The Conclusion

147 days: 14 countries over 4 continents

It is now one week since I returned and I’ve fully begun my readjustment to London life. In the last week I’ve met up with much-loved friends, eaten in some glitzy restaurants, seen some thought-provoking plays and spent innumerable hours squished against the windows of rush-hour trains. My days are bookended again by a Metro and Evening Standard, I debate once more whether the Sainbury’s self-service aisle really will be any quicker and I scour the streets looking for that one magical spot where my phone can get 3G internet access and hence actually work. However, before I fully release myself back into the Big Smoke, I feel I should take some time for reflection over the last five months. 

In her introduction to her anthology of travel stories, Patricia Craig identifies certain categories of traveller. Beginning with the traveller as pilgrim, she discusses the Grand Tour undertaken in a spirit of aloofness by fashionable young men, the colonial journey of adventure and danger, the anthropologist travelling to fathom foreign ways, the Romantic following the allure of the abroad and the plain old holiday-maker in search of rest and relaxation. Perhaps the only one missing from this list is the ‘Gap Yah’ student in small-minded pursuit of alcohol and anecdotes, chundering their way across the continents.  At times, I fear I’ve fulfilled all these roles.

Since that frosty February morning when I set-off by foot to Gants Hill train station, beginning a journey of something like 60,000 kilometres (40,000 miles), I’ve knelt before a living goddess in Kathmandu, escaped a man-eating Anaconda deep in the Amazon rainforest, partied with multi-millionaires in Peru, witnessed a live goat being decapitated in the Himalayas and acted in a Bollywood movie. I’ve trekked to the lost city of the Incas, got stranded solo at the top of a volcano, scuba-dived at night in a green cloud of phosphorescing phytoplankton, watched a human body be cremated on a funeral pyre and visited a lake of pure arsenic.

And it’s not just the sights. I’ve experienced accommodation ranging from a private five-star hotel where I was tended by twenty staff to a soviet-prison-style hostel infested with rats and raw sewage. I’ve pulled leeches off my foot in Nepal, been bitten to within an inch of hospitalisation in Ecuador and been tear-gassed by the Bolivian police. I’ve had my hair cut by a political dissident in Peru, a barber in Australia, a friend on a toilet in Thailand and India’s jolliest man in Agra. I’ve partied at Carnival in Buenos Aires, raved at the Full Moon Party, salsa-danced along the Equator, starred in a transvestite cabaret show and MC-ed the Wedding Of The Year. I’ve even indulged in some self-improvement, having taken classes in Thai boxing, meditation, Indian cookery, Peruvian Spanish, surfing, scuba diving and the indigenous dances of Lake Titicaca. Like Benjamin Disraeli, “I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen”.

Perhaps more important than the physical journey though is the personal journey that such a trip entails. Those long train and bus rides with no company but the landscape give ample time for self-reflection, while the process of constantly meeting new people allows for your personality to emerge unhindered by the past (“there are no yesterdays on the road” - William Least Heat Moon). Don’t worry though, I’m not about to launch into some long embarrassing piece about how I ‘found myself’ milking yaks in the Himalayas. However, needless to say, I’m a different man now and, I hope, a better one.

I return feeling intellectually refreshed with a new-found love for this city and, crucially for one about to start a career as a City lawyer, I find myself more calm and unstressed than at any point since infancy. I guess the main benefit of all this travel is perspective. In comparison to the grinding poverty in India, the prehistoric beauty of the Bolivian Altiplano or the endless solitude of the crazy-men I met in the Amazon rainforest, life’s little woes and cares seem, well, a bit petty.

 

So, will this idyllic outlook last? Or will corporate law prove a foe hardier than the transvestite thieves of Uttar Pradesh or the venomous ants of Eastern Ecuador? We’ll just have to wait and see ...

The Awards

Favourite Country: Peru (the perfect combination of great food, sights and people)

Most fun: Thailand (beach partying every night)

Single best dish: The ginger and lemongrass crème brûlée I had at Métis in Bali, followed closely by the Kobe beef steak at La Cabrera in Buenos Aires  

Best local dishes: Ceviche (marinated raw fish - Peru), Momos (steamed Tibetan dumplings - Nepal), Mangoes (so different from those back home - Bali), Picarones (pumpkin and sweet potato doughnuts in a cinnamon honey - Peru), Pan de Yuca (melt-in-your mouth warm breads made from cheese and yuca flour - Ecuador), Lúcuma milkshakes (a sub-tropical Andean fruit tasting a bit like a date - Peru) and Frutigran biscuits (one packet a day - Argentina).

