Liz and I have always said “if it’s good enough for the locals, it’s good enough for us”. Once s/y ‘Full Flight’ and ourselves filled the boat’s water tanks up from a lorry off a dusty dock in Massawa, Eritrea. Whilst the other boat owners looked on in horror, the locals just said “well we drink it”. Of course traipsing the dark back streets of Jaipur in Rajasthan is thirsty work, so these communal drinking taps are a god-send.
When we last left you we’d taken advantage of some holy Jaipurian urinals. Now we cross the street and go check out the rather ornate Jaipur City Palace, the Hawa Mahal (where women could see but not be seen) and mingle with monkeys and elephants. In amongst more wee spots we sample a refreshing beetroot drink and then round the day off with some good old fashioned police brutality.
If you had told me a year ago that I would be in India drinking curried tea, I’d have laughed you off the boat. I’d heard of curry for breakfast and I’d even heard rumours of curried ice cream, but curried tea? As a tea-drinking Brit I spluttered and guffawed at this ridiculous notion.
A water maker is an expensive and difficult purchase with more than the cost to be considered. In this essay we discuss the decision-making process involved in a water maker purchase. Also we examine thoughts on installation and we provide an insight into how it is used on board. We conclude with some related issues and pros and cons. We hope that this helps anyone looking to purchase a watermaker for their boat and we encourage watermaker owners to add their own comments at the bottom of the page.
On Sunday I’ll be publishing my shots of the Dharavi slums of Mumbai. That’s on Sunday but today is Friday, so let’s keep it light-hearted. Let’s discuss beer! Beer. The love of my life, the bain of my waist-line. A refreshment to be enjoyed at the end of the day after a hard day’s sail, a hard day’s work or a hard day’s drinking. Whatever the occassion, beer is there to help you celebrate. Here in Catholic Kerala, however, beer isn’t so understood. The booze shop is a shuttered, over-the-counter, slip-the-beverage-into-a-plain-paper-bag-before-my-wife-spots-me affair. The pubs are dirty, dark cockroach-infested holes. The imbibement of this fine libation is not encouraged like it is elsewhere in India and the mantra “alcohol consumption is injurious to health” is seen on both the labels of bottles and across the tinted windows of aforementioned grimey bars. Is ‘injurious’ actually a word? Whatever, whether you like beer or not you’ll be impressed by the sales pitch of one such beer called Zingaro. The masculine gold and red Zingaro label has an Indian, of the Native American persuasion, taming a wild horse with ‘Super Strong Premium Lager’ emblazoned across the bottom. But it’s the blurb on the back that had me in stiches…
My first and only experience with sailing boats arrived at the age of twelve in Bognor Regis. It was a school trip and involved myself and some unruly pals sprawling ourselves across a tiny single sailed yacht. The thing with kids is, you tell them something ten times and they don’t listen, what they actually need is the experience of something bad before they know not to do something ever again.