Why some places resonate more than others...

Best thing about India: prescription medicines (without a prescription) for just a couple of pence!     Best thing about Goa: endless beaches and warm sea     New favourite treat: chick-pea flour, honey & cardamon balls     What I am loving: open-air yoga surrounded by nature     What I am over: power cuts and any form of dal     What I am missing: friendship

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD

POST 15: 7th May 2017, Goa, India. 

In my 20s, just before I went to India for the first time, I was told by an old-hand that it was impossible to visit without being changed in some way. (Or kissed by a prince). They were right on both accounts. India - the chaos, the colour, the noise and its people - activated what was lying dormant inside. (The kiss was a bonus). A friend posited more recently that India works you. It massages and manipulates your soul so that you emerge the other end a more spiritually-condensed version of yourself. I think this is also true. Indeed, it's probably why I feel uncomfortable.

Our first three weeks in southern India were jam-packed with incredible sights, novel experiences, exotic tastes and warm people. And despite being tourists, we felt very much at home. But oddly, the opposite now seems to be the case: we are no longer tourists but don't feel any more settled. In fact, I feel quite isolated. Firstly, because Goans seem a lot more guarded than other southern Indians - no spontaneous smiles here - and secondly, because despite living amongst a welcoming but close-knit group of expats - they refer to South Goa as a village - we are naturally (as six-week drop-ins), viewed as being on the outside. And I am jealous. I want to be on the inside! After 8 months on the road with no social network apart from my own family, I am starting to crave the nurturing that friendships provide.

Photo caption: just a few of our local beaches

Feeling ill at ease is also a result of the draining emotional transition I am forced to make every time we settle in one place. Because 'exploring' and 'living' require two very different kinds of psyche: during the former, I inevitably put up an invisible barrier between my little inner circle and the rest of the world. As the responsible adult, I create a sort of a safety bubble which allows us to be open but not too open, to relax but not to let go completely. We become totally self-sufficient emotionally: we must be our own entertainment and support system. Which isn't easy. So I am proud of how, when travelling, I seem to take hardships in my stride. In fact, I even try my best to make every new place we stay in feel cosy, neat, familiar and safe, even if it's for just one night. Low points endured heroically include cracked sinks held together (badly) with masking tape; holes in walls; cockroaches, ants and scorpions in our rooms; monkeys and snakes outside them; nowhere to unpack or put any of our stuff; interrupted sleep (howling dogs, trains, power cuts and parties); 41 degree heat with no air-con, as well as dirt and dust just about everywhere.

Photo caption: cows are absolutely everywhere (top left); my open-air yoga shala (top right); the kids in front of their new school (bottom left); boho-chic retail (bottom right)

In a way, travelling is easy - you are free to do whatever you want to do, whenever you want to do it. Chores are outsourced (laundry, cooking, cleaning) and there is the constant thrill of being 'entertained'. But the flip side is that this also demands a continually high input of adrenaline, and requires endless planning ahead and sorting out of logistics. This is even more the case if you have three small children under 7 that still need chaperoning in every physical, emotional and mental way possible. So forget any head space of your own: your thoughts, feelings and needs get pushed to the bottom of the pile. They are repressed until further notice. There is no time or room to give them the attention they deserve. And this has repercussions.

Photo caption: Goa is actually much greener than I had imagined. And it's not even rainy season yet! 

'Living' somewhere on the other hand, demands a different approach. It may seem like the easier option, when you're jaded and exhausted by being on the road, but it can actually be even more stressful. There are just as many logistics to sort out – where to live? how to school the kids? how to get about? where to find provisions? And the responsibility that comes with each decision is even greater, because the consequences are long-term rather than temporary. When we decide to settle in one place, my tough exterior slowly melts and I suddenly remember that I am actually a princess! I realise that I was only able to put up with the hardships because there was the prospect of comfort in sight and now I absolutely must be surrounded by a degree of beauty in order to feel calm, happy and secure. Plus those emotional needs I shelved earlier finally come up to the surface for air. It can feel like a lot to deal with all at once.

This trip, we have explored three countries (Myanmar, Laos and India) and lived in four (Greece, Thailand, Bali and India) and each time, the transition from one to the other has left me feeling frustrated, anxious and confused. Frustrated because I naively expect some kind of respite as soon as we stop moving (which always takes longer than I would like), anxiety over whether we chose the right place to stay (what if we got it wrong? should we find elsewhere? how long do we give this place before deciding?) and then confusion because I am forced to sit - powerless - in the unknown. (Which, as an organising, controlling, perfectionist Virgo, is tough).

