jungles should have been off limits. Something in my head made me want to investigate why jungles polarise people so much. Some love, others detest. No-one comes out of the jungle without an opinion one way or the other.

After a brief trip to see Agra and the Taj Mehal in India, I arrived on a late evening flight to Brunei (part of Borneo: )

Here I was greeted by our team (from right to left):


Stuart: The ‘local’ who runs survival trips into the jungle. He is originally Welsh.
Patrick: A head survival instructor from a Scottish survival school who already has experience in the jungle and is along for the ride.
Scott: A fellow Scott who works with Patrick.
Mark: A newly qualified survival instructor who is also Welsh.
Me [taking the photo]: An enthusiastic survival hobbyist, with much to learn!

Over the next few weeks, we were to get acclimatised to the oppressive heat and humidity, before moving into the jungle for four separate trips.

One day excursion to get used to everything and check our gear works.
A six day trip into the jungle for the survival training
A trip to meet a tribe of x-head-hunters and learn skills from them
A nice couple of nights in the jungle for Christmas day!!

Before setting off into the jungle we had a day to acclimatise to the heat and humidity. Here we spent the time spotting monkeys using a river taxi and realising that although Brunei is a Muslim society, they aren’t as strict as one may expect... Either that, or they didn’t understand the not-so-hidden meaning of the middle poster.


Once our food had been purchased and everyone had double checked the contents of their bags, we were off for a day’s trip to a local lake in secondary jungle (i.e. “Jungle Lite”) to ensure that everything held up and no-one was a walking liability.

This was a great day, with some improvised rafting. It also provided an excellent opportunity for everyone in the group to really bond and get to know each-other in the relative safety of jungle which wasn’t too far away from humanity.

Stuart demonstrated a technique whereby trousers could be used as a flotation device, and we all just enjoyed a paddle around the smaller rivers. Meanwhile, Scott decided that one of the more menacing spiders should get to know him a little better, giving it a ride across some wet-land before realising and flicking it into the reeds.

Things were laid back. Living was easy. From here it was to get a little tougher.



The day after, we set off on a two hour drive to a more remote stretch of jungle. Summarising a rather lengthy story, there’s been a lot of logging in the world’s jungles, but luckily with the oil wealth of Brunei, they have been able to protect much of their jungle, so we were actually heading for one of the x-SAS training camps which until very recently was used by the British special forces to train their guys in jungle warfare. It’s currently winter selection for the forces, so there was much military activity around, however, they have moved their selection site a few km away from this site, allowing us to take over an old clearing for our own use.

This was real jungle boys and girls. I was certainly under no illusions about the dangers – something clarified when I later saw a book entitled “Snakes of Borneo”, which ran to over 250 A4 sized pages, despite Borneo being smaller than Wales.



After a one hour trek, we arrived in the allocated camp-site and proceeded to take a brief shower.


Up a slippery, muddy bank, and drenched in humidity and out own sweat, we finally arrived in our home for the next five nights. Clearings in the jungle are to be treasured, offering brief rest bite from the fear of what may be lurking under the next leaf.

Before I go any further, I feel a desire, no, a need, to clarify a few points. Earlier I stated that the walk was about an hour. Big deal you probably think. What’s one hours jaunt? Well, I’ve taken a video to show you what the jaunt is like [actually taken on day 4, after 5 hours walking]; even then it does a poor job at illustrating how moving through a jungle is hard work.

Every rock hides an unknown; every leaf provides camouflage for another hidden nasty. Crossing a barrier, which is a frequent occurrence, involves many decisions as to if you want to step over, risking whatever is underneath biting you, or step on, risking a slip on the constantly wet surface. “Why not hold on to something to stabilise your crossing?” you may think, well, what if that thing is covered in spikes, or biting insects, or itchy hairs, or worse? I think I’ll keep my hands to myself thank you. Now imagine doing that walk in the sauna. Now imagine doing it with soaking boots, a 20kg pack, surrounded by noises you’ve never heard before, whilst swatting away hornets the length of your middle finger, as mozzies bite you constantly. I told you to watch where you put your feet!!

Yep, you’re getting closer to the jungle experience.


