A Girl's Guide to India!

Jeez guys, the homies at the Travel Channel are taking so super long to recognize my potential as their next travel show host… Ugh, don’t you just hate it when people don’t let you live your best life? So in an effort to idle away the time until stardom I have compiled “A Girl’s Guide to India”.

If you know me or my blog, you may already know that two years ago Tommy and I went to India for six weeks of so much of everything.

But real talk, if you know me even a little bit then you definitely already know that since I find it really, really hard to not talk about it.

See here and here… Also here and here for proof.

For me, it's like going to the moon and not talking about it – crazy. It is the single most amazing place that I have ever experienced. Of course I’m going to blab about it. I think that if I was a person that I hated then I would say something like “sorry, not sorry”.

For starters, India is a perfect example of why we are born with senses. With so much to see, hear, smell, taste and feel, the physical human experience is alight in India. So much so, that I kinda miss it, a lot. Even though it was two years ago, I still think about it often. I have travelled quite a bit (for a broke-ass person) and no place has hit me like India. That’s the thing – it fucking knocks you out. In the best possible way.

Other holidays kinda fade from my memory and exist like snow globes that I can shake every now and then and say “shucks that was nice!” But India stays with you forever and as cheddar-cheesy as it may sound, your life is better for it.

That being said, I wish that I had known a few things before we embarked on our Indian adventure. 

It is a good idea to plan. Well, who would have thunk it?!

This might seem super obvious but we’re not really planners (too much effort and stuff). So we arrived in India with six weeks ahead of us and only accommodation in Delhi organised and a flight to Leh. Big lols.

Once in Delhi, we promptly found a somewhat dodgy travel agent who booked the rest of our trip. So it wasn't really bad at all, but still. Also, the travel agent's office was so fucking hot (it was a thing, okay) and we missed out on visiting certain places simply because the travel agent wouldn't make any money from it. I really wanted to go to Pondicherry because of the Life of Pi, but the travel agent was like “nah bish” and booked us a multi-city tour starting in Delhi and ending in Fort Kochi. I wasn’t exactly unhappy, but I was naïve. I should have insisted on Pondicherry (and Jodhpur) but alas, now I just have to go back.

Pack tampons.

Before I went to India I thought that the retail experience was standardised. I thought that I could just run into an Indian version of Woolies or Clicks and that would be that. Well, like I say almost every day… I was really wrong. 

Shopping is weird. Like good weird, but weird. I never did find tampons but I stockpiled like the apocalypse was nigh so it was fine. Okay, disclaimer: I am definitely not saying that there are no tampons in India. Haha – why would I do that? I’m just saying that I couldn't find them.

Don’t be an asshole like me, don’t pack short anything.

Okay wait, you can. Go ahead! *whistles past* But you will be a social pariah. I know because my milky-white legs made me the belle of the ball and not in a fun way. 

Also, here's a good one: wear a bra. Jeez Louise! I dunno how my mind works sometimes. I mean, I was hot, like fucking disco-inferno hot. So naturally I thought that it would be a swell idea to go bra-less. Needless to say, it rained. Needless to say, I can't show you any photos except the above from the day that I LIVED MY DREAMS AND WENT TO THE TAJ MAHAL because I didn't wear a bra and my boobs are saying "hi" in every photo. 

Don’t take Tripadvisor etc. too seriously.

Sure, websites like the above can be informative and helpful. Also, they make for fun reading if you’re into terrible spelling and photos of sun burnt Brits. However, they also have a sneaky tendency to make everywhere in India sound like it sucks.

I remember once I was so angry at Tommy (he was super into Tripadvisor) because he innocently read a review of our hotel in Agra before we arrived. He then proceeded to inform me that we should be on the lookout for “excrement and blood” on the bed. I wasn't as angry at him as I was terrified of the bed when we checked in. After inspecting the bed and finding nothing it was still difficult to sleep easy with the double-disaster “excrement and blood” flashing in my mind.

Don’t become a sweaty pseudo celebrity like me.

So here’s a fun fact, in India, I was like hot-shit. People, namely men, wanted to take photos with me (a lot). Like they didn't even care that I was sweating like Hunter S. Thompson. At first I was okay with it, but then it descended to a weird, creepy-level that now makes me think that photos of me are crumpled up in someone’s spank bank. Also, not so fun for boyfriend. So yeah, just don’t do it.

Don’t wear makeup.

Granted, we went in summer so I can’t vouch for any other time of year or any person who has normal heat responses (sweating is an unfortunate pastime of mine). But still, I have never, ever been so flippin’ hot in my life. Makeup is a farce. The best you can do is tie a really, really tight pony-tail and edit those photos like it’s Kimye’s wedding. As you can see in the above photo, I was not joking about photo editing. Homie don't play that, yo! 

I'm thinking of doing A Girl's Guide to Paris and Ireland next. But it might take like a month. In related news, travel sponsorships are welcome! 

Malawi!

I never thought that I would go to Malawi, not because of any reason in particular but mostly because I never really thought about Malawi all that much.

Only a two hour flight away, Malawi feels like it's really far from home. Both a complete outsider and yet still a fellow African, I attempted to juggle my amazement and embarrassment. It seems that in my life, I constantly oscillate between the two. 

I was amazed at its quiet-loud nothingness and it's vast compactness, a small-big country with opposites and questions and silence, lots of silence. I was embarrassed by my ignorance, the worst tourist with the worst questions, I smiled a lot and tried to not to think of Malawi in American "poor but happy" terms. It was hard, they are so poor and happy... Fuck. 