Days 143, 144, 145, 146 and 147: My Bollywood movie debut

Day 142 cntd
As I left Jaipur, the monsoon let rip and even the 1st class waiting lounge at the train station was not impervious to a bit of light flooding. The up-side though was that as I climbed on top of various chairs to avoid the river running through the room I got the chance to bond with various members of India's elite who were doing likewise (including a professor and an army general).

My 17 hour train ride was surprisingly comfortable and, while the time didn't exactly fly by, I had a good time. Incidentally I've been meaning to mention more about the transvestite thief that I encountered on a previous train ride. Speaking to other travellers, it turns out that the transvestites are an Indian train institution. A common trick is for a transvestite to walk onto a train carriage, sit down and lift up his skirt, exposing himself to everyone until someone gives him some money. If nobody pays, the transvestite will rip out a knife and attack the nearest passenger. Weird!

Day 143
It was mid-afternoon by the time I got off my train in northern Mumbai (aka Bombay). The train station appeared to be in the middle of a slum (not difficult in a city where 60% of the population live in the slums) and the smell was pretty overpowering. It took two hours and several changes of taxi in the suffocating heat for me eventually to reach Colaba, the area of southern Mumbai where I would be staying. I can honestly say that the hostel which greeted me was the worst place I have ever had the misfortune to stay (and believe me I have stayed in some grotty places over the last few months - though those were at least saved by having a modicum of charm). The entire building had the air of a Soviet prison, while my dorm looked like a war-zone with rubbish, mould and rats (yes, rats!!) everywhere. The toilets were overflowing with sewage and, in answer to my question whether my filthy mattress would perhaps be graced by sheets or even a pillow, I was met with hysterical laughter from the outrageously rude management. I had come a long way from Bali!

The dorm room contained the usual assortment of elderly souls that for some reason one finds backpacking around India (including one 77 year old Bulgarian and a 70 year old Japanese man), but thankfully I met a pair of Colombians my age who I joined for the evening. After a dinner of South Indian dosas (a fermented crepe made from rice batter and black lentils stuffed with a spicy mashed potato), we headed out to Leopold's bar. Leopold's is a true Mumbai travelers' institution, having hosted we weary explorers since 1871. Leopold's was also the location for one of the 2008 terror attacks and, just as then it reopened a mere four days later to massive crowds, so too tonight it was heaving even though the city was on lock-down after the latest bombings of only two days before. The three of us joined up with an English man staying in our dorm for a couple of beers.

That evening in the dorm we all chatted until the early hours with the main theme of conversation being how challenging everyone found backpacking round India. The general consensus was that you cannot relax for a minute out here, but instead must constantly fight the thousands of con-men, rickshaw-wallahs, transvestites and beggars just to cross the street, all the while trying to steer the difficult course between gastroenteritis and starvation.

Day 144
The previous night's conversation on my mind I woke up early this morning and emailed British Airways asking to move my flight so that I could return the following day.

Thankfully though things swiftly changed! Realising that I couldn't end my trip in such a cowardly fashion I decided to fight back, beginning with a change of hostel. Deciding it would be better to pay triple the amount if it guaranteed me a night without rats, I switched to a hotel down the road which boasted air conditioning, clean bathrooms, free toilet paper and a flatscreen TV! I then went to one of Mumbai's best restaurants, the Indigo Delicatessen, for a cheer-up lunch. Whether it was the 'multigrain fettuccini of grilled artichoke and mushroom with walnut cream' or the bread platter or the seven-odd milkshakes I downed there that afternoon, I do not know. However, by the time I left the restaurant I felt a new man. So what if travelling in India is difficult? That is part of the challenge and god knows there are enough amazing sights and people in between all the hassle to make it all worth the trouble. I went back to the internet café and cancelled my change-of-flight request. I was going to stick out India until the end.

Now, earlier when I had had the intention of leaving India the following day, I had been stopped by a Bollywood movie scout who asked me if I would be interested in being an extra. I declined, but took his card nonetheless. After my rejuvenating meal however I remembered this offer and I swiftly called him back to accept.

That evening I went out for dinner with a group of English guys I met at my new hotel.