Luckily, setting up camp was easy. I’ve had enough experience with using my hammock in the UK to make it something I can do in the dark, whilst drunk. With the collective experience of the group, we soon had a fire going and all the thoughts of the jungle nasties were being put to the back of our head. “Mind where you sit – there’s a web under that log.” Back-ish of our heads then.

Dangers in the jungle come in forms that I’m rather surprised by. Spiders and snakes may be deadly, but scary spiders, such as the Recluse, Tarantula, and Black Widow, mostly want to keep out of our way. We saw both the Recluse and Black Widow – the latter being on a pile of wood which I was carrying, albeit very swiftly once I realised the unintended passenger!

Snakes often can be just a few feet away from you, but you won’t notice. Many snakes hunt at night, so locating them is hard, that assumes you want to, which we didn’t most of the time.

What you have to be careful of are things like the hornets, which are known to “get their mates involved” if you start to annoy them. With a description of the sting from one victim being the same as having a burning hot rivet put into your skin, I think I want to keep clear. However, one of the most surprising was the account of the head SAS survival instructor of a centipede bite. He once got bitten by one of these nasties and promptly proceeded to “Curl into the foetal position, and wept and wept and wept, cried and cried and cried”. He’s a hard-as-nails b*astard. I’m a soft-skinned computer-geek. I’ll be keeping clear of them then!

As my rambling is going on a little, I’ll finish this later (you’re probably reading this at work, if so, get back to work!) But don’t worry; in the next article we have traps, blazes, hunting trips and random foodage – full marks will be awarded to those who can work out what the kebabs in the picture below are resting on...



I’ll see you then!

Note: Most of the photos have been uploaded, and I now have a youtube channel with all the india videos too:
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynsTravelBlogPhotoDumpBorneo
Videos: http://www.youtube.com/user/hadyntravel

Agra and out

Well, like any good journey my time in India draws to a close.

Before summarising the highs and lows of this great country in what little time I have had to dip my toes in, I shall briefly outline the last few days.

From where I left you in Kolhapur, Rakesh and I continued our adventure with our hosts. Many of the highlights didn't come from the normal tourist attractions we saw (such as the 55 foot high Ganesh statue and local fort), but instead such gems as the brief conversation had with a local waiter when I arrived, culminating in the usual request for photos and this time even a free desert (the English quota it seems)!!

Both Rakesh and I agreed that we should leave a small gift to our hosts as a token of our appreciation, so we went into the local markets and purchased a cricket bat and balls, and two dresses for the girls.

It was strange, as although when giving the gifts there was little expression on the faces of the children, the warm fuzzy feeling certainly arrived when later that day we were asked to attend the first cricket match. The usual plank of wood with splinters was cast aside, replaced in pride of place by the shiny cricket bat. That was the best 5 pounds I've spent in a long time, and hopefully will continue to bring joy for significantly longer than pi$$ing it up against a wall on a Friday night.

That evening every item of my bag was pulled out and shown to our hosts to satisfy their curiosity - it turns out that the best toy for a child of three is a karabiner (climbing clip thing, used to clip my bag to trees, keeping it off any wet ground). Whilst 10 year olds are only satisfied by endless photos, or using the draw function on my PDA.

We then visited a local house of our rickshaw driver, where we were treated to another fantastically warm welcome, a sad realisation that the families value short term gain (i.e. go out and work, giving up school) over longer term ways to work themselves out of poverty. Then when the camera was pulled out of the bag, half of the elders of the room ran out, it turns out they wanted to change into their best clothes for any photos!!

After Kolhapur and a very warm departure from our hosts, Rakesh returned to Mumbai, whilst I spent a day with Prasad and Shrikant in Pune (feeling rather ill again). Both times I've been ill, it's been from "home" cooking. Both times it's been stuff I'm unsure about, but if they are feeding their children the same food, how can you say "no"? It wasn't as bad as before, but I was not "farting with confidence" for a good 48 hours.

Prasad's house was great. Even unfinished it was really, really nice. To play my diplomatic part, it was exactly as good as Rakesh's house (which is also really nice) no better, no worse. Factually, Rakesh's house is far cleaner and doesn't smell of paint, whilst Prasad's is certainly larger.

After the brief stop in Pune it was off again to Mumbai.