Photo caption: Goan architecture (top and bottom left); our temple house (bottom right)

Being abroad is a bit like being inside a snow globe: when you are on the road, the snow gets all stirred up and when you stop in one place, it takes time for it to settle. And the most important thing I need to remember, is that until it does, it is as though I am wearing blinkers. It is impossible to see properly nor appreciate what is unique and special in the new.

The problem is, I did forget this fourth time round and was temporarily blinded when we arrived by what Goa was not: unlike Thailand and Bali's relatively good-value luxury villas, rental stock here is limited and basic; private transport for hire is non-existent, shabby or unreliable (cars are decrepid and the tyre on our first scooter burst whilst driving to the garage to fix a puncture on our second) and supermarkets are grotty and basic. It has taken a while to get used to this.

Photo caption: Saturday is market day when the streets are flooded with lots of fresh fish and fruit and veg (top); the school-run doesn't get much better than this (bottom)

But now that we have been here for 3 weeks, I am finally beginning to see the beauty inherent in this particular corner of the world: the school the children are in is small, friendly and welcoming; the beaches nearby are deserted, clean and the water is warm; I have re-instated my regular yoga practise and once again, I have time to myself to meditate and process things. Hurrah!

Unfortunately however, there is one thing that the adjustment period won't change. We arrived in off-season. Which is something I was aware of but seriously underestimated. I thought it meant low season - less tourists, a bit of daily rain and cheaper prices. I was wrong. Actually, it means that everyone leaves (locals and expats) and that everything closes. The school is dwindling in size by the day; most of the beach restaurants and cafes have already shut; yoga classes are winding up and local stores are disappearing alongside the diminishing tourist dollar. Then there is the weather: May is the hottest and most humid month of the year (oops) and June brings monsoon. Not just a daily rainstorm that clears the air but a torrential onslaught that tears down all impermanent structures and makes your clothes to go mouldy. Because this is India after all. And everything is extreme here.

Photo caption: drying chillies (top left); our local beach shack restaurant (top right): turtle hatchery (bottom left); colourful Goan houses (bottom right)

So, whilst we originally thought we would stay until the first week of July, we have decided to move on earlier. Which is fine. Because even though I can now see the attractions of Goa and I appreciate its own, special charm, I don't think it truly resonates with me. Probably because it is too much like me.

Whereas Ubud is supposed to be governed by feminine shakti energy, which felt nurturing, supportive and loving, Goa is supposed to be ruled by masculine shiva consciousness which is about activating the feminine energy - giving it direction, form and content - and about getting things done. And I don't need any more pushing. I am just learning to allow. My still dominant masculine energy wants to receive and surrender, to be softened and not tamed. So my friend was right: India does work you, just not in the way I need right now...

To see where we are on a map, click here!

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Flying bananas, dancing transvestites and a holy elephant - welcome to southern India!

Highlight of Southern India: Hampi     Best thing about Kerala/Tamil Nadu: the warmth of the people     Biggest frustration: not being able to order plainly cooked food     Biggest bugbear: the ineffectiveness of local laundry services – the kids are looking more and more like street children     New skill acquired: eating very spicy food     Family 'broken sunglasses' tally: 12     Food I am now sick of: basmati rice     Activity I miss the most: going for a run

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD

POST 14: 27th April 2017, Goa, India.  

So after four months of a gorgeously tropical but nonetheless predictable daily routine in Bali, we got back on the adventure train, renewed and 're-birthed' (in true Ubud fashion), and flew to Kochi in Kerala. With nothing but a four-night booking in a homestay and no idea where to go next, we prepped ourselves for a culture shock.

Photo caption: Asian fruit stalls are always so much nicer to look at than the ones at home (top left); street vendors on the sea-front promenade. Selling food. Of course (top right); chilling out in the cool, breezy park (bottom left); Kochi's sea-front promenade (bottom right). 

I have travelled to India five times in my youth (to Delhi, Ranthambore, Jodhpur and Jaipur in the north, as well as to Mumbai and Hyderabad in the middle) but never to its southern states. And during each of these trips I enjoyed the cosseting that comes with being either a wedding guest or an ambassador for a global brand (the uber-luxurious Amanresorts or ABN AMRO bank). So visiting again almost exactly nine years later to the day, this time with three kids under seven in tow and no security blanket to ease our potential pain, made me pretty apprehensive.

