Party at minus 20c

We had been dreading our second night on the Salt Flats. It would reach minus 20c and we were staying in very basic accomodation with six or seven beds to a very simple room in a very remote shack. Amy and I didn´t even have sleeping bags (nobody told us!). So, to keep our spirits up, we did what we do best. We had a party.

Armed with my new miniature guitar, we sang songs whilst drinking yet more cheap wine. It turned out that everyone else was up for a party too. Even our tour guide and cook - we all ended up singing and dancing as the night came in and the temperature dropped. The whole celebration reached a crescendo with a very close limbo competition. Our new friend Jo (Yorkshire) was narrowly beaten by Alexis (Sydney) who despite having cracked a rib on the World`s Most Dangerous Road, managed to sneak under a very low piece of string.

When it was late enough, we ventured out into the cold night to watch the sky. I saw two shooting stars.

The following morning, we drove out to see geysers (pictured top), and into the Salvador Dali desert (above) which was the inspiration for many of Dali´s famous desert scenes in his paintings. Then we saw the Green Lagoon (mineral deposits again) before resting our cold and weary bones in a lovely natural hot spring which hit 40 degrees!

Scary hives and Goan raves

Hello dear readers.
What a lot has happened since the dreaded Cashew Fenni..... We left Anjuna and arrived in Vagator, a beautiful and quiet little place. We met two German lads almost immediately, and it made us feel very at home, because what are we without two Germans in our lives?! (Oli and Chris, they were nothing compared to you).

We had an amazing fish dinner - pomfret (a large flat fish) stuffed with masala which was truly amazing and then we walked across the road to our guesthouse and fell asleep almost immdiately.
However, I was later awoken from my blissful slumber by Adrian who was covered from head to toe in vicious hives. For those of you who don't know, Adrian occasionally (and very randomly) comes out in hives after eating fish. It is impossible to tell when this might happen, but usually a Piriton wards them off like a charm. Never before had I (or he) seen them this bad, and I must say for a moment I feared for his life. It was quite frightening for a while, but eventually he seemed to improve and by the next day he was much better, much to our relief.

The next day we realised we had run out of cash, so decided (against my better judgement) to hire a scooter to ride to the next town. I made Adrian SWEAR not to go over 10 miles an hour and the good boy kept his word and we pootled along so slowly that an elderly lady in one of those little motorised things would have had no trouble overtaking us. Unfortunately the thing sputtered to a halt just over half way there and we realised we had run out of fuel. I was NOT impressed, as Adrian had said quite confidently that we had plenty of petrol (although how he knew this I cannot tell, as our petrol guage was broken). He was the one who had to push the thing uphill in blistering 38 degree midday sun though, so I think that was sufficient punishment.
We managed to buy a litre of fuel in an old water bottle from a nice lady with a little shop at the side of the road for 60 rupees (about 90 pence) which sent us merrily on our way again.

On Sunday we experienced our first Goan 'Rave' (see above photo!). Our German friends had told us of a weekly hilltop party which was apparently worth checking out. Interestingly enough, it started at 4pm and was finished by 10! Quite the novelty for us London party animals, no?! This is apparently because the local government haave recently imposed a ban on outdoor music after 10pm. Fair enough.

It was a crazy place! Like a small festival, and so well organised! Clean toilets and little stalls selling food and a bar with a surprisingly large selection of beers. We sat ourselves down on one of the many mats laid out around the 'dancefloor' area, and watched all the people dancing to what my father would have called (and on this occasion I would have to agree) 'noise'. The place was packed full of all the Westerners living here long-term, as well as a few Indian teenagers and various tourists like us who had heard of the legend of the hill party.