3 months in India and Nepal followed by 6 months from Hong Kong to Glasgow along the Silk Road and route of the Orient Express. Passing through China, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Iran, Syria, Turkey, Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Austria, Germany, France and the United Kingdom.

So what is a ‘Dolly bird’ (Glaswegian term for a lady that never steps out without being fully made up and kitted out, usually a little over the top...) with a limited practical capsule wardrobe and 9 months on the road to do? Many of my good friends were visibly shaken at the thought, understandably doubting my ability to rise to the challenge. My entire beloved wardrobe had been packed up and carted off to climate controlled storage, I was left standing beside a humble back pack containing nothing but the bare minimum for sartorial survival.

A mere few days into our decompression in Fort Kochi, I realised I was already tiring of my practical, yet dull attire. Looking around at the local tourist trap emporiums I could see little more than the standard gear adopted by many a hippy westerner, sporting dreadlocks and in need of a wash. Recalling the words of one style sage as we discussed my impending departure from daily fashion fixes “Darling, you don’t have to go to the dogs completely...you can always buy yourself a pretty skirt and a sparkly pair of sandals”, I summoned up the strength to wade through the plethora of tourist tat, and find something suitably stylish.

During one of our initial recces to Jew Town, a chilled slightly more sophisticated tourist trap, I happened to spot a twinkle of hope in the form of an antique Sari shop. The Saris were hung tantalizingly within my reach and they beckoned me in with a wave in the warm summer wind. Sadly we were at our limit for shopping that day, we were suffering wildly from a case of ‘post-purchase-guilt’ after having blown not an insubstantial sum on a very beautiful carpet. I however made a mental note to return and peruse said Saris at my leisure. And return I did. Once Rich was ensconced in the relative safety of a book shop, I went, well...a little nuts. That said they were a snip and quite irresistible. The helpful proprietor did show me how to wrap and wear a Sari, however I decided against this option, feeling it would be a little like a tourist visiting Scotland assuming they could pull off a kilt.

Armed with yards of textile history, I headed back to our ‘Home-stay’ to seek the advice of our landlady, Usha. She recommended her personal seamstress and reminded me to mention her referral to secure both a speedy service and fair price. Off I trotted to the good lady seamstress with a length of Sari and a kaftan to copy. The kaftan had previously been purchased in a moment of weakness and desperation at one of the above mentioned tourist tat traps. While it is a perfectly decent garment, it is somewhat unremarkable compared with the gilt edged Sari treasures. Most obligingly the good lady seamstress squeezed my request into her obviously overloaded workforce’s task list. Two days later and I am the proud and delighted owner of a very practical, yet truly gorgeous unique kaftan in which I can float about stylishly. All for 100Rupees (about 2 quid), I winced at the ridiculousness of the sum and tried to offer more, this was rejected with what appeared to be mild offense. So it would seem that I got a fair price, and speedy service. Result.

Second on my list of mild discomforts was the matter of my ‘prematurely’ greying locks. Before departing Hong Kong I had made a wildly foolish pact with myself that I would just go with the flow and see how the ‘Greys’ suited me. They do not. Perhaps in 20-30 years I shall reconsider, but at 33 years old, not a good look. Maybe if my head were turning shock white with a streak of charcoal a la Cruella I could pass it off as a statement, however the wiry specimens are coming through sporadically giving my head a ‘salt & pepper’ look that is nothing short of bland, and embarrassing. Remembering more wise words from my sage “…...and you are in India darling, there is always Henna”, I make it my business to find the first local salon that can treat my locks to a dose of the herbal dye.
I had my first treatment during our second week in Fort Kochi, it was quite passable. My greys were now varying shades of honey and auburn. Not bad, and my hair did not feel like straw as it does after chemical dyes. The real discovery though was happening to bump into Usha as she was administering her own Henna concoction. She explained that she makes her own from the plant in her garden “much better for hair fall” this seems a good thing from her enthusiasm. Keen to share the benefits of her natural recipe she kindly offers to make me up a potion. We set a date in advance to give her time to prepare the mixture. Early this morning she passed an ominous looking dish of what looked like the mulch you clear from your garden path after weeks of January rain have congregated many a dead leaf. Unlike the simple paste the local salon had previously applied, this mix was organic and homegrown. I was excited about sharing Usha’s secret recipe. That said, the application was a lot less simple to apply than the salon’s paste. Imagine spreading that soggy mulch from your garden onto your head. Not easy. There was something reminiscent of making mud pies and rose petal ‘perfume’ to sell to your aunties, which actually smelled of stagnant ponds, in the whole procedure. However, I persevered with Usha’s mix and am happy to report a fabulous result. The only down side to the whole Henna experience is that it has turned my cheap ‘H Samuel’ gold hoop earings a rotten shade of copper.

Another delight I have enjoyed exploring are the vast array of natural perfume oils on offer. You can’t throw a stone in Fort Kochi without hitting some pavement signage offering wood, flower and herb oils. Hold me back. Along with shoes and handbags, perfume is a particular weakness for me. I do believe you have to go quite far to out do the timeless elegance of No.5, but give me a whiff of Otto Rose, Dark Musk, Light Musk and Oudh and I am sent. The latter ‘Oudh’ is a new discovery for me. I am told it is from a very rare wood from Cambodia and Vietnam, and therefore very expensive…...go figure. However, expensive by Indian economy, to westerners who would shell out upwards of 30 quid a bottle, a fiver for a vial of pure oil is practically cost saving. I wonder why this hasn’t taken off back home.

As Rich’s last entry has told, we are off soon heading North. While I am very excited about the adventures that lie ahead for us, I believe I shall be heavy of heart in leaving Fort Kochi. The mixture of smells, both pungent and delightful will hang in my scent memory bank. The chaotic madness of the street that has become our own stomping ground, the deafening tooting of horns as all vehicles seem to drive at you, the random wandering goats and cows and the cheshire cat grins of the local stall holders from whom we buy our supplies. We are now a fixture and they shout their hellos as we pass by, even the auto-rickshaw drivers don’t try to do us with a daft fair, they sense we are practically locals and accept no nonsense. What will stay with me the most though is the unbelievable warmth and kindness of the people here. I have been completely overwhelmed and charmed by it. I have long stood by my patriotic belief that Glaswegians are amongst some of the friendliest folks you could find, back to the drawing boards guys, Keralans have got it squared away, and we have a long way to go.

One final note which is worth a mention to serve as a caveat to my lady friends, remember to pack a swimming costume when coming to India. Perhaps other parts cater better for western needs, but Kerala is sadly lacking. A foolish oversight in the packing stages left me without one. When we visited the beach last week I made do with a long t-shirt and modest hipster knickers (hidden by the t-shirt). It would seem immodest to don a bikini, quite apart from there being no other local women in the water. However, during a trip to the nearest big town I set about finding a suitable costume. This turned out to be a regular ‘Challenge Annika’. The limited supply we did find after much searching was choice to say the least. If you are brave enough to sport a full body suit finishing at the knees, or the more ‘fancy’ option which includes an 80’s ‘Ra-ra’ skirt of sorts, then you are sorted. Don’t even get me started on the fabrics, the floral prints were out of date, which is not to say they could pass as ‘Vintage’ by anyones’ imagination. So, after much rummaging I managed to find a happy medium...it does not quite finish at the knees, it is black and is only a little baggy on me. Hopefully those pictures will never surface.