From Scottish lowlands to Indian very, very, very, very Highlands (Part 1)

This is the kind of photo I hope to bring back if I live

This is the kind of photo I hope to bring back if I remain alive


How quickly our worlds change. A few weeks ago I had no idea that I would be flying to Calcutta for a solo, 2 and a half month bicycle tour in the Indian Himalayas. A few weeks ago my world was all about calligraphy, dumplings and being with my glorious but now-ex girlfriend in the steamy Chinese city of Hangzhou.

Regrettably, though a relationship can be cancelled with minimal fiscal implications, the same is not true of flights. But, thank Allah (or whoever keeps Emirates’ planes in the air), I was able to change my flight from Shanghai to anywhere I desired east of Dubai.  Naturally, as a yoga twat and a wannabe ‘gritty’ cyclist, I chose India – home to the only yoga worth learning and the biggest ruddy mountains around.

Let me be clear with you from the start – this is a huge mistake. I know it, my family knows it, my friends know it. I have zero survival skills. I have never put up a tent, built an effective fire, operated a stove, found water from a river or gotten food from anywhere but a packet. I don’t know how to fix my bike if it breaks. I don’t know how to fix myself if I break.

Yes, I’ve made a huge mistake.