Photo caption: living in India in Victorian times wasn't easy despite what we might think. A quick visit to the largest church in Ooty confirmed this with lots of plaques for women and men in their 20s and early 30s who had died of fever. This particular lady had already had 7 children by the time she was 30. Ouch (top left); always waiting for food (top right); buffalo road block (bottom left); personalised trucks (bottom right).

And yet the first thing that struck us about Keralan life was just how easy it was. Everyone spoke English! Signs were readable! Streets and restaurants were clean and tidy! And, to the kids’ delight, there was finally a whole range of breads on offer instead of just the usual rice suspects. Here, unlike Bali, there were no stray animals to be wary of nor beggars to hound us. The regional government seems to run a very tight ship: no-one has more than two children (as advised), there is no prostitution, all strays are sterilised and the population is 100% educated (hence the lack of begging).

Kochi was a haven of quiet and calm compared to a typical north Indian city - almost Mediterranean in its outlook. Shopkeepers were super honest and the locals went out of their way to make sure we were happy. For example, when going ‘off menu’ and trying to order some plain, ‘green’ vegetables instead of the usual potato, carrot and cauliflower mix, instead of telling me that this wasn't available, the enterprising young waiter hopped on his scooter and went to buy me some from the local market. On his return, he then explained to his chef how to make them into a Thai 'green' curry. By the time I had realised how lost in translation my request had become, I was too embarrassed to say anything. It was delicious!

Photo caption: Jew town - which surrounds the oldest active synagogue in the Commonwealth (top left & bottom right); excerpts from a book - I never did find out which but I did get quite hooked - that are found on walls dotted all around Kochi - I never did find out why (top right); incense shop (bottom left).

So having left India until the last leg of our trip because I was worried it would be too much of a culture and hygiene shock for the kids any time before then, Southern India in fact turned out to be one of the easiest places to travel around. Hiring a driver to take us (and our mountain of luggage) from Kochi to our final destination in Goa definitely helped. But even our tentative foray into public transport was made memorable by the welcoming nature of our fellow train passengers, their generosity with their food and the spontaneous entertainment provided by our female conductor who kept bursting into song.

Photo caption: Alleppey backwater cruise: Captain Raphael (top left); local houses (top right & bottom left); a typical Keralan house boat (bottom right).

After three days spent exploring Kochi and one sailing the backwaters of Alleppey (slightly underwhelming), we set off on a road trip towards Goa. It took 15 days, with stops in the hill station of Udhagamandalamhere (for some countryside), Mysore (for some city) and Hampi (for some temples).

Check out our progress here!

India is LARGE and most roads are either in bad condition, mere dust tracks or too narrow to drive along at a decent speed. Thus getting from one place to another usually took at least 8 hours of pure misbehaving torture from the kids and lots of screaming from us. So by the time we got to Goa, our proud driver, Greesh (who announced that driving for 16 hours straight is mere peanuts for a Keralan), was well and truly initiated into the worst aspects of our family dynamic. Thankfully, he seemed to take it in his stride. (Indians are pretty relaxed).

Photo caption: long distance driving with kids sorely tests your patience. Having exhausted all possible entertainment options at this stage, I am pictured here (above bottom) resorting to a family air-guitar competition. We would try to leave around 8.30 in the morning to get to our next destination at around 6pm. Our one allocated pit-stop would be at a road side cafe (example above top) which, despite looking very grotty from the outside, usually produced amazing food. We even inadvertently once ate a plate of crudites (more lost-in-translation ordering) with no adverse effects. Word of advice: always travel with your own bar of soap (some restaurants have water but not all have soap) and never look at where they wash up. This alone will make you ill.

Udhagamandalamhere was our first proper stop after a very picturesque but uncomfortable journey on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway. Not surprisingly, this town is more popularly known as Ooty, or 'Snooty Ooty', after the colonials that used to summer here. We stayed in the perfect, period, Rudyard Kipling-esque Lymond House with only three bedrooms, a lounge with a working fireplace and to complete the picture, a beautiful vintage car parked out front.

Photo caption: Lymond house in Ooty (top & bottom left); me wearing all of my warmest clothes at once when temperatures dropped to 9 degrees inside at night (bottom right). Never can I be accused of showing only my best sides.  

But at a whopping 2,300 metres above sea level, Ooty’s description as a 'hill station' is slightly misleading and the fireplace was put to good daily use when temperatures dropped to a chilly 9 degrees in the evening. (To put this into context, the Alpine ski resort of Meribel is located at only 1,400m asl and the highest inhabited town in the Alps is at 2,100m.) The altitude meant we got seriously chapped lips and two days of splitting headaches but on the plus side, I hardly saw the kids when we were in the hotel as they were so happy to have a huge wrap-around garden and swing to themselves in which they could play all day in less than scorching temperatures for once.