Day 145
Very early in the morning I heading downstairs to meet the casting agent. In the lobby of the hotel were assembled about twenty other backpackers and all of us were excited about the possibilities that the day might hold. A bus was waiting down the street to whisk us off to the studio where we were treated to a buffet of traditional Indian breakfasts.

We were then herded into the costume department where an amusingly rude woman decided whether the clothes we were wearing were at all suitable. She took one look at me and changed everything. Apparently I didn't look 'touristy' enough and so my stylish green T-shirt was swapped for a horror which read "The Vacation Never Ends", while in the 35 degree heat she forced me to wear a (rather nice) blazer from Gap. I got off lightly though, the majority of our group were made to dress in thick jumpers!

Returning to the green room we sat down and waited. At this point we still had no idea what the film was about and what role we would have in it. The casting director of the film then walked in and selected six of us to follow him. I was one of the six. Little did we know at this point that we six were to be the only ones involved in the filming, while the others would sit in that room for the next 15 hours with nothing to do.

We rounded the corner and entered a large hanger with half an airplane inside. From this point on all photography was strictly prohibited, so any photos I did manage to take were very covert and naughty. Passing a sign, I saw that the movie was called 'English Vinglish', but I knew little else.

(me in my tourist outfit)

We enter the airplane (a mock Boeing 747) and are seated. I am placed on the window seat with one spare seat next to me and two spare seats behind me. A few minutes later the Indian extras chatter with hushed excitement as a woman enters the plane surrounded by a team of hangers-on. It turns out this woman is called Sridevi and was one of India's most famous Bollywood actresses in the 1980s and 1990s. She left the industry in 1997 to raise her children, but this film represented her comeback. From across the plane she looked at least twenty years' younger than her 48 years, but as she moved closer I saw the evidence of botox and perhaps even plastic surgery. To my utter surprise she then proceeds to sit directly behind me. She is so close I can smell her perfume!

(Sridevi on the right)

 

 (one I stole from the internet)

If there had been hushed excitement when Sridevi entered, well there was utter rapture when next the absolutely giant, larger-than-life figure of Amitabh Bachchan enters. Now, I've never seen a Bollywood film, but even I know this man. His face shines from every billboard in the country. Barely a minute of Indian television goes by without a reference to him. He is so omnipresent that he was the very first (i.e. simplest) question on Slumdog Millionaire. He is quite simply India's most famous man. Having starred in at least four blockbusters every year since 1969, this man is Bollywood. And guess what? He sits next to Sridevi, directly behind me!

 

(stolen from the internet)

A man called Dilesh then sits down next to me, holding a script. I ask him if he is an actor. He laughs and says he is actually a banker, but is best friends with the director who agreed to let him have a cameo. For fear of breaking a confidentiality agreement I am wary of revealing too much of the plot, but in a nutshell Amitabh's character is being very loud and it was the job of Dilesh to turn round and tell him to shut the hell up. This is significant as most of the scene therefore involved the cameras being trained on Dilesh and me as we react to Amitabh's shouting. Not only that, but when the cameras were not trained directly onto our faces, they still used the tops of our heads as a frame for the characters behind us. The other five Western extras in the plane were incredibly jealous of my 'fame', but that was nothing compared to the ire of the remaining extras who were still locked into the green room with nothing to do. 

Anyway, I stayed in that plane filming from 9am all the way through to 12.30 at night. After so long, the various sights and sounds of the studio will remain ingrained on my memory forever. The language used on set was English and the focus of attention was on the cameraman, director and production manager who each controlled a team of about thirty people that were fussing around the set. Most of the day was spent setting up the lighting for each shot, which could take up to 45 minutes each time. Each take would begin with a chain of repeated sounds along the lines of: "Silence please (echoed by a line of people all the way through the studio to the carpark) ... air con off (yes annoyingly we couldn't have air con on during filming due to the noise it made) ... film rolling ... clap on ... first stations ... scene XXX , take XXX ... action!". In between each shot, the stars would have a team of make-up artists reapply various powders to their skin and stare at themselves for inordinate amounts of time into mirrors that lackies held in front of their faces. Amitabh felt he had to made various quips and jokes throughout the day to keep everyone entertained and he often reduced us to hysterics. However, he also had a dark side, and several times got terrifyingly angry and screamed his head off. I guess such large characters must also have large egos. Having said that, my overwhelming impression of him remains that he was utterly charming.

Every now and again the stars would return to their luxury winnebagos and then we extras would go to grab some of the food and drink that was continually on offer all day. This was one of the best fed days of my entire trip. 

