Towels of Insanity.

If you have ever tried to repair a bicycle you will know what a frustrating task it can be. An afternoon attempting to regrease the bearings of my headset should have been an easy enough job but events took a turn for the worst as the hotel staff discovered my new cricket bat and pitched up a quick game of cricket next to me to show of their cricketing skills namely straight driving the ball at the crimson faced sweating figure of fun, me. This coupled with other interested hotel guests picking up pumps, tools, and cycling gear whilst quizzing me on my marital status made things decidedly tricky.
Another tour has finished which by all accounts was another massive success accept for an unfortunate incident which involved 4 of my cycling guests riding over a tiny puppy whilst leaving me to pick up the apparently dead pup to ensure that relations with the local Tamil population were not irreconcilably damaged. A miracle saved the day with my mouth to mouth resuscitation attempts; which involved me spitting water sucked out of my camel- back onto the nose of the upturned squashed puppy; appearing to work which startled me and the puppy in equal measure. The locals seemed similarly astonished as I handed back the fluffy little canine which was promptly stuffed into a bundle of straw to finish off the recovery process.
Presently in the middle of the penultimate tour of the season before heading back to Darjeeling to complete preparation for next Octobers inaugural tour which promises to be interesting as we have to arrange a caravan of Yaks to follow us on the high altitude trails on the Singalila ridge on the Indo-Nepali border. Today’s main riding interest came in the form of a happy looking elephant flapping its ears in joy as it enjoyed a trip on the back of a truck whilst making its way to its next logging job.
Stop Press: A sanitary towel (unused thankfully) has just landed on my head more are now falling from the sky. Investigations reveal a troupe of monkeys have raided one of the rooms above and are emptying the contents of some unfortunate ladies bag over the balcony and on to the terrace below. A tube of toothpaste and a bikini top has now made its way down with more items expected soon.

Cheese Pies

Another tour of duty finished and I find myself in Cochin waiting for the next group arriving tonight from Singapore. In the room next door is a very pretty French lady who looks rather comical in a non too fetching neck brace a result of a mishandled ayurvedic massage and a rather unfortunate fall off one of my mountain bikes. I blame the massage. She blames me.
All else appears well except for some access issues with some of tea estate managers in our highest mountain bike base of Munnar. The tea estate managers are instantly visible with their wide brimmed hats, socks pulled up over the knees, ludicrous thigh clenching shorts, walrus moustaches and accents sourced presumably sourced from back copies of Black Adder and the character of Colonel Melchet. We now have “allied” tea estates where we can cycle around freely without fear and those now classified as “enemy” estates manned by watchman whose job it is to expel any foreigners, cyclists or clueless Indian newly wed tourists intent on grabbing a quick photo.
Food problems continue with the Nepali guide Rakesh, we have moved out of the rooms with a kitchen and are back staying in the same hotels as the guests, here Rakesh has no choice but to noisily shuvvle down the same food as the rest of us which he described; in a particularly impassioned attack on the merits of South Indian food; as disgusting.
Everyone is a food snob in the subcontinent. Witness any tour party arriving from another part of India and you will see an entourage of chefs pot washers and helpers piling out of minibuses clutching vast cooking vessels ready to rustle up exactly the same food as the tour party is used to at home. Plan to bring my mother over next year with bags of flour and some cheese and knock together some of her famed pies.