It's raining, it's pouring, it's dark at five... aaaannnnd iiiiit's colllllllllld. I'm not complaining; it's winter in the Adelaide Hills, it's supposed to be cold. But I am thinking, ever more nostalgically, about our sweaty days of wandering through a Rajhastani summer earlier this year.
When we went to India in February we took one of my friends, one of my friends who was trusting us to look after her on her maiden overseas adventure, along for a couple of weeks. We didn't tell her how stingy we are when we travel- backpacker habits die hard- so along with the culture shock, the heat and the shit everywhere (welcome to India) she also had to travel with two people who would rather walk for five kilometres with heavy backpacks than pay $2 for a rickshaw. We certainly should have warned her, poor thing. Read More