Finally at about 11.30pm they let nearly everyone go. However, the casting director grabbed me and told me to stay for one more scene. They changed my clothes (to an utterly boiling jumper) and sat me in a different seat. This scene involved the air stewardesses handing out newspapers to the passengers. On set there were four air stewardesses, all of whom were six foot tall Western models fresh from Mumbai's fashion week. I got on like a house on fire with one from South Africa and had some good conversations with one from the Ukraine, however the other two (of indeterminate Eastern European origin) were utterly frustrating. I mention this as it was these final two that were handing out the newspapers in this final scene. As it was so late at night, everyone was desperate to go home and so wanted a quick scene. These two girls however did everything wrong - constantly fluffing their lines and forgetting their actions! We even spent 30 minutes explaining the difference between saying "would you like a newspaper, maam" and "would you like a newspaper, man". I was anxious because I was the only one of the Western extras left on set and I feared the bus would leave without me, stranding me late at night in the middle of nowhere. Thankfully around 1am the scene finished!

Even though I had my camera in my pocket, I feared that they would confiscate it and delete the pictures I had taken earlier on and so I confined myself merely to asking for signatures from the two stars. All I had to hand was my copy of Anna Karenina, which is perhaps the most incongruous place to now hold two Bollywood film actors' names:

Thankfully the bus had waited for me and we all drove home. We were paid 500 rupees for our day's work, which translates to £7 for the day (or 41p per hour). This may perhaps have been the least well-paid job of my life, but my goodness was it fun. 

Day 146

Fired up by Bollywood enthusiasm I spent today at a local cinema watching my first Bollywood films. You really do not need to speak Hindi to understand what is going on and I really enjoyed the two I saw: "Delhi Belly" and "Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara". The first was an Indian version of "The Hangover" and was gripping, while the second was about a bunch of Indian guys travelling around Spain and was fascinating if only for the opportunity to see a Bollywood representation of Europe. Obviously I spent most of the time concentrating on the extras in the background.

In between films I ate some really good food (for my last day I was treating myself), including a chicken liver pate made from brandy and prunes and a posh 'Mumbai street-inspired sandwich', consisting of mint and coriander chutney, cucumber, cheese, tomato salsa and garlic potatoes. 

I then went for a touristy walk around town:

(The Taj Palace Hotel - one of India's best hotels and the site of another of the 2008 bombings)

(The Gateway to India - built by the British to symbolise an entrance and exit to the subcontinent. Very apt considering I was leaving tomorrow)

(one of the omnipresent slums)

That evening I was rather pensive and spent a long time reviewing the last five months. Still high on my Bollywood experience of the previous day, this was a much better end to my trip than the cut-short-and-run that I had contemplated earlier in the week. 

Day 147

Today my trip came to an end. I jettisoned half my bag that I no longer needed, donating most of it to the local beggars. My last taxi later and I was in the airport, flying back to London Heathrow with British Airways. My first view of our fair country in over five months was the O2 centre and Canary Wharf. 

The final photo of my trip; the backpacker at his home station.

Days 140, 141 and 142: Bed-bound in Jaipur

Day 140
My overnight train from Udaipur to Jaipur was not a pleasant one. I had booked myself into 2AC (the second highest class) and so was expecting luxury, but this train was crowded, bug-infested and the sheets on my bed were so stained I could only guess that once upon a time they had been white. I boarded the train late at night and was due to disembark at the crack of dawn (5am) so couldn't really allow myself to fall into a deep sleep. Even worse, I was beginning to feel really quite sick.

Now, I have been traveling for five months and have eaten filthy food from filthy vendors on four continents without getting ill (apart from a minor stomach ache in Bolivia), however nothing could prepare me for India. Gastroenteritis on every plate, you would need a stomach of steel to survive more than a fortnight here without succumbing! I guess today was my time.

I arrived at my hotel very early in the morning and was told by the groggy receptionist that they had no record of my reservation and didn't know whether anyone would check-out that morning. With little other option I went through to the lounge to sit and wait it out. I spent the next five or so hours trying to ignore an incredibly flatulent Indian teenager sleeping on the floor near my feet.

Eventually a room was found and I collapsed on the bed. I spent the rest of the day rather feverish and delirious, but was lucky enough to bump into a pair of German midwives on my way to buy water from the hotel's restaurant. They plied me with drugs and sent me back to bed.