Photo caption: Scenes from our five hour journey on the 'toy train' from Mettupalayam to Ooty. Our carriage for 6 which took 11 of us (top left); a hilltop train station (top right); mountain vistas (bottom left); pee break (bottom right).

Here, we continued to encounter warm, friendly and accommodating people. One in particular went the extra mile by arranging the return of Xanthe’s beloved toy rabbit (without whom she has never slept), who had been left a two-hour drive away in our former hotel. It still makes me smile to think of the solo adventure he must have undertaken to be reunited with us - a trip to the bus station from the hotel, a two-hour plus ride on the bus to Ooty (accompanied by whom?) and then a lift from the station up to the hotel. And the cost of his return by “courier escort” which took less than half a day to get to us? A whopping 60p!

Photo caption: the queue at Ooty station when we arrived (top left); the locomotive was at the back of the train rather than at the front and pushed the carriages up the mountain (top right); lush vistas of verdant tea plantations and mountain springs (bottom left); SQUASHED! (bottom right). 

In contrast, I didn’t love our self-catering 'coconut grove' accommodation in Mysore. Never trust a venue on Airbnb that doesn’t show a picture of the bedroom (they have added them since). The city itself however was definitely as grand as it is hyped to be: huge, wide boulevards, immense public office buildings and large, leafy town squares. I loved the almost fairy-tale architectural blend of colonial Victorian and Mugal styles in which these imposing public buildings were built. The jewel(s) in the crown were the former maharaja’s palace and the separate palace (now a luxury hotel) he had built exclusively for his guests, replete with essential helipad. (Because one soon finds that just the one palace simply isn’t roomy enough to accommodate one’s guests.)

Photo caption: Mysore's Devaraja market - the stalls extend far beyond those inside the building (top left); Mysore Palace (top right); the view from the top of Chamundi Hill, 1001 steps high! (bottom left); some of the wares on offer in Devaraja market (bottom right)

As is so often the case, the highlights of our stay were not so much the sights but the experiences we had whilst there: an early taste of monsoon season with an evening rain storm of such epic, scary proportions that it definitely would have been described as a hurricane in the UK (another reason not to stay in amongst a coconut grove); receiving a family blessing at the Chamundeshwari temple (Chamunda - the "fearsome aspect of the Divine Mother" - has been the patron goddess of the city of Mysore ever since she slayed the demon that was threatening its destruction); buying oils from a 12 year old wheeler-and-dealer at the incredible Devaraja market; and my Ayurvedic massage which has to be the most unusual treatment I have ever received.

Photo caption: having received a red bindi from inside the temple (symbolising divine sight), we each received a physical blessing from the goddess Chamunda in the form of a wrist band, tied several times in an intricate fashion as the holy man recited a mantra (top left); a cow on a busy Mysore street (top right); drinking fresh sugar cane juice (bottom left); buying essential oils - geranium and jasmine - inside Devaraja market (bottom right)

It started innocuously enough with a Hindu prayer, after which came a foot scrub administered by one masseuse, during which warm oil was poured into my ears to clean them and then all over my hair and scalp to moisturise them, by another. They then joined forces to administer a vigorous, four-handed “synchronised” (their speciality) massage, which covered very nearly every single inch of my body. (The Indians may seem prudish in daily life but when it comes to wellness, not at all.) It ended with a steam in a Victorian-looking wooden contraption into which you had to climb in order to sit on what looked like a church pew. The lid of this box then closed around your neck to leave only your head exposed whilst you were slowly cooked. I had to ask them to turn it down twice. Afterwards, I was given two mystery tablets to take with my supper in order to “cleanse” my gut (where the toxins amalgamate after an Ayurvedic treatment).

Photo caption: some of Hampi's amazing monuments including a stone chariot (bottom left). 

I was also blown away, in a different way, by our final destination of Hampi. Not knowing beforehand that it was a UNESCO World Heritage Site, nor anything else about it for that matter, we were amazed to find that it is only a tiny village located actually in amongst the ruins themselves.

The site is remarkable not only because most of its historic buildings are so well-restored but also because of the unusual geographical landscape in which it is located: towering temples and majestic palaces rise up out of a palm tree-dotted, desert-like terrain that is broken up by piles of vast boulders, seemingly strewn in every direction. And yet unlike so many other globally-renowned architectural sites, this one was almost deserted! All of which made exploring so magical – you could really feel the ancient energy of the place, despite the daily, 41-degree heat.

