Exactly 7 weeks after we touched down in Delhi we’ve abandoned the sub-continent but, just to remind us who’s boss, India still seems to be having a karmic laugh at our expense: we spent nearly 2 months there trying to avoid the shits (I failed, James succeeded) and not be ripped off by Indian holy men…and within 24 hours of stepping off the plane in Bangkok, James has the shits and I have been ripped off by an Indian holy man. Not only that, but one of the reasons we shipped out was to avoid the potential unrest generated by the imminent Indian elections – and we’ve walked straight into the middle of a political rally attempting to oust the Thai Prime Minister.

Same same but different, as the locals say.

Having said all that, Bangkok feels to be a world away from India in many ways. Buddhist icononography and architecture has replaced Hindu, the electricity hasn’t failed yet, the tourist population has exploded, there’s a lot of female flesh on display, and I didn’t feel as though I was going to die once on the bus from the airport (it was strangley dissapointing).

We arrived yesterday morning with James in a bad way due to sleep deprivation and the first flutterings of his stomach bug. The overnight bus journey from Siliguri to Calcutta was filthy (James woke up at 3am with a cockroach playing in his hair), terrifying  and incredibly loud thanks to the presence of a tinny speaker system that played Alllll the Bollywood Hits allll night long. We spent the day in Calcutta, flew at 2am, arrived at 6am and were fit for very little yesterday except sleep-walking around the Khao San Road, which is exactly as I remember it: still full of tat, tourists and touts, and still able to ellicit, in equal parts, complete adoration and utter loathing for the backpacker scene.

Today has been more productive: we took a trip to see an enormous reclining Buddha, wandered around the city, cruised back home on a river boat and ate our body weight in Pad Thai. James is now back in quarantine and I am indulging in my filthy little secret hobby (watching a replay of the Champions League games at an Irish bar). We have one more day to explore this enormous city before we head south for some bech therapy but I suspect we might be back before long…lots to see.

It’s nice to be somewhere completely different and to be relieved of some of the more challenging aspects of travelling in India, but the sub-continent is still dominating my thoughts and, despite us both swearing at least once that we would never go there again, I suspect we’ll be back before long - there’s too much too see and too many contradictions to unravel in one little trip.

 I’ve done a lot of reading on India and there are about a million explanations relating to it’s strange, unrelenting appeal, but they’re all to lyrical for my liking…the best analogy I can come up with is that India is a really itchy, unidentifiable rash: causes severe and often continuous irritation, especially upon early discovery, and relief can only be found by scratching deep into the surface - or surrendering to the fact that you can’t understand it properly and just letting it get under your skin.