In Mumbai (which isn't as dangerous as our government would make you think, and pseudo security has been stepped up, and may even involve searching people who beep at the detector now!!) we took a trip to the local caves where we were victims of the first theft.

A monkey stole Rakesh's crisps. Yes, a monkey. Thieving scumbag, and it had small balls.

After this we then took what shall now be called the hell-ride to our white-water rafting venue. Earlier in the trip we had the hell-bus, which was cramped and bumpy. This was the hell-car. 2.4 litres of pure power at the hands of an untamed maniac.

If we had jumped into the back of any car and told them we had to be in Mumbai as fast as possible or else the world would end, they would probably drive slower and more safely. This guy was insane - even Rakesh was pooping himself and I got so scared I actually thought it was funny and began to look forward to the times he would pull out, see the bus coming in the lane, but go anyway.

Unfortunately this meant that by the time we went rafting, it was the tamest experience ever, graded between 3+ and 5+ (the day we went the dam only opened one gate, so it was a 3+, the highest experienced in the UK, but still rather tame) the water was good. Compared to the hell ride though, it had nothing. Put it this way, our dude did a 3.5 hour journey in 2.5 hours - and spent most of it in the oncoming lane, some of it off the road and all of it going too fast o (i.e. 70-80 mph) on windy pot-hole roads and dirt tracks.

Following a totally awful movie (Max Payne - good game, shoddy movie, about 2.0 on the 1-10 ratings) it was time for me to move on to Delhi and say goodbye to Rakesh.

Apart from the scam-artists which annoyed me a little when I arrived after the 18 hour journey (but only got 5 rupees from me tired pocket - about 6p) it's been good. Shopping has been abundant and the Taj Mehal beckons.

With the Taj tomorrow and then Borneo after that, it only leaves me to summarise India (all scores out of 10)

-----------------------------SUMMARY--------------------------

Adventure: 6 - apart from the camel trek, white-water rafting and staying in a mud-hut, it's been pretty "normal" holiday wise, very much easing me into travel

People: 10 - They have been excellent, every-where I've gone I've been greeted warmly and with open smiles, the villages and off the tourist track has been especially good.

Hassle: 2 - I'll be honest, the endless hassle of "where are you going" and "what is your name" which always end in one thing - a request for money or a use of their services has almost worn me down. Begging has been less of a problem than I thought, but still a pain in the a$$.

History/culture: 8 - Both history and culture have been excellent, but the tourist sights are often in dis-repair or littered with rubbish or graffiti. They aren't making the most of what they have. The history and culture is a 10, but it's being let down by poor presentation. Hopefully the Taj won't disappoint.

Food Taste: 8 – Too hot at times, but often very nice to taste

Hygene: 1 – The food has made me ill for almost 10% of my holiday and I have a cast-iron stomach and will eat anything. The Indian cleanliness standards are shockingly bad.

Safety: 10 - I've never felt unsafe, and apart from one monkey-based theft, haven't had any issues so far!

Food Variety: 5 – Outside of the major centres, and the richer part of those centres, food is limited to Indian. Yes, you can often get both south and north Indian, and there’s probably enough Indian dishes to eat a new one each day of the year, but it’s hardly the choice we have in the UK or the USA. When you get “Italian” or “Chinese” it’s almost unrecognisable in it’s Indian version.

Cost: 9 – It’s very cheap.

Value for money: 10 – Wherever you go, whatever you do, it’s cheap and most of the time darn good fun too.

Would I come again? Yes

Recommended to? Anyone who can take the dirt and doesn’t mind a few days of illness to see some truly marvellous people.

Highlights: Living in a hut in Kolhapur, Camel trek in Bikiner, the deserted 2nd largest wall in Rajesthan

Lowtimes: Sickness, alone, for 36 hours in Bikiner.

Overall: 8 – India has been great, without the illnesses that have thrown me a little sideways, it would have certainly been higher. As mentioned though, 10% of my time here I’ve been ill in some degree, and that makes this score pretty much out of 9. The other missing point is due to the level of dirt, grime and hassle, but if you can put up with that (which is easier when with a local) then it’s a fantastic place to visit.

Thanks Prasad, Shrikant and Rakesh for making the first stage of my trip really fantastic - I wouldn't have enjoyed myself half as much without you all, your friends and relatives! You've done India proud.