Photo caption: temple detail (top left); a pregnant monkey stealing the contents of our bin - I'd filled it with rotten figs: with no fridge nor air con and 41 degree heat, none of our fruit collection survived. She had a feast (top right); river view - where Lakshmi the elephant took her daily morning bath - we never did manage to catch her on time (bottom left); Hampi temple (bottom right)  

Even more amazing was the fact that a two-day, Hindu festival was planned during our stay. We had no idea what this would entail but as it coincided this year with the full moon, it drew hoards of Indian pilgrims from villages far and wide, who either walked for miles carrying their luggage on their head or came by tractor load to witness it. And just as their ancestors would have done before them many centuries ago, they set up temporary homes in, on and under the temples, using them to hang their washing on, to set up shop in or to aid in the display of their wares.

Photo caption: Hampi temple (top left); joining the throngs of pilgrims (top right); bathing in the river to cleanse before the full moon/festival (bottom left); locals squatting in the temples (bottom right).

Indeed, from one day to the next, a little auxiliary town seemed to spring up out of nowhere to accommodate the visitors: shops selling all sorts of clothes, toys, religious paraphernalia, fruit and of course, Indian sweets. There were skills on offer too: hair shavers (it is auspicious to shave your head before being cleansed in the river prior to the festival), shoe shiners, pop-up eateries and even a lone entrepreneur with his mobile, bright blue set of bathroom scales.

As in Myanmar, we discovered that being white with three small kids - two of which are blonde - made us just as much a draw as the festivities themselves. I was constantly being asked if all three were mine (?) and we were never without our little band of followers. These would either just stare at us or try to touch one of the children - I think they thought it brought good luck. Given the number of ‘selfies’ we posed for, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the kids are the new Asian Facebook sensation.

Photo caption: Lakshmi the elephant dispensing blessings in the crowd (top left); dancing transvestites accompanied by male drummers and male dancers carrying huge metal poles covered in bells which they threw up and down - heavy duty work! (top right); the crowds waiting for the festival to start - every available roof top was used - even if it was thousands of years old! (bottom left); the chariot moving towards and past us to great cheering (bottom right)

Indians do not do things by halves and the festival itself was a proper extravaganza! The spectacle included a towering, decorated, wooden chariot - the centrepiece and focus of the ceremony as it was dragged by hand from one end of the town to the other - a holy elephant collecting cash and dispensing blessings as it wandered amongst the crowd, flying bananas tied up with bougainvillea (the auspicious aim was to throw them actually into the moving chariot), dancing transvestites, flaming torches, hypnotic drumming and an ecstatic, cheering crowd of thousands.

Photo caption: one of the "golam" drawn in rice flour powder found in front of villager's houses on the festival day. The floor underneath has been died green with cow dung paste, prized for its anti-bacterial and mood-enhancing properties! (top left); enjoying street food (top right); Hampi temple (bottom left); sweetie heaven! (bottom right)

And all this merry making without a drop of alcohol (it is banned in Hampi for religious reasons) or any other form of drug. Which actually made a big difference to the overall vibe. Despite having three small kids and constantly being surrounded by huge crowds, I never once felt unsafe. Indeed, I felt the safest and most welcome I have ever felt at a festival! Everyone was there to have a good time, and I must have heard the phrase "this is true Indian culture" from those around me at least 5 times. Since we were off to Goa the next day to start the next 12 week chapter of our stay in this incredible country, I took this as a good sign...

To see where we are on a map, click here!

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Temples, pagodas and stupas...

urmese vocabulary: 6 words    Tummy bugs: 1      Fevers: 3     Power cuts: 4     Personal items misplaced: 5     Favourite Burmese dishes: fried watercress & eggplant curry     Treats: Dermalogica facial & Burmese reflexology (so painful)      Thing I am most missing: my pillow

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD

POST 5: 10th October 2016, Lake Inle, Myanmar. 

Temples, pagodas and stupas - do you know the difference? I didn't, but I sure do now! Because this is what Myanamar does. On a GRAND scale. So if you are being diligent little tourists (as we have been) it is quite easy to get temple fatigue. Almost everywhere you look there is one of them: either golden, stone or made of bricks, adorned or plain, small or immense, shiny and pristine or slowly being reclaimed by vegetation.