Our tour guide told me that in 1966 only six tourists visited Malawi. I wondered what they thought. I saw a women waiting (maybe she wasn't waiting) by a tree with no leaves, when we left the hotel a few hours later she was still there, waiting or not waiting, just standing in the same spot by a tree with no leaves. Time felt longer there. 

I tried to remember as much as possible, I tried not to sleep in the car, I tried to not think about other stuff. I didn't remember how to say "hello". I did sleep in the car, badly. And I thought a lot about other stuff. I was hard not to, it seems that life follows you wherever you go. 

Malawi is a really special country, I mean it. Maya Angelou said something along the lines of:

You don't remember what people said or did or whatever, you remember how they made you feel (not a direct quote obviously). 

Well that's like Malawi, it sneakily touches your heart and you don't how or when, you just kinda wish it well and want to send it a card a Christmas time.

The people that I met were at times so earnest that I felt bad. My favourite person that I met was the driver, Patrick. I really wanted to show him a picture of Patrick Star from Spongebob, I don't know why. I didn't, thankfully. But he was so great, so sweet and he laughed like I'd imagine a tortoise would laugh. 

Malawi is really great, just go and feel all warm inside. 

Me and Patrick:

Dezemba!

Five years ago (holy crap) on my gap year I went to Paris. It was my first holiday alone and my first holiday that I had paid for myself. I'm a proud daughter of Beyonce, y'know.

People in magazines always say that travel is an investment and it can sound a bit bougie and trite but it really is. Those days in Paris are some of my happiest days yet. Actually, my heart still does the moonwalk when I think about it.

It isn't about the actual attractions and sights, which are great; but the feeling, the freedom and the fuck-yeah-nobody-knows-me joy. 

On top of that, traveling alone is the binary joy of feeling like a god and a lunatic at the same time, that's Nietz by the way. The god-like part comes with doing whaddevadafuq you want. Of course you can, technically, always do want you want but lame things like money and work kinda ruin that. So y'know, I indulged my impulses, looking after Number One was the name of the game, you dig? Henry Miller wrote that everyday we slaughter our finest impulses, but not on holiday Mr. Miller, if you're doing it right of course.

The lunatic part included me being giddy with joy at the mere sight of a boulangerie, beyzus that word?! Say it three times and it sounds like a magic spell. Also, I was a bit cray because for my entire holiday I hardly spoke to anyone and if I did, I didn't know what I was saying and it appeared neither did they. Also, once you return from your voyage, people at home don't care, they really, really don't... Oh the Arc De Triomphe, that's nice... This can lead to thoughts like: did it really happen? And why does everyone hate me? 

Basically, holidays are so much more than just new Facebook photos and expensive shopping trips. I hate how The Man tries to paint travel as a luxury, experiencing yourself via a new environment is something that everyone should enjoy often. EasyJet save us all! 

But back to the point, in less than two weeks Tommy and I will be in Paris! I have a sneaking suspicious that this is going to be my favorite holiday ever-ever. I have come to this conclusion for several reasons: 

1. IT'S FUCKING PARIS!

2. Tom.

3. PARIS GODDAMN!

“He who contemplates the depths of Paris is seized with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic. Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime.” 

Victor Hugo

Eating The World!

From Seoul to Slovenia, London to Osaka... There's so much good eating to get done!

Restaurant and cafe design is my kinda porn on Pinterest and it is well documented that I love food. 

One of my favourite parts of our daily night time call is when Tommy and I share what we have eaten throughout the day. Banalities like this are the intimacy that yokes people together. I know that you had Weetbix (three sugars) for breakfast, therefore I understand and love you... Or something like that... 

I haven't found my absolute favourite place to dine or drink as of yet but Salon De Factory in Seoul has been one of my semi-favourites (click here) and the famous Angelina's in Paris (you gotta do it) had me drunk with happiness. In India we had thee best fish curry (and the softest rice) at Shiva Garden. Not a day goes by that I do not miss that teddy bear soft rice and spicy fish from heaven. 

Closer to home, Royale burgers and milkshakes should be deemed a tourist attraction with special mention going to the real prize of their menu being those heroin-laced sweet potato fries. In Joburg, I have no shame in admitting that I love Tasha's food. Goddamn. That cheesecake alone is worthy of celebration. I am also loving Warm & Glad because like the name says, it makes me feel both warm and glad (I hate myself for that sentence). 

Now I'm hungry and next on my to-eat list is roadhouse fare, I hear that Louis Botha is home to a  couple of gems and this weekend I hope to wink at death while hoovering a burger and milkshake. 

The Friday Triple

If you're a bird then I'm a bird! 

Bucket list meet Maharajas Express.

Denim on denim. Only for the brave. 

Happy Friday! 

Wanderlust!

I cannot wait to go travelling!

2012, you beauty! 

"The wanderlust has got to me, by the belly aching fire." Robert W. Service

Rockers!

Burning Spear, Burning Spear.

Rockers 1978, is quite possible the best movie that I (Tommy, Heather's boy toy) have watched for a very very long time. 

Not for the dialogue (actually, maybe it's that though), not for the beautiful cinematography of Jamaica (it makes it look like Kwa Mashu on a dusty day), or even the amazing story (there is none). 

Jamaica is the epicentre of the world's coolness, the rastas there have been cooking up that good shit for well over 30 years and this movie, well doesn't explain all that, but just shows how fucking cool Jamaica was and still is.

If you have to ask why watching a bunch of rastas hustle and make reggae is fun, then this isn't for you.

"There are two paths in this world, war or rasta, I choose rasta." Leroy 'Horsemouth' Wallace

The World is a Beautiful Place, Don't You Forget it

Netherlands

New York

Thailand

China

"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life." Jack Kerouac

Let's Go Away!