Having dropped anchor in Uligamu, after a frustrating four-day crossing from Cochin, India, we put our worries to one side with a wander along the desolate beach of the Maldive’s most northern (but one) island. This is a little photography slide-show for your entertainment. Just click on the image below to begin and don’t forget you can view it in full-screen mode to get that “I’m-really-there!” sensation!
Our autumn series of followtheboat posts take us to the Himalayas. It’s an exhausting trek into the moody, cloud-covered mountains, but before we head north we’re going to take two weekend breaks on the beach in Kerala. Stupidly we booked our driver through the same company who arranged our fateful Western Ghats adventure. And guess who our driver was? Yep, the very same chap who claimed never to have had an accident in 21 years of driving, forgetting the accident Liz and I were involved in within 20 minutes of jumping into his car on our first trip (I think the definition of an accident in India has to include at least one fatality)
Where the women are forced to wear black and their presence is absent from the streets. Welcome to Oman, a country that lives indoors in air conditioned buildings and drives around in air conditioned cars. Welcome to Oman, an expensive country boasting the most incredible beaches yet desperately lacking in soul. Read what I really think of this strange country…
Our aim was to get to Datca today but with the wind on the nose we really couldn’t be arsed motoring 20 miles into it so we ducked into yet another Turkish resort, Kuruku Buku. I say ‘Turkish’ resort not because it’s a holiday resort in Turkey but because it is frequented by Turks, as opposed to foreign tourists. Sensibly the Turks tuck the drunken and obnoxious tourists away in places like Gumbet and keep places like Kuruku Buku to themselves.
My, my, how circumstances change. All of a sudden I find myself without purpose and a lot of time on my hands doing nothing but sunbathing. No bad thing, I hear you say, but this hadn’t been the plan.
Over the next couple of days Mario would try to teach me Portuguese. Every time I repeated a word he would tell me I’d said it wrong. He’d repeat it again, this time sounding completely different. Every time he taught me a new word I never learned it as he corrected me over and over again, repeating the word with different emphasis each time.
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