This is is because religion is a part of life in Burma and every boy spends at least one month as a novice in a monastery and most spend up to a year there. These provide children with an education, and also allow the religious leaders to keep an eye out for the next (fifth) incarnation of Buddha, who is expected soon. Moreover, monasteries provide the country with a degree of political stability because there are too many of them for the government to ignore. In return, the Burmese donate from between 10 to 30% of their annual income to the monks and nuns, who rely entirely upon this.

As well as being the second most philanthropic race in the world, the Burmese have to be my all-time favourite SE Asian people. They are so smiley, warm, honest and kind. They made our arrival at our homestay in Yangon a highlight because to say that they like children would be a major understatement. They virtually abducted ours every time we got home from sight-seeing!

We saw the same display of affection from the gorgeous orphans we visited in Bago. A total of 36 live at Grace Home for the Needy, many as a result of the cyclone that devastated much of the southern part of the country in 1996. Others are here because the region they were born in is too remote to offer any form of education to its population, and some were ‘rescued’ from rubbish dumps or left parent-less through abandonment, childbirth or social circumstances. Despite these tragic starts in life, they all seemed remarkably self-assured and happy: they played together as a family would - the elder members keeping a watchful eye on the youngest and there was lots of teasing and laughing.

Photo caption: Bago snake temple (top left) with its 6 metre, 128 year old python which is said to be the reincarnation of a famous monk (top right); one can receive family blessings of health and abundance by donating money to the snake keeper who says a prayer based on the day of the week you were born (the Burmese follow this special astrology very carefully). Xanthe summed it up nicely by saying "so you give the snake money and he gives you money back?" Yes. Exactly. Hopefully more than you gave him! Busy water thoroughfares coming in from Lake Inle to its surrounding villages (bottom)

What was really impressive was the responsibility with which each child undertook their specific duties. These were age-dependent and ranged from twice-daily sweeping of the entire compound, wiping clean the dining room tables, washing up the dishes, hand-washing of all the laundry and cooking the mountains of rice they get through each day. Shaving each other’s hair with a razor blade was a task reserved for the older children, and whilst not something any child relished, it was compulsory for all to keep lice at bay (until the age of 13 when they are considered old enough to look after themselves).

Photo caption: the orphans sitting down to sing their prayers before supper (top left); cooking rice over an open fire (top right); play time (bottom left); hair shave time for 7 year old Jennie (bottom right)

We are now in Inle Lake, a 20km-long but only 5m deep expanse of water surrounded by distant, forest-covered mountains. At 900 metres above sea level, it is Myanmar's first UNESCO biosphere reserve and is home to the Intha tribe. (The government recognise 135 distinct groups in total, which are placed under eight categories of 'major national ethnic races'. There are still ethnic tensions in this country and constant skirmishes along the border with Thailand mean that this area, along with other 'sensitive' hot spots are not open to tourists).

The Intha fishing folk are renowned for the way in which they row using just one foot, the other used to balance on their long punt-like boats, whilst using their two free hands to manoeuvre their fishing line or net. Luckily our visit coincided with the Phaung-Daw U festivities, during which 5 golden Buddhas are transported from one lakeside village to another. This seems to have attracted a larger cross-section of ethnic groups than we have seen before, which are recognisable, amongst other things by the different ways in which they wear and tie their head scarves.

Photo caption: different ethnic head-dress styles, for example: tied at the front with two triangular ‘ears’ on each side; tied at the front with the flaps resting on the head or tied at the back.

In some, the Buddhas reside overnight, in others, less than a day. In Nyaungshwe, where we are staying, the symbolic golden stones remained for a total of three nights. They arrived on a float which was slowly hauled past us by hundreds of locals jostling to hold the rope, whilst spectators lined the streets laden with offerings such as sweets, fruits and drinks. Behind the float snaked an endless procession of aubergine-clad monks followed by hoards of schoolchildren chanting and praying.

Photo caption: jostling to touch the rope (top left); monks following on behind (top right); the majestic, golden barge (bottom left); young men rowing with their feet (bottom right)

Their exit by water was even more impressive as the huge, golden barge taking the form of the Karaweik (the mythological Burmese bird with its large beak and carved feathers) was dragged along by the foot-power of thousands of young men. Each used one foot to row to the steady rhythm of cymbals and drums and one to steady themselves on their long, dug-out canoes. With 80 or so men on each side of every boat and hundreds of these joined together by a thick rope, it was a very impressive site as they glided by, majestically bound for their new temporary home.