Day 141
After a terrible night's sleep I felt even more ill this morning. Realizing though that I had to leave my room for at least an hour I grabbed a rickshaw and headed to Jaipur's old city. In 1876 the Maharajah had the entire city painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales and so it remains today. I began by visiting the City Palace which was pretty boring then crossed the street to look at the Jantar Mantar, a massive observatory complex built in the 18th century. Passing through the gates you could be forgiven for thinking you had entered a giant's skate park as the lawns were littered with five-storey-high astronomical objects of surreal shape and design. As my camera is malfunctioning again (it takes photos, but won't connect to computers anymore) I have had to steal these pictures off google.

I finished with the briefest look at the Hawa Mahal (a five-storey) pink sandstone building that apparently is Jaipur's most famous building and then swiftly hailed a rickshaw to drive me home. Rather unexpectedly the drivers were a pair of Siamese twins conjoined at the hip, but I was feeling so ill I barely noticed.




Another evening was spent in bed. Thankfully my room has a TV with two English language channels.


Day 142
It is 5.30pm, I haven't left my room all day and in three hours I will be getting a mammoth 20-hour train down to Mumbai. Not looking forward to it.

Days 138 and 139: More from wonderful Rajasthan

Day 138

Awaking to the sound of English voices outside my window I headed downstairs to meet yet another pair of travelers from old Albion (this time one was from Bath and one from Putney). We ended up getting a boat tour of the lake together, followed by an afternoon of melting in the shade of the hotel. 

That evening I met up with one of the English girls I had done the cooking class with and, after watching the sun set over the lake, we headed to a concert of traditional Rajasthani folk song and dance. The whole evening there was a constant stream of bats flying overhead in what I guess must have been a massive migration. 

The show began with a group of men acting out a fight scene. One of them then proceeded to eat red hot coals! Next a group of women danced with bowls of fire on their head accompanied by men with trumpets overhead. 

I was most impressed by the following act which featured two women covered from head to foot in cymbals, each holding a piece of string with a metal ball at the end. The women then swung the string so that the ball struck the cymbals in time to the music, creating a melody of intricate precision.

This was followed by some spinning dances and a puppet show.

The show ended with this woman who danced with an ever-increasing number of pots balanced on her head. As if this wasn't impressive enough, she then started to do minor acrobatics and walk over broken glass.

We then joined the two English girls I had met in the morning for dinner at one of Udaipur's best restaurants with an amazing view over the lake. I finally indulged myself and ordered a gin and tonic to be enjoyed on the restaurant's opulent veranda. This is the life!

Day 139
This time it wasn't English voices that woke me up, but the chaotic banging of the local monkeys taking breakfast under my window.

Joining yet another English couple (this was the one from the cooking class a few days ago) I spent the morning horse-riding through the countryside surrounding Udaipur. The ranch running the event was picture perfect and my horse was relatively well behaved. To tell the truth it was so so hot today I doubt the horse could have summoned the energy to buck me off if it had wanted to. I had to remind myself as we trotted past cacti and rocky outcrops that this was India and not the Wild West.

The highlight though was when we would get off the horses and explore the agricultural villages as we passed.

(there is a woman beneath this pile)

 (the houses all had beautiful paintings like these outside)

 (unlike the cities, the locals here were genuinely friendly and gave us an amazing welcome)

We eventually ended up at a stunning, and more importantly unpolluted, lake with a really picturesque palace on the side.

 (Looking at my skin tone in this photo it is unsurprising I get mistaken for an Indian on a daily basis)

 

That evening we all went to a restaurant to watch Octopussy (the Bond film set in Udaipur) and afterwards I boarded the overnight train to Jaipur.

Days 134, 135, 136 and 137: Indian Cooking School

Day 134:
Having explored New Delhi the day before, today it was time for a bit of Old Delhi with a visit to the massive Red Fort. Yet another example of Mughal splendour, the fort was filled with the traditional combination of moats, fountains and marble palaces. I entered the fort through the Lahore Gate which significantly now carries an Indian flag. During the fight for independence from the British this had been a nationalist aspiration! For me though the highlight was the museum section that contained newspaper extracts from the 1850s, which acted like snapshots of the British ex-pat community in Delhi all that time ago.

 (health and safety?)

The fort also is famous as it once housed the Peacock throne - a mammoth solid-gold and jewel-encrusted throne built at twice the cost as the Taj Mahal. The centre-piece of the chair was the Koh-i-noor diamond which currently forms a part of the British crown jewels. It has been calculated that if the throne still existed it would be worth more than one billion dollars!!! Unfortunately it was looted from India in 1739 and broken up.

