The Forest Jive

Kasol was waved goodbye with a hearty shrug of the pelvis.

We arrived in Manikeran, just a few kilometres along the winding mountain road. It was an utterly bewildering place. Green mountains host an incredibly fast flowing river and this temple town which intercepts a generous hot spring bubbling from the core. There is one temple that has a public hot bath for the boiling of rice and dal in cloth bags. Next door is a public bath where I got to hang out with some nice Indian guys who were good enough to bathe me. It was well homoerotic. Ooh.

We spent one night there, enjoying hot natural showers and thali and then we high-tailed it via various hitch-hiked lifts to Pulga. Pulga is a sweet little village a few kilometres in, just next to an awesome forest and waterfall. We planned to go straight up to the white mountains from there but the guesthouse was very cute and we met some good people - so we stayed five nights.

During which time I got a horrific bout of the shits which had me diving into the forest every five to sixty minutes to poo in their temporary toilet. The ground. Yes, they were just installing the toilets after we arrived. It's a new place.

It also became apparent that despite being one of the best guesthouses I've stayed in, it happened to host a relentless army of starved and proliferating fleas. Each evening I squirmed and fed my pores monkey spunk (tiger balm).

What else happened? Well, myself and Effie made host to some wonderful arguments. Heated, passionate words for hours and hours about something involving a massage.

Women do have some funny ideas. (Effie reads this egotistical brain guffaw. I'm risking my balls writing that. You don't know what they teach these Israelis in the army...)

Ha Ha Ha!

So, my mind is constantly wandering to England. England. "Ooh, I get to see...ooh I can't wait to see...."

And I have really pie in the sky plans to cover the length and breadth of the British Isles in the space of a month with an Israeli girl, getting by from singing songs to truck drivers and making eye contact with impressionable-looking girls in the street.

Now I must prepare my stomach for the the evening's football entertainment by eating. Oui oui!