Lake Inle is famed for its natural beauty, agreeable climate (its cooler, less humid days were a hit with the colonial British) and for the bamboo-plaited houses that perch on stilts around its periphery. Many of its villages specialise in particular skills: cigar-rolling, silk and lotus root-weaving, paper umbrella-making or silver work, and we visited these in a traditional, dug-out canoe. Despite feeling a little forced into buying something afterwards, I am very chuffed with my Inthe-style, woven scarf which, as any self-respecting fashionista will already know, featured heavily in one of Isabel Marant’s latest collections (you heard it here first).

Photo caption: the laborious process of extracting the lotus thread from the plant - see the lotus plant, the thread above and a piece of woven material above that (top left); a floating garden with its shed (top right); an elaborately-carved lake house on stilts (bottom left); cruising up the backwaters (bottom right) 

Another draw to Inle, is its aquatic allotments. These seem to sprout directly out of the water but are actually rooted in a thick mat of grasses, reeds and algae which occur naturally in the many small rivers which lead onto the lake. Farmers cut and drag them into it, adding soil to create a floating garden.

Whilst it has been nice to spend some time on the water as opposed to just gazing at it (one of the attractions of Yangon is its many lakes), there is still something I don’t like about this area. Perhaps it is because it feels so much like a tourist hot-spot with its massages, milkshakes, wine, pancakes and pizzas. On the upside, this has meant that the kids have been able to eat more than just rice, eggs, chips, fruit juice and bananas, but on the downside, there is something very inauthentic about the feel of the place.

Photo caption: insects are on the large side here (top left); the kids with their lotus flower garlands after the Lake Inle procession (top right); alfresco breakfast (bottom left); causing a stir (bottom right)

Perhaps we are just missing our former super-star status. Because in Yangon and Bago, we were very much in the minority and the kids in particular were constantly having their heads patted, chins stroked, cheeks squeezed or arms pulled by the locals, as though touching them would bring good luck. A photo with one or both of them was a particular draw and they even stopped monks in their tracks. This seems ironic given that the guidebook says that both touching someone’s head as well as taking photos without permission is considered rude. Obviously not when it is the locals doing it!

 To see where we are on a map, click here!

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Magnificent Myanmar

3 SMALL KIDS, 2 CRAZY ADULTS, 1 YEAR TO TRAVEL THE WORLD POST 5: 7th October 2016, Bago, Myanmar.  

We are now six weeks into our travel adventure. So what have been our greatest challenges so far? Firstly, trying to avoid losing any more stuff. Our latest loss was our guidebook which was not ideal given there is barely enough internet to find anything online but luckily we got hold of Le Routard instead. Whilst it’s a bit of a pain being the only who can translate it, the French are arguably the superior nation in terms of pickiness over cuisine, so it has been a nice change to frequent restaurants recommended by them and not to be surrounded by the usual Lonely-Planet crew.

Photo caption: sitting Buddha (top left); one of the large temple compounds (top right); an Indian Jones-style complex (bottom left); reclining Buddha (bottom right)

Secondly, I've been desperately trying to instill a sense of hygiene (or rather a fear of lack of hygiene) into the children which is an issue when most restaurants don't offer anywhere to wash your hands, let alone soap. I therefore carry around with me at all times a portable mini pharmacy, oodles of sanitising gel, a soap and antiseptic wipes. Despite my remonstrations, they still love to put their hands in their mouth at any occasion and I have caught them rubbing their mouths and even licking surfaces that are at the right height. Another stumbling block has been the hole-in-the-ground loos. These have taken the kids a while to get used to as they are often very slippy (which means keeping your balance is even harder) and 'flushing' them by hand with a one-handled bucket is an art. Thankfully, they are actually less of a potential germ trap than ‘foreigner loos’ because the kids are less likely to touch things during their visit.

This is all outweighed by the pleasure of being back in South-East Asia: the noises (scooters with up to 6 people riding on one tiny seat, cackling diesel tractor engines tacked onto tuk tuks belching out black fumes); the unusual spice combinations; Asian vegetables; the constant heat; the rainbow-coloured tropical fruits; the elegant traditional costume; the east-meets-west housing;  the lush vegetation; the street markets; the ubiquitous stray and domestic animals (pigs, horses, goats, cows, hens and cats) living cheek by jowl with their human neighbours; the crazy traffic; the bustling markets selling everything from ironmongery to clothes, to dried and (still live) fish to jewellery (the smell of a market is quite something) and the tiny shops found every 5 metres selling strings of individual sachets of creams and shampoos, one plaster and one battery – just enough to supply a micro economy.