Day 135
Today was a very lazy day and my greatest achievement was buying some new shorts (my jeans just are not suitable in the heat here). In the late afternoon I caught the overnight train to Udaipur. After the horrors of my previous lower class train today I made great efforts to secure myself a bed in one of the higher AC classes. This really paid off as my cabin contained a wealthy and well-educated Indian couple who were impossibly kind and charming and a trio of French travellers (two of whom were training to be chefs in Paris!). The Indian couple had a good laugh as the four of us Westerners started choking on the impossibly spicy set-meal we were provided with on the train. The man was even nice enough to buy me some milk.

Day 136
Udaipur, Udaipur, Udaipur. What can I say? I love Udaipur. Described by Colonel James Tod as India's most romantic city, Udaipur nestles the stunning Lake Pichola and is an oasis of tranquility and beauty in a country of hustle and hassle. The whole lakeside is lined with cupola-clad palaces and town-houses. Udaipur is also of great historical importance as the home of the mighty Mewar dynasty. The current Maharajah can trace his lineage all the way back to the year 600AD and his family were renowned for their defiant opposition to the Mughal empire and their love of independence.  Hell, the Mewars even built Lake Pichola itself, undertaking what was at the time the largest hydro-engineering project in the history of the world.

Oh and to continue the James Bond theme of my trip, Octopussy was filmed here! Thankfully though the strict rules of Indian modesty forbade me from whipping out my Daniel Craig swimming trunks.

 (the balcony at my amazing hostel)

What could be better for me to explore on my first day than the Mewar palace? Like a fairytale castle twinned with Gormenghast, this mammoth conglomeration of balconies, towers and cupolas is probably larger than Buckingham Palace and absolutely stole my aesthetic heart. After several hours spent wandering around its rooms (alas photography not allowed) I can honestly say that I preferred this to the Taj Mahal. While the Taj Mahal is undoubtedly beautiful, it remains a monument and an empty one at that as there is barely any interior. The Mewar palace though reeked of domesticity (indeed the Maharajahs carried on living there until the late 1970s). Walking around inside I was of course impressed by the opulent state rooms, but more interesting were the private rooms which expressed an understated homely elegance that I absolutely loved. I'd imagine a tour through Queen Elizabeth's bedroom would be equally fascinating.

For quite a while I thought I could hear bagpipes and was sure I was going crazy. However, following my ear I discovered the somewhat incongruous Indian-Scottish marching band of Udaipur.

Now another reason why I love Udaipur is because it is really easy to meet people here. More importantly, it is really easy to meet fellow English travellers here. I spent most of the day with a couple from Birmingham, then had dinner with two girls from London who, like me, had just finished their LPC law course and were about to start their training contract. Small world eh?

Day 137
After a morning spent catching up with home friends on Skype (a shout out to Dani here), I strolled down to the Jagdish Temple; an Indo-Aryan temple with simply amazing carvings lining its walls.

 

I have to admit though that the whole day was merely one long build-up for the much-anticipated evening Indian cooking class I had booked myself. The English couple I'd met the day before had raved about this lady called Shashi's cooking school and I had been looking forward to so much that I was actually counting down the minutes on my watch. Shashi hosts the 6-hour cooking class in her house and I was joined by three English people and one girl from Switzerland. Shashi began by telling us her life story. Born a Brahmin (high caste Hindu) into a poor family, she was married off at an early age. After having two children the man died, leaving Shashi in dire poverty. As a Brahmin she was not permitted to work in many of the jobs that could have been available to a widow (Brahmins are doctors and lawyers, not toilet cleaners), so she was forced covertly to offer her services as a clothes washer (all the time wary of being discovered and shunned by her community). After many years her son made friends with two Western tourists and invited them back to his house for dinner. They were so impressed with Shashi's cooking that the tourists persuaded her to open a cooking school and learn English. Now three years later Shashi runs two classes every day of the week, is listed in both Lonely Planet and Trip Adviser (where she is Udaipur's number one tourist attraction, above even the Maharajah's palace) and is comfortably well-off!

Shashi began by outlining the various dishes we would be cooking that evening and by explaining the main spices used in Indian cooking (turmeric, anise, chilli powder, coriander seed, cardamon, pepper, oregano and cumin). 

 

The recipes:

(1) Our first cooking lesson was on how to make Masala Chai (spiced Indian tea). A heady mixture of cardamon, pepper, ginger, basil and nutmeg was added to a pot of Assam leaves boiling in milk and strained into a glass. Most Masala Chais are overpoweringly spicy and not that pleasant, but this was absolutely delicious and moreish. 

(2) Next we made various types of Pakora (fried vegetable fritters). We infused some chickpea flour with red chilli, coriander powder, anise, oregano, salt, cinnamon, bay leaves, cloves, black cardamon and black pepper then added in some ground garlic and ginger and fresh corriander leaf. Adding some water this turned into a thick batter. We then dipped anything and everything into this batter and deep-fried it in some soybean oil. My personal favourite combinations were potato and onion, paneer (cheese) and cauliflour and pea. We also learned how to make a sweet variety using bananas and sugar.

 

To dip our pakoras in we made both a coriander and a mango chutney. The pakoras were so warm and fragrant while the chutneys were fresh and flavoursome, so unlike the sticky, MSG crap that we buy in jars back home. 

 

(3) Now the big one: masala (ie curry). Almost all curries follow the same basic recipe which involves frying some cumin and diced onion, then adding garlic, ginger, crushed onion and water. Onced browned, we tossed in some coriander, red chilli, turmeric, salt and more water. The room smelled so good at this point, I could not believe things could get better. But oh they did. We decided as a group that we wanted to make a (baby) aubergine and tomato curry and the sweet smell of the vegetables frying made us salivate with anticipation. What surprised me though was how different this curry tasted from the stuff we get in restaurants back home. It was much more refined and complicated in flavour as well as exhibiting many types of texture. A curry from an English restaurant is more like a bowl of grainy cement when compared with this rich, saucy beast. 

Shashi also explained how we could vary the recipe to make cauliflower, potato and tomato curry (aloo gobi), pea and potato curry (aloo mater), mixed vegetable curry (sabgi/shag), potato and tomato curry (aloo tamater), chicken curry, chickpea curry (chana masala), spinach and potato curry (aloo palak), spinach and cheese curry (palak paneer), lentil curry, butter masala and finally malai kofta (my favourite). My friends back in London better prepare themselves for having to eat all of these as I practice them over the next few weeks. 

 

(4) Next we made a vegetable palau, which is like a biryani, but with a higher proportion of vegetable to rice. We sliced some green chillis, peppers, cauliflowers, cabbages, shallots and tomatoes , frying them with some anise, chilli powder, coriander, salt, turmeric and garam marsala. We then added some chopped cashew nuts and sultanas as well as the rice. It was really helpful to have Shashi explain to us how to tell when rice is perfectly cooked. So simple a foodstuff, yet so often badly prepared! Alas too much green chilli was added and it turned out Shashi was the only one in the room that could actually eat it.

 

(5) Shashi then taught us how to make lassis (Indian yoghurt drinks), raita (a cooling yoghurt, garlic and cumin dip) and, most excitingly, our own paneer cheese! When I return to England I cannot wait to have another go at curdling some full fat milk with lemon juice, putting into a cheese cloth and pressing it down for 2 hours with a 5kg weight. It felt like an episode of The Good Life. We also made another type of cheese (called local cheese) which followed a similar recipe, but had added garlic and peppercorns.

 

(6) Now came the breads. We made a basic chapatti dough out of whole-wheat flour, salt and water, then marvelled at how this puffed out into almost a 3d sphere as we added it to a thick iron hotplate. 

(the puffed up chapatti beginning to flatten after leaving the hotplate on the right)

 

The same dough with a bit of added oil was then used to make various types of paranthas, which we stuffed with everything from potato and anise to coconut and ghee. 

The absolute highlight though was the naan making. Unlike the chapattis, the naan was made with white flour, yoghurt, sugar and baking powder. The cooking process though was similar and we spread these with an unbelievably delicious tomato paste we made from tomatoes, onions, garlic, anise, chilli powder, coriander, salt, garman masala and sugar. Surprisingly it tasted more Italian than Indian (mostly because we had only put a tiny bit of chilli in).

Finally at about 11pm we sat down to dinner in Shashi's lounge and feasted on our night's creations.

Along with the sweet paranthas, for desert we enjoyed some kala jamun (balls of condensed milk and flour, deep fried in ghee then drenched in sugar syrup). Very, very sweet! Shashi then gave us presents of bracelets and little elephant statues.