Photo caption: street food and street markets

The only thing that bothers me is the apparent lack of respect for the environment. If it seemed bad on Ikaria, here it is colossal. Not one second is wasted on pondering what to do with an empty bottle of water, it is merely thrown out of a window into the roadside vegetation or dropped onto the pavement; villagers think nothing of living right by (and sometimes literally on top of) pools or mounds of rotting debris dotted with hungry pigs and dogs; there are heaps of non-biodegradable plastics clogging up streams, and even markets selling fresh meat, fruit and fish are located right next door to these putrid piles of waste (indeed it is probably created by its stall-keepers). Sadly, I’m not sure it will ever change – there are too many other bigger issues to tackle first (poverty, the rich/poor divide, opium production – Myanmar is the second highest global producer – and lack of family planning, to name but a few) so you just have to accept it as part of life and make sure you at least do your bit.

Photo caption: rotting waste (top left); tuk tuk (top right); wearing the ubiquitous, unisex, Burmese sunscreen which is also make-up (bottom left); a Burmese feast (bottom right)

Despite this, what has struck me the most since arriving is not how different we are, but how similar. The kids here all love eating sweets, playing tag and watching TV, the men talk about football and the women sit and gossip together and all are exasperated after having had their kids forced on them for the school holidays. Which makes me so pleased we didn’t pre-arrange our visit with a tour company out of a fear of the unknown because travelling couldn't have been easier! We have been going where we fancy when we fancy and relying on the expertise of our hotel reception to book transport to our next destination. Taxis or motorbike-powered tuktuks are used to visit local sights and we are doing without guides (and more recently guidebooks), preferring instead to drink in the energy and feel of a place rather than take loads of facts on board during the visit only for them to evaporate a couple of hours later. Apparently it's also the correct thing to do, as it means our relative wealth is distributed more evenly on the ground rather funnelled into just a handful of (mainly western) companies.

Photo caption: a street carnival (top left); street scene with temples and monks (top right); novice monks posing for a photo (bottom left); domestic animals wandering the streets for food (bottom right)

Budget-wise, we are on track so far which is a bonus given how relatively expensive Myanmar is. Hotel rooms are around 40US$ each, which is much more than you would pay in a neighbouring country for the same quality, and there are entrance fees for tourists to all the major religious sites. Food however is very good-value (our average spend for one meal is about £7) and it really is delicious! That said, it has been hard to find outlets that serve proper Burmese fare as opposed to Chinese dishes. This is apparently because the former requires the use of a lot of different spices and takes a long time to prepare.

As a result, we have only eaten truly authentically twice – once in a restaurant picked by our driver in Yangon for the day, and once in the home of the founder of the orphanage we visited in Bago. Highlights are: a fermented bean, pomelo, fish sauce, peanut and chilli pickle; another pickle of sour, fermented green tea leaves; smashed butter beans topped with crispy fried onion; sweetcorn puree; a delicate herb soup which is taken alongside a meal; a caramel-flavoured fudge made from the sap of a palm tree and eggplant curry (made with tomato, garlic, ginger and marsala). What is unusual for Asia, is that there is no soy sauce. Instead you get fish sauce with raw garlic and hot green chilli marinating in it. There is also only a sparse use of coconut milk here. This is reserved for the dried-fish-based curry only, which is their national breakfast dish. Despite my love of Asia, I have not yet felt local enough to try first thing in the morning.

Photo caption: playing with the locals in the park (top left); our home from home in Yangon (top right); street scenes in the capital (bottom)

Are we missing home at all after six weeks on the road? Yes, a little. I miss quiet, undisturbed time to myself; not living out of a backpack; eating the food I really want to eat when I fancy it; immersing myself in nature and my yoga practise. I’ve even thought wistfully about wearing skinny jeans and boots...

Hopefully we will get some more ‘me-time’ and the children will enjoy more of a regular structure to their days when we are able to enroll them in school. Because it feels like we all need a bit of a break. Staying three nights somewhere and packing each of the days in between with sightseeing feels too fast. Five nights is more manageable. But travelling for a year means that our accommodation is in the budget category and this makes chilling out so much harder with no private outdoor space available or pool. So our next destination needs to be a beach one. It's time for some rest and recuperation (and a bit of homeschooling of course)...

Photo caption: another street, another golden temple (top left); sarong stall (top right); praying with the locals in the most auspicious spot of the temple (bottom left); what is left of a colonial past (bottom right)

To see where we are on a map, click here!

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